“Hold the Drugs Please”-Discovery Health Baby Week
On Sunday June 14th, Discovery Health's Baby Week premieres. For birth story junkies like me, you won't want to miss it. You can find out more about Baby Week on Discovery Health's website. There are several brand new episodes with unique themes. Personally, I'm looking forward to the Births Beyond Belief episode. I'll live vicariously through them.
Twins by Surprise-Sunday June 14th at 8 p.m. EST
Little Parents, Big Pregnancy-Monday June 15th at 8 p.m.
Births Beyond Belief-Tuesday June 16th at 8 p.m.
Obese & Pregnant-Wednesday June 17th at 8 p.m.
For a preview of the episodes, you can view this video.
If you miss the premiere, Discovery Health will have the shows replay later in the night. As part of Baby Week, I'm republishing Lil C's birth story. Even if you're not a birth story junkie, you'll find humor, drooling (yes, I said drooling and it wasn't even the baby), and a story of an unmedicated delivery.
Enjoy. . . .
The Birth of Lil C
It was the evening of October 2, 2005, the night before my due date. I had finally given up hope of going into labor on my own. After a pregnancy of finger sticks, a strict diet, and oral medication to control gestational diabetes, it was now time to face the fact that I was going to be induced with this pregnancy too. I had envisioned a birth center birth: no needles, no hospitals, no interference. Just me, my husband, my midwife and eventually a healthy baby. The gestational diabetes brought with it all kinds of unwelcome intervention in the form of twice weekly non-stress tests, ultrasounds, and a ton more appointments than just my visits to the midwife, all resulting in a scheduled induction on my due date. "At least I know when I'm having this baby so I can have plans for my older daughter," I told myself. I went to bed for the night, knowing full well that I would not get much sleep.
I checked into the hospital at 8 a.m. on Monday, October 3rd with all intentions of having this baby by lunch time. The second time around was supposed to be easier, faster, right? I had made plans with my Mom to bring my other daughter to the hospital in the afternoon. After being hooked up to the monitors, it was clear that there was no labor going on by itself. Instead of pitocin (which I had with my first labor), my midwife opted for miso (misoprostol). After the nurses inserted a port into my arm (no I.V. though, thankfully), and everything was ready to go, my midwife arrived. At 9:45 a.m., my midwife inserted the miso which goes "where the sun don't shine," if you know what I mean. I started contracting once an hour. I was 1.5 cm dilated, 60% effaced and the baby was at -1 station. Not bad, I thought. After four hours of continuous monitoring which only allowed me to get up to go to the bathroom, I was finally able to get up and move around. (With miso they require several hours of monitoring because labor can progress extremely fast. They need to make sure that the baby is not under any stress.)
The reprieve from the bed was a welcome one and my husband and I began to walk the halls. There were only a handful of women in labor at the time so the halls were empty. All the other Moms had drugs and were therefore confined to their rooms. We did laps for 45 minutes, with me trying to retain my modesty as much as one can while wearing a hospital gown, and with cords from the monitor straps around my belly wrapped around my neck. After 45 minutes of walking, I was required to be hooked up to the monitors for 15 minutes of fetal monitoring. My contractions were now coming every 3-5 minutes. They weren't a big deal though. They were just a tightening that wasn't painful; and I did not have to breathe through them. I remembered from childbirth classes five years before that you shouldn't start with the breathing until you absolutely have to in order to keep from getting too exhausted. We went on like that: 45 minutes of walking, 15 minutes of monitoring for several hours, until about 3 or 4 p.m.
A resident came in to check me at this point. During my first birth, it felt like even the janitor was getting some action, because they were checking me constantly. My midwife made sure that unnecessary checks were eliminated. But, my midwife was at the birth center and needed to know where I was. By this point, my husband and I had probably walked miles up and down the hospital halls. The resident said I was 3 cm, 80% effaced, and the baby was at -1 station. I would by lying if I didn't say that I was EXTREMELY disappointed with this news. I was hoping for a big jump. This labor was progressing like my first and it was frustrating. My midwife was going to start pitocin, but she was happy with the progress I made and content to let me keep walking and laboring on my own. For that, I was thankful.
Instead of a dinner time visit from my family so they could greet the new baby, my dad arrived with sandwiches for later in the night. I was able to eat only things like jello and broth, just in case of problems, so I knew I was going to be hungry. I didn't want to have the baby in the middle of the night and be stuck without something good. I was a gestational diabetic and I was ready for a good meal that involved no carb counting.
A little after 5 p.m., my midwife arrived back at the hospital and checked me. Apparently I had a generous resident, because my midwife said I was only 2.5 cm. and 75% effaced. She said it was either break my water or start pitocin. I chose to have my water broken. I wanted NOTHING to do with pitocin. One birth experience with that drug was plenty.
Instantly, my contractions went from minor annoyances to hurting bad enough that I had no choice but to breathe through them. My husband and I started walking again. The contractions were now coming every 2-5 minutes and they hurt and badly. I had to stop walking and hold on to the hallway railing for each one. I felt like my stomach was being twisted. During one particular contraction as I leaned against the railing with both hands, head down, I was having issues with too much saliva and I actually drooled onto the floor. My husband and I got hysterical. Try hysterically laughing while trying to breathe through a wicked contraction. . . not easy at all.
By 7:30 p.m. I could no longer walk through the contractions and opted to sit straight up in bed instead. I could not get comfortable. I tried several different positions and all of them were miserable. I knew if I stayed upright, I'd have this baby faster. I needed the pain to stop so I stayed upright despite the pain. I wanted to get it over with. My midwife checked me and I was 5 cm, 80% effaced and the baby was at 0 station. It was around 9 p.m. It would be the last time that I was checked. I knew I still had a long way to go.
During each contraction, I went to Nags Head in my mind and sat deep breathing on the beach. In between contractions I dozed off as much as I could. I was in such a zone. I did not want any distractions and the midwife made sure I didn't have any. The room was kept quiet; the lights were kept dim. My midwife and nurse were wonderful through the next few hours. They kept checking on me to make sure I was o.k. They would bring me hot water bottles that I would use for 30 seconds and then throw to the end of the bed because I was too hot. Two seconds later, I'd be telling them to position it behind my back again. They did whatever I needed. They were continually encouraging.
My midwife would sit quietly on the end of the bed, place her hand on my leg and speak so softly, telling me I was doing great, keep breathing. I think she was very calming for my husband as well.
Around 12:30 a.m., my midwife asked me if I had been to the bathroom lately and if I felt like pushing. I told her that I felt pressure, but not the urge to push. I told my husband later that at this point, (and I know this sounds silly) I only felt like getting up and running away from the pain. The contractions barely gave me a break and they were intense. Even though I said I didn't have to go, my midwife, husband and nurse helped me out of bed and sent me off towards the bathroom. I toughed out a wicked contraction while holding onto the sink. When I came out of the bathroom, my midwife suggested I lie down to relieve some of the pressure I was feeling. I was discouraged when she said this and thought she was telling me to lie down because the baby was still hours away from making her appearance. I figured I had better listen to her and lie down to conserve energy. I didn't know then that my midwife had been reading all the signs and knew that the final phase of labor was just around the corner.
It only took one contraction and it was very clear I had to push. My midwife, without checking me, without turning on any lights, without making a big ordeal of it, simply told me to go ahead and push. So, lying on my right side, with my nurse and husband barely holding up my left leg that felt to me like it was about 5000 lbs, I pushed. My midwife checked and the baby's head was already coming down. She said she saw a head full of dark hair and my husband and I looked at each other in shock. Our first was a baldy. We weren't exactly expecting hair. The lights were kept low and the nurses getting the room ready for the baby were quiet. I, on the other hand, was not.
I remember reading something somewhere about childbirth and that making noise actually helps with the pushing. It releases tension and helps the baby come down, or something like that. It wasn't like I made a conscious decision to be loud; it just happened and at one point I heard one of the nurses tell another one to close the door.
I pushed when I wanted and as hard as I wanted. I really concentrated on trying to go slowly, and no one told me to push, or pant or gave me any instructions. There was no counting or holding my breathe. It was very relaxed and very much at my own pace. After a couple pushes, my midwife told me to reach down and feel my baby's head. Her head felt wet and I was shocked to feel so much hair on her head. The first inch of her head was out and I held her there with a steady push, not wanting her to slip back. Three more pushes and her head was out completely. I did it on my own and gradually, without an episiotomy like with my first.
The midwife suctioned her nose and mouth and I was relieved to be rid of the ring of fire. It did burn, but not as bad as I had thought it would. I pushed a tiny bit and her shoulders came out. My baby was born with a fist clenched underneath her chin (she had probably been sucking on her fingers like in all the ultrasound pictures, right up until the big squeeze). My midwife told me to reach down and grab my baby. I reached down with one arm and the midwife giggled a bit and told me I'd need two. I was just so tired. I reached down with both arms and grabbed her under her arms and pulled her the rest of the way out onto my stomach. It was 1:05 a.m. on October 4th and my sweet baby girl was born. She had held out one day past her due date. No baby of mine would ever choose to be on time.
She was just so amazing, so bright-eyed and just staring right up at me. It was an absolutely amazing experience to pull her out on my own. The midwife left her on my belly for a while, and didn't cut the cord right away. She was just beautiful, with a ton of dark hair (so shocking as my first was a baldy). Unlike my first, she was covered in vernix. I knew right away that she was a tiny baby, compared to her sister. My first words when I saw her were, "Oh My God, she's so tiny."
Eventually, the nurse took her and weighed her. They did let me hold her while they put the drops in her eyes. The entire time, she stared at me. We had an instant connection, me and this baby that had taken 14 months to conceive. Me and this baby that had put me through four finger sticks a day, twice weekly non-stress tests, and side effects from the glyburide that I was prescribed. When they hit the conversion button on the scale, I couldn't believe it. Despite the fact that a growth scan had said she would be 9-10 lbs., my baby was only 7 lbs. 10 oz., a mere 3 oz. less than the weight I had guessed she would be and had told my midwife as she had broken my water.
My midwife checked out the damage while they swaddled my daughter and tried to clean her up a bit. I had only three minor tears, none requiring stitches. My midwife assured me they would heal within a day or two and she was right.
Despite the gestational diabetes and having my birth plan turned upside down, this birth experience was amazingly relaxed. I did not have to have an I.V.; I had no drugs beside the initial miso to get labor going, and my daughter came out with a perfectly shaped head. She was just beautiful.
Despite being exhausted from a 15 hour labor and 20 minutes of pushing, I could not sleep. I sat in bed, cradling my baby daughter and just taking in everything about her. I peeled back her hat to stare at the unbelievable head of hair; I stroked her cheek that felt like warm velvet. I stared at her and felt so blessed that she was finally here and healthy.
My labor and delivery nurse moved me to my post-partum room in a wheelchair, but I felt more like a rock star arriving at a concert. The post-partum nurses were waiting in the room, and my l & d nurse delivered me amid a wave of praise for laboring without any drugs. It was the first labor and delivery she had been a part of that didn't involve pain-relieving drugs and she was "psyched" to have been a part of it, she said. She thanked me for the experience of it all; and I had to agree that the experience had been pretty amazing. After settling in my post-partum room, my husband fell fast asleep but I simply couldn't. When they took my baby to give her a bath, I ate my entire italian sandwich instead of sleeping. I waited until around 8 a.m. to start calling everyone and giving them the good news (Of course, my parents and daughter got the call at 1:15 a.m.). Later in the day, my mom brought my older daughter in to meet her new baby sister. The meeting went very well.
My midwife came to check on me and said I could go home right away. At 5 p.m. on the same day I gave birth, I took my new baby home. From start to finish, it was one amazing birth day.
"Black Belt Mama" lives in the northeast and is a stay-at-home/work-at-home mother to her two daughters, "Big I" who is 8 and "Lil C" who is now 3 years old. She writes on her blogs, Black Belt Mama and The BBM Review. She is also the editor of the Birth Story blog. You can read her first birth story by clicking here and read birth stories from mothers with many different experiences on the Birth Story blog (You can even submit your own to be published on the site!). To subscribe to this blog, click here.
Eight Hawaiian Style
On Saturday, Big I turned eight years old. Eight is one of those exciting years like 16, 18, 21, and 25. At the age of eight, kids no longer need to sit in booster seats. It's an exciting age for all of us for that very reason. Down to just one kid in a booster seat, it's going to make life a lot easier.
Big I picked a luau theme for her party this year because I promised her I'd try to make her a volcano cake we saw on Food Network a few weeks ago. I don't know who was more excited about the dry ice "smoke," Big I or Mr. BBM. He spent much of the party running around with cups of dry ice, even when Big I was opening her presents and everyone was otherwise occupied.
It was pretty cool though; I must admit. A lot of decorated cakes taste pretty lousy, but this five layer red velvet cake was pretty awesome. We don't have much of it left, which is a good thing for my butt.
After the food (Hawaiian meatballs, cinnamon chips with fruit salsa, a 4 ft. sandwich, a fruit tray, and punch, we got busy with the limbo. The kids were loving going under my beater bo, but they weren't exactly doing it the right way. So, my Mom jumped in to show them how it's done. The woman can limbo.
So can my sister.
Apparently, it runs in the family genes. That's Big I, who has a very sore little stomach today.
Despite the fact that we all did our best to look tropical, Lil C decided she was going to wear her Christmas sweater. Some battles just aren't worth fighting so here she is, in all her Christmas glory.
Among Big I's gifts. . . lots of new clothes for the kid who grows two inches per night, about 10 new chapter books, and a field hockey stick and ball. If I can't make a warrior our of her with a bo, I'm going to do it with a field hockey stick.
Every year, I go back into my archives and read the posts I wrote for her on birthdays past. I had to laugh at the first one I wrote her, when she turned five. Read the last line and then go here. I'm glad I've kept my word.
I hope you had a great birthday Big I. I seriously can not believe I am the mother of an 8-year old. My how time flies. . .
If you'd like a chance to win an autographed CD from an international recording artist, then head to The BBM Review fast! The contest ends tomorrow!!!
How to Annoy Your Kid Keri Hilson Style
Mr. BBM has spent years wrecking favorite songs of mine for me. Usually he does so by inserting some disgusting lyric that tends to linger. There used to be this slow song I liked and now I seem to have completely blocked it from memory because he made the whole chorus about pooping. Crap like that is irritating.
However, last night I was trying to get Big I to move a little faster through her bedtime routine and I found a way to make it happen.
If you've been reading here long enough, then you know that I don't like the typical music that an average 30-something 29-year old Mom likes. My latest favorite song is by Keri Hilson and it's called "Turning me on." Actually, it's probably spelled "turnin' myon" or something because people who sing songs like that tend to do that. For example, one of the real words in his song is "'proachin'." That would be "approaching" for you non-R&B-inclined folks out there.
Since Big I is turning eight years old tomorrow (sob, sob), I figure the girl can take a shower without Mommy standing in the bathroom, but she has yet to believe in herself when it comes to her ability to wash all the soap out of her hair without me peeking in to give my blessing and approval. So, since she makes me stay in the bathroom, I need to find some way to keep myself busy. Last night, I decided to change some lyrics of my own in hopes that she would get sick of hearing me sing and tell me I could leave the bathroom.
Here are my lyrics. Feel free to play the video so you can hear the music and sing along if you'd like. Click here if you can't click from here.
Like this. . .
Big I's in the shower,
Shampoo bottle poppin'
You know just how to wash it,
You know just how to wash it,
You washin' your hair,
You washin' your hair,
You washin' your hair
Wait a minute, little Izzy
You got one more minute
To wash your naked body
Better recognize you're dirty
Better make sure that you wash it,
You washin' your butt,
You washin' your butt,
You washin' your butt
Better recognize you're really dirty
ah, ah, ah, ah
You ever try to get that butt real clean
Better scrub your body til you're real soapy
Come on Izzy, get it clean
ah, ah, ah, ah
You gotta keep scrubbin' that body
You gotta be for sure that your butt is clean.
Recognize you're really dirty
Washing your armpit,
Washing where you sit
And you're hoping that your daddy,
will be reading you a book
You better get out
You're taking too long,
You're taking too long,
Wait a minute little Izzy
Lather, rinse, repeat from the beginning. You get the idea.
I found it was a great way to let off a little steam, and it was amazing how fast the kid moved when she realized I wasn't going to stop singing and dancing until she was out of the shower and in bed. Feel free to adapt the lyrics for your own home usage.
You Can’t Always Get What You Want
When Big I was three years old and she told me she wanted to take karate, I couldn't have been more thrilled. Her interest is what got me involved in the first place. How cool was it that we could take karate side by side?
As time wore on though, I continued to get more into it and she, well, she began to lose interest. Kata stayed in my head and went in one ear and out the other with her. She walked her way through a couple testings, but she hit yellow belt (7th kyu) and she hit a wall.
Wansu presented new challenges for her and it seemed that with every move she learned of the kata Wansu, she lost three from the first two kata.
While standing beside her in class, I got frustrated. Why wasn't she being sharp in her movements? Why was she just walking through it? Why wasn't she putting more effort into it?
When I got injured, I took her out of the regular karate class and put her in the Safety Kids program. There she was able to review basics and get things into her head that didn't seem to stick the first time around. She also learned a lot of good skills about stranger safety, but her heart hasn't been in it for a while.
I don't know if it's because of my injury and inability to do karate alongside her, or if she's grown out of her interest, but her interest is gone.
She's been telling me for months now that she wants to quit. She says she's not any good at it. She watches the other kids "get it" and she just doesn't. She's been even more vocal about her dislike of karate with Mr. BBM. When he takes her to karate, he gets a sob story the entire ride home. We wanted her to stick with it. We wanted to teach her that she can't just quit everything. We wanted to instill in her a sense of hard work paying off, and let her get through this stagnant time. We wanted to watch her emerge out the other side, triumphant that she was able to learn and improve.
We told her a few weeks ago that she needs to practice, that she can't expect to be good at something when she only does it once a week for an hour. She asked me for help a few weeks ago, but every time I offered to run through kata with her, she found something better to do.
This morning, we had a conversation about kata. "What do you think it's all about?" I asked her. "Do you know what the moves mean?"
She shook her head no.
I sat her on the couch and asked Mr. BBM to come help me. I walked through Nai Hanchi Shodan, and showed her that it's not a dance, or a series of silly moves. I showed her the bunkai and smacked Mr. BBM around and down for a while to demonstrate.
"Do you see what it is now?" I asked her.
She said yes. She stood up and we walked through her kata a couple times. But about 15 minutes into it, she started whining and complaining.
"Karate isn't my thing Mommy. I don't want to do it anymore" she said as she walked away crying.
I so want it to be her thing. I think it's so important for young girls to be able to defend themselves. I wanted to keep her in class, hoping her interest would grow and emerge once again; but it's time that I've realized that at least for right now, it's not going to change. She doesn't want to do it. It's time for her to quit.
So, this week will be her last week. You can't always get what you want when you're a parent regarding your kids and it's high time I realized that.
March will be her first month off in four years, and it will be my first month back. I'm tired of being a 1st kyu. It's time I got back to working on that Shodan. Maybe watching me fight my way back will inspire her to return at some point. I can only hope.
In celebration of my return and to continue what I started last year, March is once again "Admired Martial Artists" month. There are some returning contributors and possibly a new one or two as well. Check back for details soon!
Happy 3rd Birthday
Dear Lil C:
Today you turned three years old. I can hardly believe it. Three years ago tonight, I was bringing you home from the hospital for the very first time. You were tiny and beautiful, and though you’re growing like a weed, you’re just as beautiful now.
Lil C, 2 months old
I remember holding you and rocking you in the middle of one of those first nights. I caught our reflection in the mirror and remember thinking, "Always remember this moment. Always remember how this feels to have this tiny, perfect baby curled up so perfectly on your shoulder."
I will never forget.
Lil C, 1 year old
You have always had this fighter spirit about you. In recent months, you’ve shown me that you don’t need me to stand up for you. You are perfectly capable of doing it all by yourself.
Lil C, two years old
You want to do pretty much everything all by yourself, including dressing yourself and brushing your own teeth. You even wanted to put your own sunscreen on this summer.
Your questions never cease to amaze me. You’re forever curious about how to make milkshakes, cookies and hamburgers. You can also make a mean salad. There is no denying you like to eat, so it is easy to see you as a future foodie or famous chef.
You are now, and will always be Mommy’s little spit-fire. When you’re having a grumpy day and people tell me you’re just like your Mommy, I couldn’t be prouder. It’s nice to have a partner in not backing down.
I can always count on you to be my little beach bum girl. When everyone is heading to the pool, I know we’ll be carrying our buckets to the beach.
Lil C, two months shy of third birthday (above).
You’re like me in more ways than just the spit-fire qualities. Neither of us like rides that go in circles, go too fast, or in any way surprise us. At an amusement park last week, you leaped off a carousel horse mid-ride and were content to eat your way through the park instead.
Lil C, one week shy of third birthday.
I feel like you are this very special blessing that has come into my life; and I feel blessed and privileged to be your Mommy.
I hope you had a wonderful birthday today Lil C. No matter how big you get, you will always be my baby.
I love you,
Mommy (Black Belt Mommy)
For the story of Lil C’s birth, go here.
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