5 Months
This week, my baby turned five months old. . . already.
How did that happen?
The last month has been full of new things for Baby Belated. He turned his rolling of February into a mastered art in March. He started sitting up by himself and thinks that falling over into my waiting hands is the most hysterical thing ever.
He discovered that his feet make lovely teethers and when you can fit a hand in there at the same time, it’s even better.
Peek-a-boo has become a new and favorite activity. In fact, he sometimes laughs so hard that he chokes. Diaper changes have become episodes of “catch me if you can” as he rolls and wiggles away to discover something new.
More stable now, Swim Girl has discovered that she can carry him around; and oh, how the little guy loves his big sisters. Swim Girl finds it a personal challenge to get her little brother laughing at new things each day. Her crazy sounds and faces are quite popular in the repertoire. And of course, Sassy is never far behind in imitating her big sister. If it can make him laugh, it’s the activity of the day.
I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but I can’t help but reiterate how wonderful an addition this little man has been to our family. Now if I could just get him to slow down a bit.
I’ve Been a Little Bit Busy
I started my blog right around the time when Sassy was six months old. I spent a lot of nap times plugging away on an entry, trying to build up a readership and make a name for myself in the blogging world.
You haven’t heard from me in about a month. This time around, the last time around, I’ve been spending some of those nap times snuggling with my little man. I’ve decided that I won’t, at the end of my life, be looking back and saying, “I wish I had spent more time cleaning and organizing,” or “building my blog readership.” I want to look back on my life and know that I soaked in those minutes with my infant son, every last one of them. I don’t want to miss a coo, a smile, or one of those cute little noises he makes when he’s curling up his legs and arching his back in a mega-stretch.
So, I’ve been a little preoccupied with this. . .
Finally. . .
When I celebrated successfully passing my black belt test, I had a cake made for the party. It had one word on it. . . finally. Once again, life has shown me that good things are definitely worth the wait.
On Thursday, October 20th, Mr. BBM and I arrived at the hospital. After waiting it out until 42 weeks, there was no sign that the baby was coming on his own. After an appointment on Wednesday revealed I was only 3 cm dilated and 50-60% effaced, an induction was the only option. I was encouraged that my midwife said the baby’s head was at 0 station. I was hoping that would speed labor along.
Clearly experienced parents, we arrived with only one bag and a bag of sandwiches for after the delivery. We were quickly escorted to our labor and delivery room and I was less than thrilled. The walls were this pale awful green and the bathroom had a big shower, but no tub. A water birth, this would not be.
I changed into the hospital gown I was given and they started the monitors. I was told that the induction would begin around 6 p.m., but nothing in the hospital is ever on time. Mr. BBM watched the contraction monitor and it was showing contractions every 7 to 10 minutes. It was nice to know that the many weeks of contractions I had been feeling were not just in my head.
Finally, my midwife arrived. She had been monitoring me from the desk. If my contractions had been any closer together, she would not have been able to induce me with “miso.” Pitocin would have been the drug of choice. I was so thankful they weren’t any closer together. Pitocin. . .been there, done that and never had a plan to revisit that. My midwife placed the miso behind my cervix. I was 3 cm dilated and about 50-60% effaced. I had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
It wasn’t long after the miso was put in place that I started having some serious contractions that were pretty close together, as in 2-4 minutes apart. I had to remain on the monitors for an hour and I spent that time trying to close my eyes and rest. At one point, a nurse came in and told me they could give me something to help me sleep. I asked what the options were and when she got to injected dilaudid, I got annoyed. They were all told I wanted to do things naturally. That would have made me unconscious and the baby groggy after birth. That’s the drug they gave to Mr. BBM after emergency abdominal surgery. I told her “no thanks.” After an hour or so I was finally able to get up and walk.
Mr. BBM and I started the first of many laps around the labor and delivery floor. Just like with Sassy’s birth, I was the only one doing laps. After a couple hours of laps, the contractions were getting wicked enough that walking was becoming really difficult. Still though, the breaks between contractions were nice and every once in a while I would get a 4 minute break. This, although a nice reprieve, also had me scared. I kept asking Mr. BBM to keep track of the contractions. I was afraid at several points, that they were slowing down and would just stop. Clearly, the weeks of contractions that went nowhere had me traumatized. Still though, there was much laughing as we did our laps. When I was in labor with Sassy, during a particularly wicked contraction, I had actually drooled/spit on the floor at one point. Mr. BBM was waiting for a repeat.
During one of our laps, a med student approached me and introduced herself. She asked if she could be present at the birth and I agreed. She was giddy with joy when I said, “yes.” During one of the many laps I walked, I heard my midwife talking to her about natural child birth. I’m sure some of those nurses thought I was a freak for going without the drugs; to others, I was a rockstar, same with Sassy.
For 15 minutes out of every hour, I had to be on the monitors and they showed a strong labor pattern almost from the start. I used those 15 minutes to refuel and ate lemon ice, jello and drank tons of water and juice. I knew I needed to do it early, because when things get rough, you don’t feel like doing anything except surviving.
My midwife suggested I get in the shower and try to relax. The nurses set it up for me and I spent a lot of time in the shower with the hot water focused on my back. Eventually I was feeling water-logged and like I just needed to sit down for a bit so I got out and was busy telling Mr. BBM how good it felt to just rinse off and feel nice and clean.
It was around midnight now and my midwife came in to check my progress. I was happy to hear that I was 80-90% effaced, but only being 5 cm was a huge disappointment. My midwife was encouraging, telling me that being that effaced would mean faster progress. I wasn’t buying it. She brought in a birthing ball and recommended I contort myself around the ball. It was tough. There I was on my bed, with my left knee on the bed, my body bent over the birthing ball and my right leg up around the right side of the ball. The baby needed to move into position with his back against the front of my belly and he wasn’t rotated there yet. During the rough contorted contractions, Mr. BBM rubbed my lower back and my midwife massaged my shoulders.
My midwife decided she would get everything ready for the baby’s arrival. She said she had a feeling that when it was time, it was going to be time quickly. She wanted to be ready. At the time, I was thinking that I hoped she was right but I wasn’t convinced myself.
After spending so much time in the shower and feeling all nice and clean, I weathered about two contractions leaning on the birthing ball before we all heard a pop and my water broke. I couldn’t help but feel a little happy that even though I was being induced, my water had broken on its own. I immediately asked if the fluid was clear or not. When you’re carrying around a 42 week gestation baby, you worry about meconium a lot. There wasn’t even a trace of it and the relief I felt was huge. Soon after my water broke, I began to feel kicks in different areas. My midwife confirmed that the baby had moved into position. I wanted to keep him there so I went back in the shower and spent the beginning of transition in there weathering the contractions with help from the wall hand rails. It felt good to rinse off again.
I came out after quite some time in the shower, and planted myself on the birthing ball. Mr. BBM moved the pillows to the edge of the bed for me and between nasty contractions, I rested my head and tried to sleep. The shower and birthing ball were quickly becoming my best friends. My midwife had also shown Mr. BBM a wonderful little trick to do while I weathered contractions. Using the heel of his palm, he pushed it hard into my lower back/hip area and simultaneously pulled the knee on the same side back towards the pressure. It took the edge off the contractions. Between that, my breathing, and visualizing myself sitting on a warm beach, I was surviving. I just hoped it wasn’t going to be much longer.
I knew I was going to feel worse laying down in my bed, but I needed a break from being upright. I got into bed and settled in on my left side. I told Mr. BBM I was feeling nauseated. I was also starting to shake a lot. I knew this was a sign of transition; I had been shaking since I was in the shower, but I was still in denial about it. I closed my eyes and tried to take each contraction, one at a time. I couldn’t allow myself to think about the next one before I could get through the one I was riding out. I heard Mr. BBM say, “well, we’re not going to have a 1 a.m. baby” (like our other two). I felt like I was getting close but I still had the 5 cm in the back of my head. I hoped it would be over soon. It was now 2 a.m.
At about 2:05 a.m., I had a wicked contraction and as it peaked, I felt the baby begin his journey out. It took me by surprise because with the other two, I had always felt such an urge to push. This baby just decided he was coming. I immediately started telling Mr. BBM that something had changed. They needed to come check me immediately. I hit the nurse call button and told them I was having a lot of pressure and that I needed to be checked now. I must have sounded pretty serious because my midwife and a bunch of nurses came running in seconds later.
My midwife arrived with her team of nurses and the med student. I could hear her telling everyone that she was glad she readied all the gowns and things she would need a couple hours earlier. In my head, I kept thinking, “why is she gowning up before checking to see if this is really it?” I guess I was still in denial. I heard her say something about pushing the lip of my cervix back and then she was telling me to push when I felt like it. I couldn’t believe I was already pushing. The next contraction came and I pushed as hard as I could. It felt different than with the girls. I felt like I was pushing out a boulder. I made a decision then and there, that I was getting this baby out as fast as possible. I couldn’t stand the pain anymore. With each push, I started throwing up too. They weren’t prepared for that so my midwife told me to just spit it out. A minute later, someone brought me a cup. I was really glad I had been on my left side. If I had been on my back that would have been even nastier.
All my showers had been for nothing. I was turning into the girl from “The Exorcist.” After about five contractions, my midwife told me to reach down and feel my baby. I felt his head, which was finally out and knew the next contraction and push was going to be brutal. I pulled back on my legs, with help from the nurse and Mr. BBM and decided he was coming out with this contraction. Enough was enough. The shoulders were brutal, but after a lot of yelling, groaning, and some throwing up, he was out. I had pushed for only 8 minutes.
I sat up a little and grabbed my baby son and pulled him up onto my chest. I heard my midwife say something like “see, he’s about 7.5-8 lbs. He’s not too big.” His body was pink but his face was purple and he wasn’t making a lot of noise and didn’t seem to be breathing like he should. I kept asking if he was ok. My midwife assured me he was fine and allowed the cord to continue to pulse. As they continued suctioning his mouth out, and as I rubbed his back, he started to pink up. He seemed to know right where to look and we spent the next 10 minutes or so just staring at each other and studying each other’s faces. He was so calm and adorable. His skin, completely free of vernix after cooking those extra 15 days, felt warm and like velvet. Within minutes, he was trying to nurse right through my hospital gown.
After delivering the placenta, they decided to weigh and measure him and get him swaddled. When they put him on the scale, everyone was shocked. 8 lbs. 15 oz. My midwife didn’t see that one coming. Neither did I. The nurse said something about needing to check his blood sugar since he was so big. If I hadn’t been so exhausted from the previous two hours, I would have told them to use common sense. He cooked for an extra two weeks; he’s fine. And of course, I was right. The baby’s temperature was also a bit elevated; but the midwife told them to hold off and wait a little while. I had spent an awful lot of time in the hot shower. His temperature came back to normal in no time.
Swaddled and content, they handed him back to me and I spent the next two hours just staring at him, nursing him and getting to know my son, the third baby that I had wanted but didn’t think was possible, the third baby that started as an “oops” had turned into a “meant to be.”
My son was born on the 50th anniversary of his grandmother’s death. My Dad lost his Mom when he was only 10 years old. This little man may have arrived “late” to me, but to my extended family, he arrived right on time. . . right in time to replace a bad memory with one so amazing, so very good.
I brought him home from the hospital one week ago today and we are already so completely in love with him. This is just the beginning of all the wonderful memories we’ll all be making together.
Welcome to the world, my baby meant-to-be.
Induction Eve
If my life was a musical, one of the songs playing right now would be Edie Brickell’s “I Quit, I Give Up.” Last night, two of my talented friends came out, set up their body work table and went to work on me. They hit every acupressure point they knew and they hit them hard. I had lots of contractions. When Mr. BBM got home last night, I had him hit the points again. He pressed on them until his thumbs hurt. I continued having contractions, but nothing that got stronger or closer together. I went to bed. I hit the points this morning and it’s more of the same, occasional contractions but nothing that’s going to result in a baby.
I see the midwife this afternoon. She’ll probably offer to try stripping the membranes again, a pleasant experience (insert a heap of sarcasm) where they basically go elbow deep and try to separate the bag of waters from your cervix. It’s supposed to start contractions. I’ve had it done twice this time. It resulted in me feeling absolutely miserable for an entire day. I felt abused and in no condition to push a kid out the same way. Today, I’m going to decline. What’s the point? Tomorrow is induction day. I’d rather go into it not feeling like I’ve been violated.
The other theme song that would be part of my “musical” is Alanis Morissette’s “Ironic.” Do you understand how rare it is to get through a third pregnancy without having gestational diabetes after having it the second time around? It rarely happens. I thought I was home free. I thought I had nothing holding me back from having a birth center birth. And here I am, on induction eve, facing a hospital birth. I really thought that the third time around, I would get to do things my way. I really thought, after passing my due date, that I had 14 days to get going on my own and that it would happen. It had to happen! It hasn’t.
95% of moms at my midwife’s practice go into labor within 10 days of their due date, on their own. 95%. Does it surprise you that I’m part of the 5%. For me, I guess it shouldn’t. I’m the girl who has the screw back out of her leg after an ACL surgery. My Mom should have named me “Murphy” because when it comes to medical stuff, I’m a walking “Murphy’s Law.”
I woke up this morning at 4:44 a.m. and couldn’t go back to sleep, as per usual. I was feeling sorry for myself and then I thought about something else. Boo-freaking-hoo for me. There are friends of mine who desperately wanted a baby, who would feel fortunate to be in my situation, 13 days post-dates and about to meet my baby tomorrow (hopefully tomorrow). I have several friends fighting cancer right now who would probably welcome the kind of hospital visit I’m going to have over the multiple unpleasant ones they are always having. And when all is said and done, no matter how he comes into this world, I’ll have my baby.
It just goes to show that having a birth plan is pretty much a waste of time. Nothing ever goes exactly as planned. Here’s hoping that the 13+ days I waited after my due date to meet this baby will count as “time served” and the labor will go quickly. The stubborn nature of this little one should help me figure out an appropriate blog name for him so I can introduce him to the blog world soon. Maybe I’ll call him “Baby Belated.”
Look Out, I’m Swinging Back
I feel like the mood swing queen lately. On Thursday, I was all wrapped up in a positive attitude. This morning, it seems to have disappeared along with the warm weather. When I woke up this morning, not in labor, it struck me that I am now only 4 days out from a hospital induction, 4 days away from being 42 weeks pregnant. When Fly-girl (formerly Big I, a change at her request to represent that she is quite the little butterfly swimmer) asked me this morning if I felt like I would have the baby today, it was all I could do to make it to the bathroom before bursting into tears.
I feel like my body is failing me. I keep wondering if, because I’ve been induced twice, my body just expects it to be that way again. Maybe my body’s natural ability to get things rolling doesn’t work anymore. My evening primrose oil is gone; so is my red leaf raspberry tea (my third box of it). No amount of walking, pressure point hitting or consuming of supposedly labor-inducing foods and supplements is doing a thing. As each day goes by, I’m getting more and more concerned about the labor, how big this baby will be, if I can make it through without him destroying me in the process and of course, the baby’s health and well-being. I know that there are certain risk factors that go up after 41 weeks. I’ve read all I care to read about meconium aspiration. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’m getting a little worried.
Last night, I was having some stronger contractions but they still weren’t getting closer together or getting more intense. Then I started having hot flashes. I’ve been having them since Friday. Of course, I consulted almighty Google to see if this can be a sign of early labor and it can be. However, this morning, I’m more convinced of the fact that I could be simultaneously pregnant and starting to go through early menopause. I’ve had so many signs that labor is right around the corner. . . and then they disappear. It’s getting to be really emotionally and physically exhausting.
In addition to all of that, I’m starting to feel like I’m going to get robbed again. With Fly-girl, I was scared into having an induction that was largely unnecessary. The entire labor experience was full of unpleasantness and threats of a c-section by my doctor who clearly would have rather been sleeping than be inconvenienced by me. The experience, although it ended with a healthy baby, left a lot to be desired. I would have done a lot of things differently, which is why I decided to go to a midwife with Sassy.
I had planned on an out-of-hospital birth with her, but gestational diabetes robbed me of that. Although my midwife did a wonderful job of trying to insure a birth experience in the hospital that resembled a birth center birth as closely as possible, it still involved an IV port that was annoying and painful, pressure to get Sassy her first vaccine in the hospital and a fight to take her home when the midwife said we could go home on the same day I gave birth, and the old-school pediatrician disagreed.
This time, I was able to avoid the gestational diabetes and despite the fact that this pregnancy was largely unplanned (although not unwelcome), I felt like it was my opportunity to get the birth experience I always wanted: a birth center birth with as little intervention as possible. I can feel it slipping through my fingers now as Thursday evening looms so soon in front of me.
If I do end up at the hospital, I’m six years older than I was the last time. I keep telling myself that I won’t allow a pediatrician to reduce me to tears (even with all the postpartum hormonal issues); and if my baby and I are fine, I’m getting us out of there as soon as possible. I’ve been trying to convince myself that being induced at 5 p.m. instead of in the morning, is a good thing. Yeah, I’m going to be exhausted, but my midwife will probably be there the whole time, not stuck in office hours at the birth center while she’s updated of my progress via the phone like last time. I can try to find the silver lining, but right now, I’m feeling upset, angry and like Thursday will be here all too soon. I really hope I’m wrong.
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