Who, Me?

I've always wanted to be a mother.  In fact, if you'd asked me, in elementary school, what my goals in life were, they were to be an author and a mother (and after a few detours here and there, that hasn't really changed).  My biological clock started ticking loud and clear in college and I spent the better part of a decade watching A Baby Story and reading mommy blogs.  Doing other things, too, but that was always there.

That all being said, the emotional aspects of being a mother did not come easily.  When I got pregnant, I was actually weirded out because I didn't feel some immediate emotional bond.  Part of this was fear and anxiety and superstition, I'm sure - I knew everything that could go wrong and I didn't want to get attached, especially at the beginning.  I spent the first few weeks saying things to the Yeti like "it's still just a bunch of cells at this point" and "Now it's the size of a poppyseed" - all true, of course, but partly to distance myself.

It wasn't until my NT scan at eleven weeks, when the being on the ultrasound had transformed from a motionless blob to a barrel-rolling baby form, that I started to unclench.  And then it wasn't really until around 20 weeks that I really started to think of the pregnancy as a future baby (perhaps because my morning sickness finally abated around then and I could actually think a little).

Actually having a baby was a slow transition as well.  I consider myself a fairly emotional person, but I didn't burst into happy tears at Thumper's birth.  I was more in awe that he really existed, I suppose.  We'd kept his name a secret from friends and family (we did not need or want a peanut gallery on that one, but rest assured his real name is not Thumper) and we hadn't even really used his name between the two of us - maybe more superstition on my part I suppose.  So then we had this baby and I wasn't used to thinking of him by name.   For the first month he was mostly "the baby" or "he" (no ambiguity when you say, "I think he needs a diaper change").

Sure, I was overcome by love (sometimes ridiculously so - hi there, postpartum hormones!) but I had to get to know him, I guess.  Nowadays, he's a completely integrated part of our family, and in addition to loving him, I like him, too.  The Yeti feels the same way; sometimes I get texts from him in the middle of the day about how he misses Thumper.  It's adorable.

Similarly, I'd spent all those years waiting to become a mom, but when the time came it was difficult for me to process that I had finally stepped into those shoes.  I saw a press release about the new Jem movie, and it said something like, "All the cool moms would be interested in this."  I didn't connect it to me, even though I grew up watching the Jem cartoon, was a new mother, and was indeed likely the exact demographic they were talking about.  It wasn't that I felt I was too cool to be a Mom, or anything like that; it just seemed foreign to me.

Recently we went out to dinner with some friends.  I hadn't seen them since before the birth of Thumper.  We've kept up with family through Skype, but to friends we've probably fallen off the planet with the exception of Facebook.

Listening to ourselves at dinner, I realized that at some point in the last four months the Yeti and I have become Parents.  I don't know when exactly it happened; it certainly didn't feel like it was the moment I actually gave birth.  Still, somehow without noticing I've completely internalized the Mom title.  The Yeti has embraced the Dad role as well - not a surprise to me, but potentially to those who see a grizzly bear of a guy and don't know him as well as I do.

Maybe it's all part of the magic that is the end of the "Fourth Trimester."  When Thumper was a newborn, 12 weeks was held up as a perfect number.  Tummy troubles?  Give it til twelve weeks, maybe sixteen.  Breastfeeding?  You'll feel much better by three months.  Colic-like purple crying?  Many babies are over it by then.  

...It would be silly except it's all kinda true.

On top of Thumper settling into the world outside the womb, I've been feeling much better myself.  No, I'm not 100% like I was pre-pregnancy, physically, but I felt drastically more like myself starting at around twelve weeks.  The fourth month was even better.  You'll hear all about digestive issues throughout pregnancy and labor, but no one told me that stuff might not be working as usual for weeks after.  In fact, you could say it things were irregular until... around twelve-sixteen weeks.

Even my brain started to de-fog around then.  I think I was finally adjusting to my new sleep schedule and getting more sleep as well.  That's why this blog started around then - prior to that I was still on some form of survival mode.  

I have no doubt that others bounce back immediately after having a kid - my own mother is one of them.  And some start thinking of themselves as "Mommy" before they're even pregnant.  I just seem to need a little time to get used to everything.

Even when the 'everything' is super awesome.

Adventures in Babywearing

Before I had Thumper, I was determined to be a babywearing kind of mother.  I got a stroller, yes, but I also got a K'Tan and an Ergo.  I had an infant insert for the Ergo, but I figured the K'Tan would be better when he was a newborn.

Well, unlike the sleeping situation, where everything we gambled and bought magically worked, this was not quite as smooth.

The K'Tan went smoothly exactly once: the first time I attempted to wear him.  He was a month old, and passed out minutes after I got him into position.  Yes! I thought.  This will be the magic baby bullet.   But the next time I tried, he freaked.  And the time after that.  And the time after that.

Meanwhile, Thumper was content in the Ergo probably 80% of the time.  Both the Yeti and I wore him on short trips around the neighborhood starting at around two months, and he was fine with either one of us.  I'd read some complaints about the infant insert being too hot, but Thumper was born in the middle of winter, so that suited us just fine.

Here's the problem: my back was killing me.  With the Ergo and without, my back was tired every single day, and wearing him was excruciating by the time I got back from a ten-minute trip to the grocery store.  I was baffled, because the Ergo is supposed to be one of the easiest for back problems.  I researched the proper way to wear the carrier, asked people how it looked, and adjusting helped it somewhat, but it was still a pain.  Thus, more often than not I was putting him in his stroller - it was faster, there was no question about whether he would fight it or not, and it was easier on my back.

But I felt guilty.  Like a Bad Mom.  So he might have been 100% fine in the stroller, but it was really more of a neutral state - he didn't dislike it, but he didn't seem to really like it.  In contrast, there might have been a 20% chance he'd fuss in the Ergo, but when he was settled he seemed to actually like it.  He could look around with more ease, he could hide his face if he wanted, he could chew on the straps.   And here I was, letting the Yeti wear him or sticking him in the stroller because my back was apparently too weak.  Also, while the stroller definitely came in handy in some situations (I love the giant basket underneath, we've fit so much takeout food in that thing) there were definitely others in which the Ergo was a superior choice.  And I wanted it to work.

Now flash forward to this past weekend.  Thumper's about four and a half months old, and he's had great neck strength for awhile, so it occurred to me that he might be ready to try out the Ergo without the infant insert (great timing, too, because the weather's been getting warmer).  The Yeti had made plans for us to eat brunch with a friend of his, and the restaurant was a tiny hole-in-the-wall where a stroller would not be appropriate, so it was a great opportunity to try out the Ergo sans insert.  Since it was the Yeti's friend, I volunteered to be the babywearer, and the person who would step outside if he started fussing.

Since Thumper's a peanut of a baby, we still needed the little cushion to let him sit high enough, but we ditched the larger part of the insert.  And... choirs of angels sang.  I don't know if the insert was somehow distributing his weight in a weird way, or if my back is just finally strong enough, but the difference this time was night and day.  I put Thumper in, adjusted the straps, walked across the bedroom to put on my shoes - and Thumper was already smiling.

He smiled almost the entire walk to brunch, looking around.  He was patient and interested through the meal; I stepped outside a few times, but it was mostly because I thought he was getting too warm and the air outside cooled us both down.  We had to run some unexpected errands after, and all told he spent about three hours in the carrier, but we both felt fine (albeit tired).

Not only does the Ergo make him happy, it makes him sophisticated

The only problem we still have is that he seems to have a hard time falling asleep on me when I'm wearing him in the Ergo, even when he's tired; he's much more likely to do so on the Yeti.  Oh, a note on the Ergo and the Yeti: he's a larger guy, with really broad shoulders, and we were afraid the regular Ergo wouldn't be comfortable for him.

We wound up getting the Ergo Original X-tra for him - basically it's the same as the original but with more room to adjust in the shoulders and waist.  I mention this because I basically stumbled upon this; it's newer and most hadn't heard of it (Ergobaby's new site design is now much, much better than when I was pregnant).  If you're interested in the X-tra, it's only available in two colors - gray from Diapers.com, and black from REI.  We went with black.   Since we didn't want to wrangle with the substantial adjusting we'd have to do between the two of us, I got an original Ergo for myself (black with stars - okay, I loved that design and really wanted it, which contributed to us getting two).  It means we have to stick the extra Ergo in the diaper bag, but in my opinion it's more convenient to do that and swap out with ease than adjust the fit from scratch each time.

(Side note: little old ladies love seeing a big, burly Yeti wearing a baby.  It's adorable.  No one cares when I do it, but you'd think he was the first dad ever to think of this.  Guess they haven't seen What to Expect.)

Oh, by the way, after all our recent success with the Ergo I decided to give it another shot with the K'Tan.  Still no dice, and my back hurt almost immediately.  Can't win 'em all.

I Think My Baby Might Like Scary Stories

So for the past month or so, Thumper has really liked action songs.  You know, the ones with movement, like "Itsy Bitsy Spider."  In fact, the very first time I sang that one and did the motions, his eyes lit up and he smiled.  It's still a favorite - he likes the parts where the spider gets wiped out and then the sun comes up.  I guess it is pretty epic.

One of his other favorites is "Little Bunny Foo Foo."  I wasn't sure if he'd like that one - it was long, and repetitive - but he warmed up to it quite quickly.  I've had some experience with babies before, and usually they tended to like the "bopping them on the head" part (such violence).  Thumper has never particularly responded to that, not even if I exaggerate it.  In fact, he's pretty blase through the whole first verse.

Where he does tend to perk up is where the Blue Fairy comes in.  First I thought it was because it's similar to the rain coming down in "Itsy Bitsy Spider," and that's certainly part of it.  But the grinning continues through the entire second bit, even though it's almost exactly the same as the first.  He's smiling broadly as I get to the talking part: "I'll give you three chances, and if you don't behave, I'll turn you into a goon.  But the next day..."  We're talking laughing and squealing by now.  In what is melodically the most boring part of the song.

Eventually I realized I slightly lower my voice as The Blue Fairy, even in that second singing verse.  When she speaks, it goes even lower.  So I began to experiment.  The Blue Fairy got even more spooky, more menacing.  The part where I say "But the next day..." would now fit in to a campfire ghost story.  There's now whispering involved.

And Thumper totally loves it.  The more dramatic and spooky, the better.  He even gives a satisfied smile at the end, when I say, "Hare today, goon tomorrow.  The end."  I mean, it's a pun he can't even understand.  Still, he digs it.

(That reminds me: am I the only one who talks through the end of that song, when the fairy finally gives Foo Foo his comeuppance?  If there's a melody there I don't know it.)

So I wonder if this is a sign of things to come.  Nowadays I don't really watch horror at all, but when I was in elementary school I just loved the show "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" and the Goosebumps book series.  Or maybe it just means I'll be doing many more voices as we read books.  I'll have to work on that, because "Little Bunny Foo Foo" displays pretty much my entire repertoire.

he's coming to turn you into a goon

The Year of the Christmas Tree

Back when I was pregnant, my energy levels fluctuated wildly - within the "low" range.  By the time I was in my third trimester, I was feeling all right, and like I had more energy than I had previously - but not enough to, like, do anything.  Unfortunately, most of my third trimester was spent around the holidays.

I love Christmas time.  The Yeti and I aren't religious at all.  However, I was never raised in a particularly religious household.  We celebrated Christmas and Easter, but we didn't go to church at all and I don't even know how old I was when I realized there was a Biblical component to Easter (it's all bunnies and eggs and springtime, right?), but it was well into elementary school.

Thus, I have no internal conflict in maintaining a totally secular Christmas, and like to milk as much joy and magic from the season as I can.  My plan this past year was to put the tree up a little early, my rationale being that as time went on, I'd only get more pregnant and more tired.  Any time after November 1 was fair game, I decided.

As it turned out, though, I was feeling pretty tired then.  And the next week.  I caught my terrible cold from Hell around then, too, so I was too busy hacking, sneezing and immediately making a mad dash for the bathroom after either activity.  Though I intended to put the tree up as soon as possible, I didn't actually get anything up until the beginning of December.

With this track record, perhaps I should taken the tree down immediately after Christmas.  But I thought it might be fun to leave it up until Thumper was born, to take him home to a nicely lit Christmas tree.  And it might be easier to take it town when I wasn't big and pregnant anyway...

...Perhaps you can see where this is going.

Oh, look!  You can see the lit tree in the background of this pic of Thumper... taken in the middle of February.

And oh, there it is peeking out again! ...in a picture taken sometime after St. Patrick's Day.  

The problem was that whenever I had a spare minute in which to take down the tree, there was always something more valuable I could be doing instead.  At first, that was sleep.  Then it became stuff like laundry or dishes or just sitting a moment.  

To make matters worse, I had our stockings hung from little bookend-type hangers on our bookshelf.  That bookshelf just happened to be in the background when we Skyped with family.  And without fail, someone always noticed it and commented on it.  I should have just taken the damn stockings down, but I had half a brain and was usually lucky if I was clothed and coherent.  

At some point I had had enough of the Christmas tree.  The Yeti suggested I leave it up 'til next year - "It's been up this long," he said - but I stubbornly wanted to maintain the specialness of Christmas and, let's face it, that dusty tree was not very magical at this point.  Plus, "The Year of the Christmas Tree" sounded like a bad Hallmark movie.  So I had intentions of taking it down the weekend after St. Patrick's Day... but you know how that goes.  

And then it was Easter.  

We Skyped with both sides of the family on Easter.  Both sides commented on the stockings.  

The next day I had all the ornaments off the tree and the other miscellaneous decorations packed away.  The tree itself took another week or so, because retrieving the bins needed to store it required the Yeti, and he's worse than I am.  

But it's been up, and done, for a little while now.  And good thing too, because we're getting a jumperoo and we can use the space (baby stuff is like The Blob - it just keeps growing).  

Next year I'm thinking I might do something entirely different for our Christmas tree - like getting all plastic and wood ornaments that are safe from mobile near-toddlers.  Maybe I'll even get one of those little, brightly colored trees from Target while I'm shaking things up.  

Then the next year, by the time I pull out our traditional decorations, I'll be ready to look at them again.  It wasn't The Year of the Christmas Tree, but it was long enough.  

The Glorified Drawer

Newborns pretty much only do three things, and one of the most appreciated is sleep.  Even now, my day seems to hinge on the sleep I got the night before - too little and everything feels twice as hard.  Granted, my definition of what "too little" is has certainly changed!

The hardest part of shopping before a baby is born is that you have no idea what type of baby they'll be.  You'll hear about babies that refuse to sleep anywhere but their (fill in the blank): stroller, swing, co-sleeper, parents' bed.  You're not a fortune teller, but at the same time, a place for the baby to sleep is definitely on the list of must-haves for that first day home.  Thus, I decided to hedge my bets a little.

Currently, we're living in a one-bedroom apartment with a den (which currently functions as an office).  If we're still living here when Thumper is a bit older, that den will certainly turn into a nursery for him, but we're actually in no rush to do so.  Even when we had more space, I always planned to have our (at the time) future baby sleep in our room for the first several months; it's recommended to prevent against SIDS, and it just made more sense to me when it comes to waking up in the middle of the night for feedings.

So I knew I wanted to have Thumper in the bedroom with us.  I also knew I wanted to avoid bed-sharing if at all possible.  I know myself, and my anxiety, and I knew I would never get a good night's sleep with Thumper in the bed with me, not as an infant at any rate.

(Random aside: one of the nurses in the hospital encouraged bedsharing and actually said putting the baby in the hospital bassinet was a good way for the baby to not get any sleep.  I did try sleeping with him in the hospital bed with me, and neither one of us really slept.  But he conked out in the bassinet.  The opinions fly fast and early.)

At first I looked at the co-sleepers that were open on one side, but they seemed awfully expensive for such a limited use.  Then I realized that thanks to the layout of our bedroom, we can only put the bed on one wall and the space on either side was too narrow for a co-sleeper.  Well, that decided that.

Eventually I started looking at deluxe pack'n'plays that had a bassinet setting.  I didn't want to use a pack'n'play as a crib, but looking at bassinets in person made me realize that there's really no mattress in any of them to speak of - newborns are practically sleeping on boards - and the options in the pack'n'plays were as good as any.  And a pack'n'play could be useful down the road, for traveling or containing Thumper if I need to.  Like Alton Brown, I love a multitasker.  We wound up going with this one, the one with the Newborn Napper Elite, and put it at the foot of our bed.

However, I wasn't sure if Thumper would actually sleep in it.  So, to hedge my bets, I also bought a Fisher Price Rock'n'Play as well.  People rave over them, and I liked the portability and versatility of it.  My hope was that at least one of them would work.

As it turns out, both worked splendidly.  Thumper tended to sleep in the Rock'n'Play, in the living room, for naps, and in the Newborn Napper section of the Pack'n'Play at night.  Both have a vibrate function, and man did we fly through the D batteries in those first few months.

All things considered, he slept great in the Newborn Napper.  I'd put him down when we were ready for bed and I didn't even have to rock him; he'd conk out on his own after a few minutes (he's not quite as good at that anymore).  He has always managed to work his hands out of swaddles, even in the hospital, so after awhile I started wrapping the blanket under his arms.  That way, I figured, he wouldn't be able to scrunch down and get the blanket over his face.  And since the napper was relatively small, I felt comfortable in the knowledge that he wouldn't somehow wiggle out.  

At two and a half months, we tried the bassinet setting on the Pack'n'Play.  It didn't go well.  I think the bassinet platform was too springy and unstable-feeling, not to mention a bigger space; he went to sleep, but woke up 20 minutes later and freaked out.  We reinstalled the napper and decided to keep him in it until he was ready for a full crib.  He was a small baby, but growing quickly and we knew soon he'd be rolling over.  The Napper recommends stopping at 3 months, and he was a week or two past that when we put together the crib.  

Towards the end, he'd scrunch down and stick his feet up

It was fairly nerve-wracking (for us) transitioning him into the crib; because he didn't have his own nursery, we'd basically be swapping out one structure for the other, cold-turkey, instead of slowly introducing him with naps the way some do.  We didn't want to fold up the pack'n'play altogether, as we still use the diaper changing table, but we moved it to another location, and we left the napper in place... just in case.  

I was actually really excited about the new crib.  I didn't really get the nesting bug when I was pregnant, and didn't decorate a nursery, so I guess I'm doing that now in small bursts.  I've always liked modern and mid-century modern furniture, and I was instantly drawn to the Babyletto Hudson crib, two-toned in wood and white.  I especially liked that there was no "front" and "back" to the crib, which made it ideal for being at the foot of the bed.  

no, the blanket doesn't stay there. safety first!

I knew that once Thumper had more space and started rolling, he'd probably manage to get out of his blanket, so I switched over to sleep sacks a few weeks before we put together the crib.  I loved the Aden and Anais blankets for swaddling, and Thumper loves to chew on the muslin whenever he can, so I got their sleep sacks as well.  

As far as how the transition went: surprisingly, really smoothly.  He woke up an extra time or two that first night, but he didn't seem scared the way he had in that bassinet.  I don't know if it really was an issue of stability, or if he was just "ready" to be in a bigger space.  The transition was probably helped in general by the fact that he was in the same location, in our room, and he could see us easily.  

In the last few weeks he's had more difficulty falling asleep at night.  Even his most difficult is maybe ten or twenty minutes to fall asleep, though, so I'm not complaining.  And though he's not consistently sleeping through the night, stretches of 5-7 hours are becoming increasingly frequent.  I'm sure there will be new sleeping obstacles in the future, but for now I'm taking my victories where I can get them.  Naps, too.  

commemorating the night he slept from 11:30 to 6

12 in 2014: May

I'm a bit late in hopping in on this linkup, but I'm excited to finally have a blog and join in.  So Thumper has been fascinated with mirrors lately, and occasionally I turn the camera on my phone and let him look at himself (and then surreptitiously take pictures while we're at it).  On this occasion, however, he reached out to his reflection and wound up taking his first selfie.  And naturally it's better than anything I take.  

When Eating is Hard

Once my milk finally came in, I thought breastfeeding would get easier.  It didn't.

What follows is not specific to breastfeeding, though; it's my impression this happens to many babies, regardless of how they're fed.

So, Thumper was a few weeks old when feeding time became an absolute nightmare.  He clearly had gas; about midway through a feeding he'd start to cry.  Sometimes he'd arch his back.

Here's what I did:  I burped him constantly.  I bicycled his legs.  I massaged him.  I tried gas drops, and gripe water, and probiotics drops (not at the same time).  With the possible exception of the probiotic drops, nothing helped.  I was exhausted after every feeding because I was constantly moving: burping, turning him this way and that.  A while after he appeared to be done eating he'd calm down.  Sometimes night feedings were better, but he was still crying.

Naturally, the first place I turned was Google - not just Dr. Google, but the crowdsourcing of countless forums, anything I could find that sounded similar to what he was doing.  I also asked his doctor about it, at more than one appointment.

The advice I got and found can fit into a few groups.  From the doctors, and sources with background and training in such matters, I heard: his system is probably immature.  Nothing appears to be physically wrong.  Give him a few months and he'll outgrow it, probably by six months.  You can try the drops/gripe water/probiotics, and they probably won't help but they won't hurt.

From the forums of mothers, this is without exception the first comment I would see: It's probably an intolerance to something you're eating.  Cut out dairy, then everything else.  I always knew when I ate something wrong because the results were immediate.  If you're on formula, switch to something that isn't dairy first, then go from there.

Other tidbits I heard on the elimination diet front: It'll take a few weeks for every trace to leave your system; you might have to cut out anything from strawberries to gluten to sugar to caffeine, giving a few weeks to check for results each time.  Once you get everything, though, he'll be a different baby.  Oh, and it's not forever; most of these "intolerances" go away by six months.

There were also those who said it was likely reflux, and their baby was on a medication for it.  Besides frequent burping and holding upright, which I was already doing, most of the home remedies involved having the babies sleep on an incline.  Between the newborn napper of our Pack'n'Play and his Rock'n'Play, he was already on an incline most of the time anyway.  Actually diagnosing reflux is pretty invasive; it would appear most doctors just prescribe the meds to try out.

Then there were those who claimed all the issues were related to foremilk/hindmilk imbalance, or maybe oversupply.  I became convinced I had this problem, though in retrospect I'm not sure if I did. Regardless, I switched to feeding him on one side only at a time.  He didn't seem hungry, but he didn't seem any better, either.

Here's the thing: when your child visibly looks like they're in pain, you'll be willing to try pretty much anything to make it go away.  Double that when you're sleep-deprived in those first few weeks of hormonal hell.  When Thumper slept, instead of sleeping myself I went back over the same pages and searches, trying to find the situation that fit just right, find the solution.

Even asking my mom for advice wasn't very useful.  "In my day they'd say, 'What did you eat?'" she said.  She didn't seem to be familiar with anything I described.  "He's crying in the middle of the feed?  Oh, my," she said.  "Yes, feeding him is miserable.  It's not some magical bonding experience, trust me," I replied.  I'd read about women nursing their bouncing babies to sleep, and feel jealous.

Even in my fog, though, some of these anecdotes seemed a little fishy.  Everyone has a baby with a food intolerance?  Everyone had to eliminate a litany of products but their baby got better right around the time their system would be maturing anyway?

One of the most helpful pages was this one from KellyMom.  It confirmed a lot of what I'd read about dairy staying in the system for weeks, but more helpfully, included a list of actual symptoms for babies with intolerance.  With the possible exception of the occasional (bloodless) green stool, and the fussiness,  Thumper didn't really have the signs of a food intolerance.  Plus I had the assurance of his doctor that nothing was visibly wrong.  So I did something that was actually really difficult: nothing.

I didn't eliminate every food I was eating.  I did stick with the probiotic drops for a little while, just in case, and of course I kept up with the bicycling and burping and whatnot.  At first I still went to Google at every nap, still searching for that magic answer.  Eventually the Yeti reminded me that I wasn't going to find anything, and the most likely answer was time.  It was hard to break the habit, though, especially after a particularly tough feeding.

And here's what happened: he got better.  Just before the three-month mark, he got notably better.  He actually was falling asleep after eating on occasion.  Even better, eating was no longer a time for crying.

He got bigger, and calmer.  Now he's just over four months, and would probably drift off after eating about half the time, if circumstances allowed.  I'll feed him on one side most of the time, but I always offer both sides, and he'll take both also about half the time.  Burping is minimal; recently he's started waving his arm in the middle of a feed, which I've been interpreting as a need to sit up and take a break (usually burp).

Sometimes I'm clearly just a food source.  Sometimes any sound is far more interesting than milk, and he'll look around at the slightest thing that grabs his attention.  But sometimes, feeding my baby really does feel like a bonding moment - and it almost always feels relaxing these days.

It just felt like when I was trying to find an answer, I never found the accounts of parents who said, "He just grew out of it."  Just the other day, I saw a distant acquaintance asking about this very issue on Facebook.  Three guesses what advice she got.

This is not to say that food intolerances don't exist; I just think they're also accompanied with more physical evidence, and maybe not quite as common as we're led to believe.  So I'm just adding my story to the cacophony of personal anecdotes, to say it is entirely possible a baby can just grow into their stomach.

I think Thumper would agree with me.

Post-partum Fashion

Confession: I've never been good at being a housewife, even before I got pregnant.  Or rather, I've never made it look good.  I used to do some freelance work from home, and really I suppose I should've been able to have the house looking perfect every day.  It didn't.  I don't know that it ever did, actually.

Similarly, my own appearance: being at home meant I could theoretically stay in my pajamas all day.  So, unless I was going out somewhere, I did.  In fact, even when I'd go somewhere, I'd change right back into my comfy clothes the moment I got home.  I suppose I'm lucky that I have a husband that values comfort as much as I do - or that I met him when I was getting dressed regularly.  I shudder to think what I would have looked like had I been homeschooled.

When I was pregnant I probably looked more pulled-together, because I had to buy and wear maternity clothes out of necessity, and I actually felt pretty cute.  No longer was I buying clothes and then "saving" them for special occasions that never came; I had a small amount of clothes that fit me, so they were going to be worn.

Now I'm a mother, and theoretically just entering my "frumpy" stage, when in fact I've been here for some time and am actually trying to get out.  I'm starting small; it might be a cliche to wear yoga pants and sweatshirts, but I'm making an effort to buy clothes that feel like pajamas but look like they could actually be clothes in the right light.  At least fitted sweatshirts are somewhat "in" right now.

I'm wearing tank tops under almost everything, because they're easiest when it comes to nursing.  I think dresses would normally be a good option - throw one on and you look put-together - but they're a pain on the nursing front.  I do like long hippie-type skirts; I wore them through most of my first and second trimesters, and I suspect I'll be pulling them out this summer as well.

So that's roughly where I'm at on the clothing front.  If there's any interest I might pull together a few outfits as examples, but for me the novelty is looking like I'm not about to go to bed, not that I'm particularly fashionable.  Where I do need help is accessories - I never seem to know how to accessorize anything.  And, of course, I'm open to suggestions too.  Anyone have any tips and tricks to looking like you've made an effort without actually doing so?

Yer a Wizard, Luke

Ever since the Star Wars prequels came out in theaters, I've been privy to the same conversation over and over again: in what order should our children watch the Star Wars films?  Personally, I don't really care, as I think the prequels are pretty bad.  But I realized there's another reason for my apathy: I don't have strong feelings about Star Wars at all because I first saw it incredibly young.

My family actually owned a VCR and had cable in the mid-80s, and they would tape stuff off of HBO.  A favorite of my older siblings was apparently the Star Wars films - but I wasn't even born when the first one came out.  Thus, some of my earliest memories are of that HBO "feature presentation" screen, and that black screen with the blue words: "A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away..."

So I've always known that Luke and Leia were twins, and that Vader was their father.  It's never been special or shocking to me, because I knew the film backwards and forwards before I could even understand the concepts.  I've never approached it with fresh eyes.

So when it comes to Thumper, I'm torn between wanting to share my favorite moments from childhood as early as possible, and wanting to wait until he's old enough to really appreciate it.  When's an appropriate time to experience Disney World for the first time?  When should he read or watch Harry Potter - and should he read the books first, or read/watch each book/movie as it's developmentally appropriate?

That's the really tough one for me, because I was in college when the first movie came out, and most people who were children for the first Harry Potter books were given time to grow up before the later, darker ones came out.  It's uncharted territory.  But if I delay too long, will Thumper be going to school with kids who tell him "Snape killed Dumbledore"?

I know, he's only an infant now.  But I think about this sort of thing just as much as I think about the Santa issue (I'll talk more about that later but short version: have no clue what we're doing on that front).

Then there's another issue: I'm not interested in trying to create a clone of myself or the Yeti in Thumper.  So I know full well there's a chance Thumper might not care one bit about Doctor Who, or Harry Potter, or even science fiction and fantasy as entire genres.  He might think Star Wars is the coolest thing ever and we'll be sucking it up with a smile.  He might hate movies (I don't know anyone who actually hates all movies, but you never know).  I might be taking him to soccer even though I can't walk through a building without injuring myself.

But on the off chance that he actually would enjoy Harry Potter or Disney, I don't want to blow it by rendering it un-special, or traumatizing him by showing him something too scary at too young an age.  I'm sure when he's old enough for it to actually be an issue we'll just fall into an answer and I'm overthinking, but I don't mind puzzling over it hypothetically.

But if you're a parent with young kids, I wouldn't mind hearing what you've done.  Especially the Harry Potter issue.  Maybe it's the sleep deprivation, but it seems like getting three hens and two foxes across a river without anyone getting eaten.

Mickey ears or Jedi? You decide

Please, Be Gentle

Growing up, my family did not have much money.  Perhaps for that reason, my mother was very careful when it came to doing the laundry.  Stains were painstakingly removed.  Most everything, with the exceptions of towels, socks and bedding, was washed on cold and hung out to dry.  Appropriate cycles and settings were always used.  My little sister was much younger than me, so we didn't do hand-me-downs in-family much, but when I outgrew clothes they were taken to Goodwill or given to other families we knew, and they were practically in mint condition.

After a brief stint of "put everything in the same wash and dry cycle" in college, I cultivated many of those same habits as an adult.  Everything was washed on cold, and shirts were always hung up in the bathroom.  My stuff was typically washed on gentle.  Sometimes I was lazy about letting laundry pile up, but when it was eventually done, it was done properly.

Well, now I have a baby.  Most baby clothes say that they should be washed on cold, in the gentle cycle.  No problem, right?  Well... but what about when said clothes are totally covered in spit-up or baby poop?  It's from breastfed milk, so it should be entirely water-soluble, but still.  Cloth diapers are washed on hot for a reason, right?  And just because Thumper's wrecked clothes can be washed on the same setting as my clothes doesn't mean I necessarily want them in the same load...

The Yeti is even more squeamish than I am about this and would happily wash everything in hot if it's been pooped on.  And he'd probably give himself a Silkwood shower if he was involved, as well.  After Thumper was born the Yeti actually did quite a few loads of laundry while I was in bed, and he even stuck to whatever setting I told him.  But after awhile, he started questioning my "rules" and offering "suggestions."

Whatever the cause, laundry has been somewhat relaxed now.  Here's what I do:

Thumper's clothes, burp cloths, blankets, etc, tend to get thrown into one load.  Often my clothes get thrown in too.  A typical load is washed on cold; depending on my mood and how dirty I feel stuff is it's either on gentle or normal.   Some of my shirts get hung up, but most everything else goes in the dryer on low or medium (a lot of stuff now goes in the dryer that never used to).  If I'm tired I purposely leave out anything I'd have to hang up, so I can just transfer the whole load without thinking about it.

If there's been a poopsplosion anything affected goes in the washer immediately.  Washed on warm, normal.  If there's a dramatic spit-up that sort of stuff will go in as well, to be washed on warm.

The Yeti's clothes get washed on cold, normal, and I still hang up his shirts.  Often I'll throw in my own shirts that need to be hung.  Yes, it means they're not washed on gentle but who really cares anymore.  I don't wash the Yeti's stuff on gentle because his thicker t-shirts and other shirts would weigh a hundred pounds.

Recently we've had a new situation: at night a few times Thumper's wet through his pajamas, sleep sack, and crib sheet.  The crib sheets specifically say wash on gentle and dry on low, and I don't want to deal with a fitted sheet that has now shrunk, so I've gone with warm and gentle in that case.  Yep, I'm aware I'm gambling a bit on that one (as it's the hot water that really shrinks) so it depends on how squeamish I'm feeling.

clean pajamas, sleep sack, and sheet... for now

I'm not doing much for the longevity of Thumper's clothes, but he outgrows them so fast and soils them in horrific ways anyway.  I know I'll save a few things, for nostalgic purposes and because I haven't decided if he'll be my only child, but the vast majority is just going to have to take a beating.  This is also why I shop primarily at Ross and Old Navy; the stuff is cute, and I'm not shelling out a ton of money for something with a limited lifespan.

Oh!  Another thing that's changed: when it comes to my own clothes, I might've worn something new without washing it first, but anything Thumper comes in contact with gets washed first, religiously.  And I've switched to Tide Free and Gentle, and Downy Free and Sensitive for everyone.  Now it's strange when I pull something out-of-season out of a drawer, and smell the old detergent.

If anyone has any suggestions to further consolidate laundry or other household tips, I'm all for listening.  I'm well aware I'm operating with half a brain right now and the less housework, the better!

Why Breastfeeding is Hard: a Punch to the Face

When I was pregnant, I read all the birth stories I could find.  Most of them wrapped up with this vague comment: "...and breastfeeding is hard."  I'm the sort of person who likes to be prepared (and have things spelled out for her in gory detail) so I wondered: what about it was hard, exactly?  Was it supply issues?  Pain?  The physical mechanics of it?

Well, as it turns out, it could be all or none of the above; breastfeeding is a pretty personal thing, and often both people involved are completely inexperienced.  But regardless of your personal situation, I think many people experience what I did in those first few days after the birth of my son.  Even when breastfeeding goes relatively smoothly, Breastfeeding is Hard, and here's why.

We had a perfectly auspicious beginning; even with the mag I had to take in labor, Thumper came out strong and alert.  I didn't really know how to make him latch on, but the nurses helped and when he did, he was a little vacuum.  I knew I had colostrum - the stuff you get before the real milk comes in -because I had leaked here and there throughout the end of pregnancy.  It was only a tiny amount, but the baby's stomach is only something like the size of a marble, so it fills up quickly.

It also empties quickly.  So here's what we have: a baby that gets hungry frequently.  Nipples that are getting sore (one actually turned black and blue, but I got that worked out eventually).  Meanwhile, you're told that the baby will get more full once the "real" milk comes in, which happens within 2-5 days.  So you're waiting... and waiting.

Most babies lose some weight right after they're born, especially if you're on an IV because they're all inflated with extra fluid.  Mine lost a few ounces, but not anything the doctors were concerned with, so I knew he wasn't starving.  However, Thumper was born on Tuesday night.  On Friday afternoon, when I left the hospital, I was still waiting for that milk to come in.

As I've mentioned previously, my hospital was very encouraging of breastfeeding.  A few of the nurses were also lactation consultants, and came in to check out the baby's latch.  I wasn't given any free samples of formula, and I was told over and over again about stuff like nipple confusion (try to limit pacifiers, one said) and not introduce bottles for awhile.  Not a problem; I hadn't even bought bottles.  I didn't think I'd need them.  After all, my mother had nursed me until I was a year old, and that was my goal too.  In theory I should have been feeling supported and confident and knowledgeable.

There's one other factor, though:  hormones.  In pregnancy you're all pumped up with hormones.  After birth they get carried away with the placenta and you actually go through sort of a mini-menopause, with hot flashes and sweating and mood swings like I've never experienced in my life.  We're not talking the anger of PMS or crying at a commercial with an abused dog.  We're talking crying at anything, just because.  I sobbed because my husband brought me something to eat.

I'd already cracked and given my screaming baby a pacifier in the hospital and felt like a bad mom then (the hospital provides them, because that was another thing I thought I wouldn't need.  Yeah, right.).  In retrospect, it wasn't that big of a deal (and there never was any nipple confusion) but those hormones made it the worst thing in the world.  Now here I was, at home, still feeding the kid pretty much constantly, still waiting for that magic milk to come in. Crying all the time, and knowing that there's a very real possibility it might not come in at all, wondering if I'm starving my baby.  Oh, and sleep was pretty much nonexistent, which I'm sure just added to the mix of irrationality.  Yet there I was, having to rely blindly on faith, and I am not a person who does that very often.

The milk came in Sunday afternoon, pretty much at the last possible minute.  The next day we went to the doctor for his one-week checkup, and he'd already regained his birth weight and put on an extra ounce. No reason for concern.   But I felt like I'd just survived a battle.  And that, my friends, is what we call a smooth beginning.

Now, we didn't have friends or family in town, so we didn't have anyone saying encouraging things throughout this process.  The Yeti was willing to go along with whatever I said in the matter, but he couldn't be very reassuring when he's as clueless as me.  On the other hand, I'm reasonably sure if my mother or mother-in-law had been there, they would have encouraged me to go for formula at the first sign of distress, because that's just what they did in those days (I think I was the only one of my siblings who was breastfed, and even then probably not exclusively), so I didn't have anyone undermining my decisions, either.  Also I had read all of this on the internet before, so I should have expected this would happen.  And still, in the moment, with the hungry baby and the hormones and the sleep deprivation, it was incredibly, incredibly hard.

So you start off breastfeeding with a punch to the face, more or less.  Only after you get through that do you get to assess stuff like supply and latch and reflux.  For whatever reason, this was a battle I chose, and I've been proud of the fact that I've been successful thus far.  But I don't think it's as simple as just toughening up and choosing your battle; there's also just the luck of the draw.  Yes, I've stuck with breastfeeding, but I've had minimal complications.  And it's still challenging.  Some days I think, "Ah, this is much more convenient these days, I'm glad I have the option to not pump and not have to clean bottles all the time.  Feeding him real food will be a hassle."  Other days, I think, "I'm a third of the way there.  I just need to stick it out a little longer."

Thus you'll get no judgment from me when it comes to getting a baby fed.  What's best is what produces a full baby and a sane mom.  Breastfeeding is pretty cool, and for me it did get easier, but it can often start as an uphill battle when you're at your most fragile.  And that's why, no matter how smoothly it appears to be going, we trust the woman who says Breastfeeding is Hard.

Laughing With Us and At Us

So the baby Thumper (not his real name, not sure if I'm going to stick with this one or not) has been smiling for a few months, but only in the last month has he been developing his laugh.  It starts out as a smile that gets bigger and bigger, until finally he gives a little "heh heh" chuckle or a squeal.  When he really gets going, his laugh is surprisingly lower and sounds like "Ha! Ha!"

It can sometimes sound a little mocking, I think mostly because it makes me think of this:

Most of the time, he doesn't seem to be laughing at anything specific; the Yeti and I will be laughing at something together, and Thumper wants to join in, so he chuckles along with us (which usually makes us laugh harder).  But there are times.  Oh, there are times.  

One day I'm in Whole Foods and Thumper's along for the ride in the Ergo carrier.  We get to the checkout aisle and I notice Thumper's smiling at the cashier.  This is kind of a big deal, because at that point, he pretty much only smiled at the Yeti, me, and my mother when she visited and spent an extended amount of time with him.  When strangers tried to say hello or smile at him, he typically wouldn't even make eye contact.  

So he's sitting here smiling at the cashier, and the smile is getting bigger and bigger.  The cashier isn't even paying attention to him, he's talking to me, but Thumper's staring in delight.  Then he starts to chuckle: "Heh heh heh." 

At this point perhaps I should mention that the cashier, in typical hipster fashion befitting Whole Foods, has this giant, wispy, handlebar mustache that's wiggling as he speaks.  And it hits me: it sure looks like Thumper's laughing at it.  

He's done this a few more times since: when he watched me chew my food.  After the Yeti and I got haircuts he distinctly laughed while looking at the tops of our heads (thanks, kid).  It's adorable and hilarious, but at the same time I'm a little relieved he isn't talking yet.  Who knows what he's thinking when he gets going? 

see, mustaches are funny

Labor Day

Having an induction date is absolutely bizarre.  For one thing, you have a pretty good idea of your baby’s birthdate.  Yes, there was a chance I could have gone into labor spontaneously, but I had never even felt anything I could identify as a contraction (I’m still not sure I ever really even had Braxton-Hicks).  At my 37 week appointment, I was dilated maybe one centimeter.  For this induction, we’d be starting from scratch.  

Because we knew it’d be a long process, they had me come in at 8 that night - so again, we spent an entire day knowing the baby would likely be born in the next 48 hours.  I hadn’t been particularly emotional throughout the pregnancy, but the nerves and adrenaline wreaked havoc on my emotions that day.  I cried several times, and also had random shakes once or twice.  I imagine the stress from my unstable blood pressure didn’t help.  

You always hear about women nesting and cleaning right before the baby comes, but since I wasn’t ready to go into labor yet I’d had no such feelings.  A few days before my induction, my brain finally kicked in and I had the energy and desire to Clean All the Things.  Unfortunately, right about then my blood pressure went wonky and I was told to take it easy.  Thankfully, my husband, the Yeti, helped out a lot so I didn’t go insane with not being able to do everything.  I also got a haircut the day before the induction - good thing, because at 4 months I still haven’t gotten another one (it’s on the list).

The hospital was quiet when we arrived, which wasn’t really a surprise.  When I moved to the area, I knew I’d want to get pregnant soon so I actually worked in reverse - I found a hospital I liked, then chose an OB/GYN practice from their list of doctors with privileges.  This hospital was small and quiet and very natural-labor friendly.  The hospital was more of a campus than one monolithic building.  The maternity ward (they called it the birth center) was in a freestanding building, so it wasn’t, for lack of a better term, a germy place.  They encouraged skin-to-skin and breastfeeding.  

Because of my blood pressure issues, it was recommended I have an epidural - but to be honest, I would have wanted one anyway.  It may seem a little odd that I was having a planned induction and epidural, but still looked for the crunchiest hospital I could find - in fact, I’m pretty sure I was the only one that night that didn’t go all-natural.  All I can say is that before I got pregnant, I wasn’t sure what interventions I’d want or need, but I wanted the option of being as natural as was appropriate.  I didn’t labor in a tub, but the room had one.  And the breastfeeding and skin-to-skin was important to me.  

I still read people all the time who claim that without exception, a hospital birth is a sterile (in the bad sense) and soulless experience, and the doctors and nurses will ignore you and your wishes and check their watches and laugh at your birth plan.  That wasn’t my experience at all.  I didn’t write out a birth plan, though - I figured I was best off if I was prepared for anything, including a c-section.  

So on Monday night, it was quiet, just as it had been through most of the NSTs I’d had.  We checked in, and the doctor came and checked me.  Still the same, still 1 cm dilated, like the week before.  They gave me the Cervidil and told me it might make me cramp, or it might even kickstart labor.  They put in the stuff for the IV in case I needed it later and left us for the night.  

Well, sort of.  They also took my blood every four hours and checked my blood pressure intermittently.  This was a pain, because my veins are deep-set and roll.  I got used to sleepily telling the blood tech every time, just in case. 

The cramping increased throughout the night, but it didn’t seem to come and go like contractions.  Occasionally I asked the Yeti if he saw any on the printout (I was also hooked up to monitors like the NSTs).  He didn’t.  The baby’s heart rate was nice and steady, though, and listening to it was as comforting as feeling him kick (which he did almost constantly).  

At 9 in the morning, I was in considerable pain.  The doctor came in and checked out the situation.  That cervix check was the most painful it’d ever been, and I still don’t know why - maybe my pain tolerance was already worn down?  Maybe it was because I was half asleep?  At any rate, it was miserable.  I was three centimeters dilated.  They started the pitocin and broke my water.  

However, there was soon a problem.  Unrelated to everything else, the blood tests had revealed that my platelets were dropping, a bad, pre-ecclampsia-related sign.  The decision was eventually made to start me on magnesium, which is an anti-seizure med that they give you with pre-ecclampsia.  I didn’t officially have it, but it was more of a “safe than sorry” measure.  

In retrospect, it did help my anxiety a little - no point in worrying about pre-e since they’re already doing all they would anyway.  But the mag was a pain.  It gives hot flashes and just generally makes you feel foggy and crappy.  It’s at this point that my timeline gets a little unclear, and it’s probably at least partially from the meds.  

I went with the narcotic pain med at first - I wasn’t sure if there was some time limit with the epidural (in retrospect, why didn’t I just ask?  Don’t be afraid to ask, people).  Food wasn’t restricted, so I chowed down on some french toast with sugar-free syrup and promptly threw it back up.  The Yeti isn’t super-squeamish, and he’s seen me at my worst, but I had still tried to protect him from my constant vomiting throughout 20 weeks of morning sickness.  I actually succeeded, but I wound up throwing up at least three times in labor - and guess who kindly held the bowl up to my face every time?  

I was still shaking every so often, and I think that was the adrenaline and nerves.  I knew to expect it, but it, too, was annoying.  The pain medication really took the edge off, but you can only have so much, and after a few hours it was time for the epidural.  

Getting the epidural wasn’t bad at all, probably because I was already on pain meds.  I focused very hard on sitting absolutely still.   Unfortunately, the anesthesiologist had trouble placing it - I kept feeling the pressure a little bit to the right side, instead of right in the middle.  I have no idea how many times I got poked, but at one point the nurse suggested we take a break.  I insisted I was fine (I really was), and he got it placed.  In retrospect I wonder if that was a mistake. 

A few (many?) hours later, I started to feel pain in one specific spot.  It was vaguely where my left ovary might be.  Just that one little spot, so it was easy to ignore at first.  It got more insistent, and I envisioned a hole that was slowly growing.  

The anesthesiologist was called back in, and they did tests with bags of ice.  At first, I was still totally numb, so it was a mystery.  After awhile, it seemed I was maybe getting feeling back in patches.  They had me roll to one side, to the other.  They bumped up the juice.  No dice.  I was in more and more pain.  The nurse (the only one I wasn’t a fan of the entire time) suggested maybe I was feeling pressure and couldn’t differentiate it from pain.  It sure felt like pain, but at the time it seemed like it might have some logic.  The anesthesiologist just seemed annoyed, and he was about to end his shift.  Eventually he gave up and left, and I wasn’t sorry to see him go. 

Meanwhile I was still in pain.  Rolling had helped temporarily, but soon the same patch was back, and then other random parts as well.  This time it was clearly corresponding to the contractions on the monitor; I could feel the beginning and ending a few seconds before the monitor.  

At my 36-week appointment, a quick peek at the ultrasound had revealed the baby was facing backwards, or sunny-side up.  Now I wonder if he was spinning around in labor, because the horrible pain seemed to move from the front patch, to my back for a few contractions, then back up front again.  The contractions were only a minute or so apart.   One of the nurses seemed adamant that I must be close to pushing, so she checked my cervix.  Still only three centimeters dilated.  Exactly the same.   

At this point, I started getting upset.  I was afraid of the pain.  I was afraid it would cause my blood pressure to freak out and... what, I’m not sure, but something bad.  I was afraid the pain I was feeling was due to placental abruption, something else I was at risk for.  Eventually I voiced this fear, and they assured me I was fine and they’d know if that happened (don’t be afraid to ask, people).  I was afraid I’d have to give birth feeling everything.  Pretty much the only birth plan I’d had was to not feel everything.  Also, there were women giving birth naturally all around me and I’d been listening to them; I was not mentally prepared for that. 

The new anesthesiologist came in (so it must have been 7 pm at this point).  She tried some of the same techniques, to no avail.  Eventually, one of the nurses let me know that a new epidural was an option, and I said I wanted it.  One of the other nurses (the one I didn’t like) had disparagingly said earlier, “You don’t want to be as numb as a brick so you can’t even push,”  but at that point that was exactly what I wanted.  The new anesthesiologist sprang into action.  There was no poking around this time - she got it placed pretty much immediately. Sweet, sweet relief.  The nurse I hadn’t liked had also left with the 7pm shift change, and been replaced with a nice, friendly girl, and suddenly life was better in general.  The woman next door finally gave birth (I think she’d been pushing for hours) and that was sweet to hear.  Maybe half an hour later they checked my cervix and I was seven centimeters!  I think finally getting that good epidural allowed my body to relax enough to do its thing.  

In no time at all I was nine centimeters, then fully dilated, so we started to do what was described to me as “laboring down” or “practice pushes.”  Here’s where the epidural surprised me: I really felt no pain at all (so I guess I was numb as a brick).  However, I did feel the urge to push... somehow.  I can’t quite explain the sensation, or even how I knew what it was, but I did.  I’d feel that strange tugging somewhere in my torso and I’d say, “Is it time to push?”  The nurse would glance at the monitor and say “Yep!” and I’d push.  The doctor (my OB, actually, which was nice) was sitting on the side of my bed, and the nurse, the doctor, the Yeti and I chatted in between contractions.  

I’d taken barre classes before getting pregnant, and I kept thinking of their ab exercises, pushing from my core.  Apparently it was very effective - but again, while I knew it was work, and I could feel my muscles working, I didn’t feel pain.  

After a few minutes two or three more nurses entered the room.  One of them asked the doctor if she should convert the bed into the labor table, and the doctor calmly said, “I don’t think we’ll have time for that.”  Later the Yeti also told me she said something like, “I’ve got my hand on his head” or something along those lines, but I didn’t hear it (remember, I was foggy-brained, too).  The nurses swiftly put out a tarp, but it didn’t feel like an emergency, just efficient.  

A few more calm pushes and - he was out.  All the stress of the pregnancy and the induction gave way to a perfectly calm and easy labor.  They asked if I wanted to delay bathing and do skin-to-skin, and in my dazed state I just said, “Sure.”  The Yeti kindly stepped in and firmly said, “Yes, she does.”  He’d listened to me going on about the benefits of skin-to-skin and delayed bathing.  Meanwhile I had a small warm person on my chest.  It was just after 10 pm.

An aside: I will continue to sing the praises of an effective epidural til the cows come home.  I’d heard delivering the placenta was worse than labor, but I didn’t even know it’d happened. I didn’t feel any of the stitching that was happening.  I’d had a catheter, but I didn’t feel it go in or out.  And those later cervix checks were painless too.  If I have another baby, there are some things I'd prefer to not experience again if at all possible - an induction that early, the magnesium - but the epidural is right at the top of the Would Do Again list. 

Back to the baby, code named Winston (as in Churchill): I just stared at him at first.  I’d wanted a baby for years, and now here he was and I wasn’t quite sure what to do with him.  I hadn’t gotten around to taking classes, assuming I’d been around babies before and would know what to do.  Well, the fragility of a newborn is pretty terrifying, plus I do think the magnesium contributed to my dazed state.  But we figured it out together, me, him, and the Yeti.  I think we hung out skin-to-skin for almost an hour, just as I’d hoped we would, and then the Yeti gave him his first bath.  

He was an even six pounds.  I’m not sure if my blood pressure made him so small, or if I would have given birth to a smaller baby anyway - and of course he was two weeks early.  Apparently he managed to face the right way before coming out, but he had his hand up by his face.  After I heard that, I winced and said, “What’s the damage?”  A second degree tear, evidently.  Maybe it was a good thing he was so small.  

It was Tuesday night.  I’d wind up staying in the hospital til Friday, thanks to more blood pressure issues.  But recovery is a post for another day; for now we have the story of the beginning of my little fur family, after a labor full of fear and peace, interventions and instinct, love and love. 

One hand out of the swaddle, as always 

Risky Business Part IV

As I neared the end of my second trimester, I felt better and better.  I’d gained between 15 and 20 pounds by week 20, but that weight gain had slowed way down once the ravenous hunger and terrible morning sickness abated.   My blood pressure was being controlled better than ever, though I'd have bouts of feeling crappy every time it was time to get my meds adjusted.  The aches and pains of pregnancy were familiar and tolerable, and I regularly felt my baby Thumpering away.  I felt I was finally getting used to being pregnant.  

Naturally, several things occurred that made everything just a little bit more complicated. 

First, I had gestational diabetes.  My numbers were just barely over the threshold, but they were there.  Now, in addition to two different meds four times a day, I had to test my blood four times a day.  Though I no longer had morning sickness, food had started tasting weird shortly after getting pregnant, and it wouldn’t taste as good as usual until after I gave birth.  This was one more limitation to an already ho-hum diet.  

The day I had my four-hour gestational diabetes screening I noticed I had a slightly sore throat.  This turned into a full-blown cold - the second of my pregnancy.  Both were probably the worst colds I’d had in my life; thanks, pregnancy-suppressed immune system!  I developed a cough that wracked my entire body, night and day.  

While my white blood cells were down for the count, other germs invaded.  One week after first getting my cold (but still in the throes of the cough), I developed pink eye.  A week or two after that, I got what was thought at the time to be a UTI, but later thought to be kidney stones.  Whatever it was, it was painful.  And I still had that damn cough, meaning I was making constant hurried trips to the bathroom too.  The cough lasted the rest of the third trimester.   

Illnesses aside, I was feeling pretty good.  My blood pressure had been unusually stable, and I was told it’d probably be pretty good until I gave birth.  So I was shocked when, at 34 weeks, I was told that I’d have to induce before 39 weeks.  

I knew I was high-risk; I knew I was pumped full of meds and that it was a constant battle.  Still, I just didn’t feel that bad.  I didn’t feel like the women I’d read about, who’d reached their third trimester and just wanted the baby out.  I felt like I’d just hit my stride!  I’d just gotten over my cold, I was getting more energy, I was managing my blood sugar.  I trusted the experts, absolutely, but I was slightly disappointed.  And a bit shell-shocked; here I was, thinking I had six more weeks to get ready for a baby, and now that time had been halved.  

The next three weeks were filled with endless non-stress tests, or NSTs.  A few sensors are placed on your belly to monitor the baby’s heart rate and check you for contractions.  It’s always reassuring to hear your baby’s heartbeat, but he kicked me pretty much constantly, so I always knew he was ok anyway.  And there were no signs of contractions on the horizon, so after a few NSTs, they got, well, boring.  My doctor’s appointments had switched to weekly as I neared the end of the pregnancy; combined with all the NSTs, it was beginning to feel unnecessary.  Every appointment the nurses and doctor clearly expected me to come in complaining, and here I was, feeling better than ever!  

We didn’t want to induce earlier than we had to; I wanted to give the baby enough time to bake, and I was feeling good anyway.  It had always been a toss-up between 37 and 38 weeks.  My induction date was moved to 38, with the hope I’d start labor naturally before then.  

Half a week before then, my blood pressure started acting up again.  When you’re high-risk for blood pressure, you’re always on the lookout for pre-ecclampsia.  I didn’t have any additional signs, but things had suddenly gotten tense again.  My induction was scheduled for a Monday, and that weekend prior was mentally and emotionally a pain and a half.  The Yeti and I wished we had just gone with a 37-week induction and not gotten cocky.  Still, the baby remained safe and I didn’t have pre-ecclampsia.  I didn’t have a trace of labor, either.  But it was time to have a baby. 

Risky Business Part III

As it turned out, being a high-risk pregnancy was an incredibly positive experience.  Living in a city meant that I wasn’t very far from true experts in the field.  And they definitely knew their stuff.  

Each appointment, I was given an ultrasound on my heart and my carotid artery.  They didn’t just know my numbers, they knew exactly what type of high blood pressure I had, and they could monitor every aspect of it and give me the best medication for it.  I responded incredibly well, and saw my lowest numbers, well, ever (since I’d been paying attention, anyway).  

Because high blood pressure can lead to a smaller baby, I also had several extra ultrasounds to check his growth.  For someone with anxiety issues, this was the best part.  

Unfortunately, the nature of high blood pressure in pregnancy meant that I couldn’t just get the right meds and be done with it; my body was constantly fighting, and every month or so my meds would have to be raised.  The second trimester can also have unexpected drops in blood pressure, which, as it turns out, is scary indeed.  

One day, after a lazy morning eating breakfast and reading the internet, I got ready to head out to go shopping.  I instantly felt that something was wrong; I was unusually tired, even for me.  Tired as in, I had to lie down after brushing my teeth.  I decided to test my blood pressure with my home cuff, and see what was going on.  At that point, my “normal” was 120/80, but this time it was 90/60. 

I blinked.  That was lower than I’d ever seen.  Huh, I wonder if there's something wrong with the cuff, I thought.  I checked it again.  This time, the bottom number was 40 - and I could feel, even as I took it, that I was feeling worse.  And dizzy.  I tried taking it a third time, but it was already hitting me that I might pass out, in the apartment, alone.  I saw the monitor error out right before I pulled the cuff off. 

I didn’t have the doctor’s number in my phone (stupid! So stupid!) and I was terrified I’d pass out before I could get across the apartment to my computer to look it up.  I texted my husband, who I’ll refer to as the Yeti, due to his private nature and general scruffiness.  

I was having trouble focusing on the text and really thought I might black out any second.  So I went with the most succinct phrase I could think of: come home now.  

Yes, in retrospect it was the scariest thing I could have said to him.  He responded right away, even as I elaborated in a second text.  He works just a few minutes from home.  Feeling more relieved now, I made my way to the computer, called the doctor, left a message, and laid down.  I think the terror of potentially passing out scared myself into a panic attack, making my bp rise; when the Yeti arrived ten minutes later and took my bp the diastolic was back up to 85.  

Ultimately the diagnosis was a drop in blood pressure, and I never had one like that again.  It was a learning experience; now I knew I could reach the Yeti in an emergency, and we discussed and refined how we’d approach that.  

Thankfully, it wound up being probably the scariest moment in my pregnancy, and nothing was even wrong.  Also, at twenty weeks my morning sickness finally went away, and my energy started to return.  Things were looking up - but it wasn’t the end of complications for me.  

Risky Business Part II

I was ready to get pregnant, but I was anxious about it.  My mother had always had extremely easy pregnancies, but I wasn’t going to count on the old wives’ tale of being like your mother; other family members had pregnancies full of complications.  I'd watched enough friends battle fertility issues to know that even getting pregnant wasn’t a given, either.  Starting this journey slightly later in life - and taking classes in college about the biology of reproduction - meant I was uncomfortably aware of everything that could go wrong.  

But actually, everything went smoothly for quite some time.  After a few months I was pregnant.  I tested so early that there was no big ‘reveal’ moment; instead it was a, “I think this may be a line, so we’ll just test tomorrow and see if it’s darker.”  Then it was, "I think that's darker; does that look darker to you?"  For the curious, the pink First Response tests were much more clear, but the little Wondfo strips were cheaper and satisfied my compulsion to test.    

The first trimester passed in a blur of nausea and hunger.  I had morning sickness that just wouldn’t quit, but I was ravenously hungry at the same time, which meant I was eating whatever I could keep down.  I’d read that some people actually lose weight in the first trimester; not me.  I’d also heard that the morning sickness starts to fade after the end of the first trimester; also not me.  I was beginning to worry that I’d be as big as a (vomiting) house by the end of the pregnancy, but the good news was the fetus was progressing on schedule.  It went from being the size of a seed to the size of an olive.  I had an ultrasound for the 11-week NT scan, and the baby did barrel rolls and waved its little hand at me.  

Not everything was textbook, though.  Your blood pressure is supposed to drop in the second trimester.  Mine didn’t.  By week 16 I was officially a high-risk pregnancy.  

Risky Business Part I

I was in college when my high blood pressure first came up.  Walking into my dorm in flip-flops, I stupidly swung a heavy door over my exposed toe.  It took most of the nail with it, and I hobbled dripping blood across campus to the infirmary. 

After they cleaned me up, they mentioned my blood pressure was 140/95.  Well, I had just experienced trauma, so that wasn’t too surprising, but they made me come back every day that week to get my bp taken.  And every day, that bottom number hovered, stubborn, around 90.  They mentioned I might want to get it checked out.  

But with the end of college came the end of my insurance, and it got pushed to the back burner.  Even when I acquired it once again, no one was particularly worried.  My diastolic blood pressure wasn’t doing anything, just hovering around 90.  For years.  Until I was around 27; I went in for a routine exam and that bottom number was now 110.  

Suddenly, my blood pressure was important.  I had to stop my birth control pills.  My doctor encouraged me strongly to lose weight (I was around 20 pounds overweight).  Talking with an acquaintance about someday getting pregnant, I mentioned that I wanted to finish losing weight and get my bp under control before heading down the path to pregnancy.  “Oh, you’ll be a high-risk pregnancy then?” she asked.  

“What?  Oh, sure, I guess so.”  Until then, it hadn’t occurred to me that this could actually affect a pregnancy.  

Losing thirty pounds lowered my blood pressure somewhat, but not enough, so on to medication I went.  It kept the diastolic in the 80s; not great, not terrible.  By then we were ready to try for a family.  I was switched to a med that would be safe for pregnancy, given the all-clear by my doc, started my prenatal vitamins, took barre classes, walked everywhere.  I was in the best shape of my adult life.  It wouldn’t be enough.