"I'm going to go potty. I think there are some pee-pees in there that want to come out. They are yelling, 'Eleanor! Go upstairs and make pee-pees right now!'
I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
3 Years Old
Today, Eleanor is 3 years old. She is the most amazing little girl. She is brilliant and stubborn, fun-loving and shy, caring and independent. She loves reading, drawing, singing, dancing, and cuddling up with mama. I am a very, very lucky woman indeed.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Henry's Birth Story (the long version)
Henry's due date was August 26th, 2012, and the well-informed pregnant lady that I was really wanted to make it as close to that date as possible. Study upon study shows that the closer babies are to being born on their due date, the healthier they are. But let me tell you, by August 5th, I was d-o-n-e, DONE. It was one of the hottest summers on record in Virginia, and while I hadn't gained an obscene amount of weight, an extra 30 pounds was no fun to lug around as I tried to keep Eleanor entertained. We were honored to have Eleanor as the flower girl in Erin and Charlie's wedding on August 11th, but I kept hoping my midwife would suggest that I didn't go to the wedding (all she said was "Relax and have a BIG glass of wine"). I was so tired, and hot, and HUGE, I was ready and willing to miss out on this:
Clearly, I wasn't feeling well.
On the way down to and home from the wedding, I had some very intense Braxton Hicks contractions. So intense, that on the way home from the wedding at 10pm on the 11th, I was about 75% sure Henry's birthday was going to be 8/12/12. Turns out I just had to go to the bathroom.
Every day, I just kept telling anyone who would listen, "I am just so BIG. I just feel like he's so BIG. I have to go into labor any minute!" I would cry most nights, in pain, in frustration, in exhaustion. The side that Henry's back settled against was the only side with a stretch mark; my body just couldn't take it anymore. On August 19th, I called Jen in tears and said, "I just can't do this anymore. I can't. I don't know what to do." She brought me a special dessert, and within 12 hours of that phone call, I was in labor. I was right. My body was done. Henry was ready.
I woke to a contraction at 6am on August 20th. By the second one, about 8 minutes later, I knew I was having a baby that day. The same thing happened when I went into labor with Eleanor. Somehow, they were just different, more intense, more all-encompassing. I came downstairs with Eleanor to get breakfast and told Ryan that I was in labor. Our plan was to have my mom come up and get Eleanor so that I could labor at home as long as possible without scaring the little girl.
Also, call me crazy, but in the back of my mind, I wanted to labor at home as long as possible with the hope of having an unmedicated birth. I thought the ideal scenario would be that I would arrive at the hospital, already dilated 8 cm, as soon as I got in my room my water would break, and there would be no time for an epidural, no matter how many times I asked for one. Or heck, even better, it just wouldn't hurt nearly as badly as last time and I wouldn't feel as though I needed one! I don't know exactly why I hoped to experience this pain. Do I want to experience what it feels like to be shot or have a finger cut off? No. But the pain of childbirth has a sort of "sacredness" associated with it. I just wanted to know what it was like, to be able to watch a movie in which a woman is giving birth before the time of medication and to just know why exactly she was screaming like her guts were being ripped out of her. Strange? Perhaps.
Earlier, I had told my mom not to hurry, that it wasn't like we needed to get to the hospital right away, and she should just wait until morning rush hour traffic died down, so she got to our house around 9:30. By that time, my contractions were very intense, happening every 3 minutes or so, and lasting about 30 seconds. I told here there was no reason to take Eleanor to Woodbridge, that I wouldn't make it at home much longer anyhow. I showered, dried my hair and paced around upstairs. Soon, the contractions were just coming and coming, and we could barely time them there was so little time in between. As soon as the stop watch (of course, on the iPhone) was stopped, it was started again. Within an hour, we had to leave for the hospital. The car ride to hospital was miserable. I was in the back seat of our little Mazda3, digging my fingers into the back seat head rest, cursing every piece of dirt on the road that made the car bump in the slightest. After a painful walk from the car to the hospital, I texted my midwife around 10:30 to say that we were there, and she met us at admissions. They monitored me for 20 minutes to make sure little Hen was tolerating labor ok, and I was told I was about 7 cm dilated. After another 30 or so, I began saying, "I can't do this anymore. I need something to help me." Karen checked me again, and I was 8 cm, so she said, "Look, how about this: I break your water, you have a baby." Every part of me was screaming to just say, "NO! DON'T BREAK MY WATER! JUST GIVE ME AN EPIDURAL!" This was my chance. I could get the drugs to make the stabbing, mind-numbing, ripping-your-guts-out pain turn into an intense, yet tolerable, feeling of pressure. Instead, I said, "Ok." Besides, she made it sound like it wouldn't take any time at all.
This is when things really got interesting.
As soon as my water broke, I became THAT WOMAN. You know the one in sitcoms and romantic comedies that is screaming at everyone in the hospital room? Begging for help, telling everyone she can't do this, that she just wants to go home, that they are hurting her? The one who terrifies every other pregnant woman being admitted to Labor and Delivery? The screaming pregnant woman is used as a comic farce, but let me tell you, there was NOTHING funny about this. I was scared. I was in so much pain, I was terrified that my body was just going to break. I kept telling Karen, my midwife, that she was hurting me, asking her why she would want to hurt me?! I moaned and screamed and pushed and pushed. At 12:07, about an hour and half after getting to the hospital, Henry was born. Though of course, it wasn't as easy as all that.
I was right all along: he was a big baby, weighing in at 9 pounds, 12 ounces and 22 inches long. And because he was so big, he was stuck, for about a minute, experiencing shoulder dystocia. (If you want to be scared about what COULD'VE happened to Henry and I, follow that link. If you don't like to think of the worst, just move on.) It was very scary for about a minute. Karen called the NICU team in just in case, and for a couple of minutes, Henry was not very responsive. He couldn't move his left arm and really had to be jostled into crying and opening up his airways. Oh, that and his face was absolutely black and blue.
I cried as he was on the little table next to me, kind of in a daze, asking if it was my fault. Did I not push hard enough? He initially was given an Apgar score of 3 (which is considered "critically low") though within a few minutes, was bumped up to a 9. Later, Karen would tell me that I could not deliver another baby like that. It was too dangerous, and that if I wanted more kids, we'd have to come up with a plan to monitor their size and perhaps induce delivery earlier. I think it is a very stressful and scary delivery for the midwife too. After it was clear that Henry was going to be fine, I delivered the placenta, which Karen showed everyone in the room. Apparently it too was gigantic. And then I got to hold him...
I've been in love ever since.
Clearly, I wasn't feeling well.
On the way down to and home from the wedding, I had some very intense Braxton Hicks contractions. So intense, that on the way home from the wedding at 10pm on the 11th, I was about 75% sure Henry's birthday was going to be 8/12/12. Turns out I just had to go to the bathroom.
Every day, I just kept telling anyone who would listen, "I am just so BIG. I just feel like he's so BIG. I have to go into labor any minute!" I would cry most nights, in pain, in frustration, in exhaustion. The side that Henry's back settled against was the only side with a stretch mark; my body just couldn't take it anymore. On August 19th, I called Jen in tears and said, "I just can't do this anymore. I can't. I don't know what to do." She brought me a special dessert, and within 12 hours of that phone call, I was in labor. I was right. My body was done. Henry was ready.
I woke to a contraction at 6am on August 20th. By the second one, about 8 minutes later, I knew I was having a baby that day. The same thing happened when I went into labor with Eleanor. Somehow, they were just different, more intense, more all-encompassing. I came downstairs with Eleanor to get breakfast and told Ryan that I was in labor. Our plan was to have my mom come up and get Eleanor so that I could labor at home as long as possible without scaring the little girl.
Also, call me crazy, but in the back of my mind, I wanted to labor at home as long as possible with the hope of having an unmedicated birth. I thought the ideal scenario would be that I would arrive at the hospital, already dilated 8 cm, as soon as I got in my room my water would break, and there would be no time for an epidural, no matter how many times I asked for one. Or heck, even better, it just wouldn't hurt nearly as badly as last time and I wouldn't feel as though I needed one! I don't know exactly why I hoped to experience this pain. Do I want to experience what it feels like to be shot or have a finger cut off? No. But the pain of childbirth has a sort of "sacredness" associated with it. I just wanted to know what it was like, to be able to watch a movie in which a woman is giving birth before the time of medication and to just know why exactly she was screaming like her guts were being ripped out of her. Strange? Perhaps.
Earlier, I had told my mom not to hurry, that it wasn't like we needed to get to the hospital right away, and she should just wait until morning rush hour traffic died down, so she got to our house around 9:30. By that time, my contractions were very intense, happening every 3 minutes or so, and lasting about 30 seconds. I told here there was no reason to take Eleanor to Woodbridge, that I wouldn't make it at home much longer anyhow. I showered, dried my hair and paced around upstairs. Soon, the contractions were just coming and coming, and we could barely time them there was so little time in between. As soon as the stop watch (of course, on the iPhone) was stopped, it was started again. Within an hour, we had to leave for the hospital. The car ride to hospital was miserable. I was in the back seat of our little Mazda3, digging my fingers into the back seat head rest, cursing every piece of dirt on the road that made the car bump in the slightest. After a painful walk from the car to the hospital, I texted my midwife around 10:30 to say that we were there, and she met us at admissions. They monitored me for 20 minutes to make sure little Hen was tolerating labor ok, and I was told I was about 7 cm dilated. After another 30 or so, I began saying, "I can't do this anymore. I need something to help me." Karen checked me again, and I was 8 cm, so she said, "Look, how about this: I break your water, you have a baby." Every part of me was screaming to just say, "NO! DON'T BREAK MY WATER! JUST GIVE ME AN EPIDURAL!" This was my chance. I could get the drugs to make the stabbing, mind-numbing, ripping-your-guts-out pain turn into an intense, yet tolerable, feeling of pressure. Instead, I said, "Ok." Besides, she made it sound like it wouldn't take any time at all.
This is when things really got interesting.
As soon as my water broke, I became THAT WOMAN. You know the one in sitcoms and romantic comedies that is screaming at everyone in the hospital room? Begging for help, telling everyone she can't do this, that she just wants to go home, that they are hurting her? The one who terrifies every other pregnant woman being admitted to Labor and Delivery? The screaming pregnant woman is used as a comic farce, but let me tell you, there was NOTHING funny about this. I was scared. I was in so much pain, I was terrified that my body was just going to break. I kept telling Karen, my midwife, that she was hurting me, asking her why she would want to hurt me?! I moaned and screamed and pushed and pushed. At 12:07, about an hour and half after getting to the hospital, Henry was born. Though of course, it wasn't as easy as all that.
I was right all along: he was a big baby, weighing in at 9 pounds, 12 ounces and 22 inches long. And because he was so big, he was stuck, for about a minute, experiencing shoulder dystocia. (If you want to be scared about what COULD'VE happened to Henry and I, follow that link. If you don't like to think of the worst, just move on.) It was very scary for about a minute. Karen called the NICU team in just in case, and for a couple of minutes, Henry was not very responsive. He couldn't move his left arm and really had to be jostled into crying and opening up his airways. Oh, that and his face was absolutely black and blue.
I cried as he was on the little table next to me, kind of in a daze, asking if it was my fault. Did I not push hard enough? He initially was given an Apgar score of 3 (which is considered "critically low") though within a few minutes, was bumped up to a 9. Later, Karen would tell me that I could not deliver another baby like that. It was too dangerous, and that if I wanted more kids, we'd have to come up with a plan to monitor their size and perhaps induce delivery earlier. I think it is a very stressful and scary delivery for the midwife too. After it was clear that Henry was going to be fine, I delivered the placenta, which Karen showed everyone in the room. Apparently it too was gigantic. And then I got to hold him...
I've been in love ever since.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
