Who am I? Honestly, I don't know these days. I want to be a balance of everything: caring mother, loving wife, fun friend, hardworking professional. "Professional" is on hold until I return to work. This new "mother" role consumes most of my time. "Wife" comes in at a distant second. (Thank goodness my husband is a kind and patient man.) And "friend," well ...
I'll just be honest: My feelings are really hurt right now. I had been looking forward to a friend's Halloween party for several weeks. If Miss M's feeding schedule allowed, I was hoping we'd be able to make an appearance, briefly, with her. I figured at best, we'd have 30 minutes, an hour tops, before the baby would demand we headed home. We had coordinating costumes planned. It would be fun to get out with the baby, to pretend to be cool parents amongst cool friends.
It didn't occur to me that the cool friends might not welcome Miss M at their cool party. I mean, yeah, it would be weird if we were playing beer pong at 3 a.m. with the baby in the corner. Or if we had a toddler or otherwise mobile, interactive child in tow. But I didn't think an hour with a 10-lb newborn would be a problem.
I was wrong.
Maybe it's my fault for waiting until the night before to ask if it would be weird to bring the baby. But I didn't expect the answer to be "yes." And I was miffed she had to even ask if we would still make it. Of course not. I have a 7-week-old who is cluster feeding again. I'd be doing good to get her off the boob long enough to make it to your stupid party. And even if I were willing to leave her with a babysitter, it would be impossible to schedule one for that random one-hour window when I don't even know what time it would happen.
So yesterday, I was sad for many reasons. And today, even with the cute trick-or-treaters we've seen, I'm still a little sad. How can I be a friend, if my "friends" won't have me?
Yes, I know I'm being melodramatic. And yes, I will probably read this in a few days and want to blame hormones for what is probably totally irrational thinking. But this is how I feel right now.
I hope in my pre-motherhood days that I never made any of my mother friends feel this way. And if I did, I am so, so, so sorry.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Independence
Time is flying by. I can't believe I'm already halfway through my maternity leave. I never thought I'd feel this way, but right now, I would be happy to never return to work again. I could spend all day gazing into her eyes. I know it won't be long before she begins to pull away. The other morning, I overheard a woman on television say the greatest joy of having children "is not deciding who they are, but discovering who they are." Amen.
Week six was a major turning point. My best friend, who currently lives in France, flew all the way across the Atlantic with her seven-month-old just to spend a week with me and Miss M. We went shopping, I breastfed at the mall, and I even left the baby for a brief period with Grandma K.
Other milestones:
Week six was a major turning point. My best friend, who currently lives in France, flew all the way across the Atlantic with her seven-month-old just to spend a week with me and Miss M. We went shopping, I breastfed at the mall, and I even left the baby for a brief period with Grandma K.
Other milestones:
- First smiles! It happened Monday or Tuesday. She smiles often in her sleep, and sometimes randomly while playing. But she is just now beginning to smile in response to us. Dad got the first smile; mine was later in the day. They are hard to coax out of her, but I can't wait to see more.
- Sleep tight. I hesitate to write this because I'm probably jinxing myself, but over the past few days, her feedings have stretched overnight to where we can get 5-7 hours of sleep sometimes. Amazing.
- Head strong. Miss M is holding her head up well. A little wobbly, particularly if you tip her backwards, but if you lean her forward, her neck muscles are strong enough to hold her head up for a minute or so. Modified tummy time on her boppy must be working!
- Growing! Now in 0-3 month clothes. We switched to size 1 diapers about 10 days ago, and after a few recent leaks, I'm already wondering if she's nearing size 2. She won't go to the pediatrician for a few more weeks, but when I tried my bathroom scale, she appears to be about 10 pounds.
- Back to work ... to visit. Coworkers met her Thursday. It was fun to introduce her around. So many things had to fall in place for it to work out -- what time she woke up, how long she ate, etc. But we made it happen, and she lasted three hours before needing to eat again.
- Mom and dad hang out with grownups. We took Miss M to a house party last night and cheered our underdogs to a win over the No. 1 team. Mom even had a few sips of beer! It was quite tame from the parties we used to throw; there were four other kids present, including the hosts'. But it was still a fun time, and I enjoyed hanging out with my friends.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Things that make my heart melt
Sweet, milky breath. Soft, fluffy hair. Delicate peeling fingernails. Dark, wide-open eyes. Tiny pursed lips.
The first month has flown by, and yet, it also feels like an eternity. The days and nights have blurred together. Time is measured in feedings that range from 90 minutes to 5 hours apart. It's hard to remember how rough the first week was. And the second. And third. It's still not easy. But we're figuring each other out, and each week is better than the last.
As we're emerging from the dazed and bewildered first month, we're all taking on new challenges. Miss M is experimenting with her voice -- soft coos for now. Today, for the first time, she grabbed my hair in both fists and managed to get her thumb in her mouth, although both of those actions may have been accidental. Last week, dad took baby on an errand while I stayed home (somewhat reluctantly) and got some much needed sleep. Tonight, I left the baby at home with her dad and ventured to Wal-Mart alone. It was my first solo outing since she was born.
It's funny how I can feel fine at home. Then I enter the real world, and exhaustion hits. Maybe it was the bright lights, but not ten minutes in the store and I hit the proverbial brick wall. I wandered around in a daze for another half hour or so, trying to remember what I was supposed to get. (Lotrimin for possible thrush/yeast, and pacifiers because we're getting tired of having to walk her to sleep every night.)
I was relieved to return to our little cocoon of a home. Just the three of us, together. I'm not ready for the real world.
The first month has flown by, and yet, it also feels like an eternity. The days and nights have blurred together. Time is measured in feedings that range from 90 minutes to 5 hours apart. It's hard to remember how rough the first week was. And the second. And third. It's still not easy. But we're figuring each other out, and each week is better than the last.
As we're emerging from the dazed and bewildered first month, we're all taking on new challenges. Miss M is experimenting with her voice -- soft coos for now. Today, for the first time, she grabbed my hair in both fists and managed to get her thumb in her mouth, although both of those actions may have been accidental. Last week, dad took baby on an errand while I stayed home (somewhat reluctantly) and got some much needed sleep. Tonight, I left the baby at home with her dad and ventured to Wal-Mart alone. It was my first solo outing since she was born.
It's funny how I can feel fine at home. Then I enter the real world, and exhaustion hits. Maybe it was the bright lights, but not ten minutes in the store and I hit the proverbial brick wall. I wandered around in a daze for another half hour or so, trying to remember what I was supposed to get. (Lotrimin for possible thrush/yeast, and pacifiers because we're getting tired of having to walk her to sleep every night.)
I was relieved to return to our little cocoon of a home. Just the three of us, together. I'm not ready for the real world.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
A new chapter
Miss M is nearly four weeks old, and it's amazing how much she's changed. Or, really, how much I've changed. My "old" life seems so far away, and surprisingly, I don't miss it. My days have been hijacked by the eating and sleeping schedule (or lack thereof) of an eight-pound infant. Since Chris went back to work this week, it's a major victory if I find time to poop and shower. But I'm figuring it out, and feeling proud when I master these small things. Last night, I even managed to make a trip to Target, baby in tow. It was my first time behind the wheel since before she was born. I felt so accomplished!
It's such a change from my professional persona, who measures accomplishments by awards, dollars and cents, and satisfied clients. "On time and under budget," as my boss says.
Who is this new woman?
It's such a change from my professional persona, who measures accomplishments by awards, dollars and cents, and satisfied clients. "On time and under budget," as my boss says.
Who is this new woman?
Monday, September 27, 2010
"She's complete."
Already, everything about pregnancy, labor and delivery is blurring in my mind, so I figured I'd better record Miss M's birth story while I can still remember a few of the gory details.
My OB checked me internally for the first time at my 39-week appointment Sept. 9. It hurt so bad, I couldn't help crying out loud. (Sorry to whoever was in the next exam room!) Afterward, she told me I was 3 cm and 75% effaced. That was great news, but she was careful to caution me that it didn't mean anything as far as when the baby would arrive. She did say that it could mean my labor would go more quickly.
I left the appointment feeling encouraged that my body seemed to have a general idea of how to get a baby out. That afternoon, I went back to work and barely noticed any cramping. Walking to my car after work, I realized my lower back was kind of achy, in a PMS sort of way. But I thought it was due to the exam and figured a soak in the tub would feel good.
I'm not sure how long I was in the bathtub. Long enough for Chris to grill me two hotdogs, and for me to eat them in the tub. Also long enough for me to realize I was having contractions. After about three sharp, low cramps, I started timing them. At 15 minutes apart, they were regular enough for me to allow myself to acknowledge I could be in early labor. But I kept thinking about my best friend, who had contractions five minutes apart for two days before the hospital would admit her. So I prepared myself for the long haul.
By 9 p.m., the contractions were 6-8 minutes apart, and I was pretty uncomfortable. I called L&D to see what to do. The nurse wasn't encouraging. She said I could come in, and they could check me, but they hated to have to send me home. She recommended trying to get some sleep and seeing if the contractions slowed down. If my water broke, or the contractions sped up to 3-5 minutes apart, then she said I should come in.
All it took was the threat of another internal exam to make me determined to wait it out at home as long as possible. We went to bed, and I went to sleep ... in 6- to 8-minute increments. Waking up in the middle of a contraction is no fun. I remember trying to get on my hands and knees to rock through the contractions. The worst were the ones where I didn't wake up in time and was stuck on my side unable to move through the pain.
Around midnight I got up, and decided to try to walk the dog. I only made it one house down the road before doubling over again in pain. As soon as the contraction ended, I hightailed it back to the house. The next contraction had me in tears, and I told Chris we were going to the hospital immediately.
The ride to the hospital was awful. Every turn, every little bump in the road was excruciating, and I kept telling Chris to slow down. Then I'd want him to speed up so we could get there faster. Thank goodness it was the middle of the night, and no one was following us.
Checking in seemed to take forever, even though the only waiting was for me to be able to answer questions between contractions. You know how it is when the dental hygienist tries to make conversation while cleaning your teeth? Or when you take a big bite of food just as the waitress stops by to ask how you're doing? Check-in was like that, except instead of a mouth full of food or floss, I had a uterus full of pain. The best part was posing for a lovely headshot that was printed on one of the four wristbands I got to wear.
I lost track of time, but I know it was sometime around 1 a.m. when we checked in because when I asked what date it was, I was surprised to hear Sept. 10. At this point, all I could think was that they had better admit me. By the time a doctor came in, I told him if I wasn't in labor, I needed him to give me something to make the pain stop. Lucky for me, he said I was 4 cm, 100% effaced, and I'd be having a baby today.
By this time, every contraction had me writhing and moaning in pain. Getting admitted was Step 1. But I still had to get an IV and have bloodwork done before I could get my epidural. The doctor was kind enough to offer some morphine while I waited for the good drugs. It took the edge off, but not the pain. (Although I sure would have liked to had it before the nurse took three tries to insert my IV.)
The anesthesiologist -- I mean, the epidural he delivered -- was amazing. The relief was immediate. When they checked me after, I was 5 cm. The doctor broke my water and said he would wait a couple of hours to see how I progressed before deciding if I needed pitocin. He recommended getting some sleep, but I was too excited. Two hours later, about 6:30 a.m., I was 6 cm. He seemed pleasantly surprised; I was relieved and finally passed out.
About an hour later, I woke up when a new nurse came in. I asked her how long she thought my labor might be. She said if I continued to dilate a centimeter an hour, they'd consider that good progress. I did the math and hoped I'd have my baby before the end of the day so my doctor, who I adore, could deliver her.
Just then, my OB arrived. She checked me, turned to the nurse and said, "She's complete." I think we were all surprised. The nurse had just came on and was still getting her stuff in order. I was still waking up. My doctor was headed into a busy morning of clinic appointments. But just like that, it was time to push.
You have to know, at my first OB appointment, I expressed my two fears. One, that the epidural wouldn't work. (Thankfully, it did!) My second fear was that the baby would get stuck. It happened to a friend of mine -- she pushed for three hours before being rushed to the OR for an emergency c-section.
My baby was at zero station, and my OB said I had a ways to go. So I was prepared for the worst. Thankfully, I was in the hands of an experienced, calm, compassionate nurse. She was by far the best nurse I had during my entire stay. I owe my positive delivery experience to her.
Back when they broke my water, they learned the baby had already passed meconium. Both nurses and my OB talked to me about what this meant and prepared me for what would happen when she was born. I'm grateful they took the time to do that.
The atmosphere in the room was calm and quiet. With the exception of spotlights turned on my hoo-hah at some point, the only light was natural morning light through the windows. Pushing took all of my energy, and in between, I laid back with my eyes closed. I only spoke to answer direct questions; toward the end, I'm not sure if I even did that.
I pushed for an hour and 45 minutes, but I had no sense of time passing -- it seemed to fly by. The nurse adjusted the bed several times until I was at an angle she liked. She said my contractions were really long, and had me do four, 10-second pushes each time. At some point, she got a towel and had Chris stand between my legs holding the ends. She had me grab the middle and told me to try to pull him on top of me while I was pushing. It worked.
Everything happened so fast at the end, what sticks in my mind are a few random details. I remember my OB was already in the room when they were paging her for the delivery. I remember feeling something coming out so suddenly I sat up and yelled -- not from pain, but from the surprise of it. When I looked down, I saw a gray Gollum-looking thing slide out. They immediately whisked her away to a side room, where I later learned they intubated her twice to remove meconium. A few minutes (moments?) later, we heard strong cries, and they asked my husband to come over.
What happened next is documented in pictures I didn't see until a week after she was born -- Chris meeting the baby, Chris cutting what was left of the cord, Chris holding the baby for the first time. I remember a nurse relaying what she could see. "He looks so scared!" Then I remember him bringing her to me. In the pictures, I still have a washcloth on my forehead (pushing gave me a headache). I am holding her little hand. She is quiet, wide-eyed, looking at me. I remember saying I didn't want to let them take her, but they were anxious to get her to the nursery to check her thoroughly and make sure she was OK.
After they left, I remember the doctors were stitching me up. They said I had a second-degree tear, and they were using words like "rectal sphincter," which scared the bejeezus out of me. I was so afraid of feeling any pain, I kept trying to push the epidural button, but I couldn't get anymore drugs. Thankfully, I couldn't actually feel any pain. Just pressure. It was weird.
I must have catnapped after that. But the next thing I remember is Chris coming back with the baby. The nurse told me he was on his way, and I was sitting up in anticipation. I hope I never forget the feeling that came over me when he walked around the curtain into view with our baby. The most intense love, pride, joy, hope. We were complete. I was complete.
My OB checked me internally for the first time at my 39-week appointment Sept. 9. It hurt so bad, I couldn't help crying out loud. (Sorry to whoever was in the next exam room!) Afterward, she told me I was 3 cm and 75% effaced. That was great news, but she was careful to caution me that it didn't mean anything as far as when the baby would arrive. She did say that it could mean my labor would go more quickly.
I left the appointment feeling encouraged that my body seemed to have a general idea of how to get a baby out. That afternoon, I went back to work and barely noticed any cramping. Walking to my car after work, I realized my lower back was kind of achy, in a PMS sort of way. But I thought it was due to the exam and figured a soak in the tub would feel good.
I'm not sure how long I was in the bathtub. Long enough for Chris to grill me two hotdogs, and for me to eat them in the tub. Also long enough for me to realize I was having contractions. After about three sharp, low cramps, I started timing them. At 15 minutes apart, they were regular enough for me to allow myself to acknowledge I could be in early labor. But I kept thinking about my best friend, who had contractions five minutes apart for two days before the hospital would admit her. So I prepared myself for the long haul.
By 9 p.m., the contractions were 6-8 minutes apart, and I was pretty uncomfortable. I called L&D to see what to do. The nurse wasn't encouraging. She said I could come in, and they could check me, but they hated to have to send me home. She recommended trying to get some sleep and seeing if the contractions slowed down. If my water broke, or the contractions sped up to 3-5 minutes apart, then she said I should come in.
All it took was the threat of another internal exam to make me determined to wait it out at home as long as possible. We went to bed, and I went to sleep ... in 6- to 8-minute increments. Waking up in the middle of a contraction is no fun. I remember trying to get on my hands and knees to rock through the contractions. The worst were the ones where I didn't wake up in time and was stuck on my side unable to move through the pain.
Around midnight I got up, and decided to try to walk the dog. I only made it one house down the road before doubling over again in pain. As soon as the contraction ended, I hightailed it back to the house. The next contraction had me in tears, and I told Chris we were going to the hospital immediately.
The ride to the hospital was awful. Every turn, every little bump in the road was excruciating, and I kept telling Chris to slow down. Then I'd want him to speed up so we could get there faster. Thank goodness it was the middle of the night, and no one was following us.
Checking in seemed to take forever, even though the only waiting was for me to be able to answer questions between contractions. You know how it is when the dental hygienist tries to make conversation while cleaning your teeth? Or when you take a big bite of food just as the waitress stops by to ask how you're doing? Check-in was like that, except instead of a mouth full of food or floss, I had a uterus full of pain. The best part was posing for a lovely headshot that was printed on one of the four wristbands I got to wear.
I lost track of time, but I know it was sometime around 1 a.m. when we checked in because when I asked what date it was, I was surprised to hear Sept. 10. At this point, all I could think was that they had better admit me. By the time a doctor came in, I told him if I wasn't in labor, I needed him to give me something to make the pain stop. Lucky for me, he said I was 4 cm, 100% effaced, and I'd be having a baby today.
By this time, every contraction had me writhing and moaning in pain. Getting admitted was Step 1. But I still had to get an IV and have bloodwork done before I could get my epidural. The doctor was kind enough to offer some morphine while I waited for the good drugs. It took the edge off, but not the pain. (Although I sure would have liked to had it before the nurse took three tries to insert my IV.)
The anesthesiologist -- I mean, the epidural he delivered -- was amazing. The relief was immediate. When they checked me after, I was 5 cm. The doctor broke my water and said he would wait a couple of hours to see how I progressed before deciding if I needed pitocin. He recommended getting some sleep, but I was too excited. Two hours later, about 6:30 a.m., I was 6 cm. He seemed pleasantly surprised; I was relieved and finally passed out.
About an hour later, I woke up when a new nurse came in. I asked her how long she thought my labor might be. She said if I continued to dilate a centimeter an hour, they'd consider that good progress. I did the math and hoped I'd have my baby before the end of the day so my doctor, who I adore, could deliver her.
Just then, my OB arrived. She checked me, turned to the nurse and said, "She's complete." I think we were all surprised. The nurse had just came on and was still getting her stuff in order. I was still waking up. My doctor was headed into a busy morning of clinic appointments. But just like that, it was time to push.
You have to know, at my first OB appointment, I expressed my two fears. One, that the epidural wouldn't work. (Thankfully, it did!) My second fear was that the baby would get stuck. It happened to a friend of mine -- she pushed for three hours before being rushed to the OR for an emergency c-section.
My baby was at zero station, and my OB said I had a ways to go. So I was prepared for the worst. Thankfully, I was in the hands of an experienced, calm, compassionate nurse. She was by far the best nurse I had during my entire stay. I owe my positive delivery experience to her.
Back when they broke my water, they learned the baby had already passed meconium. Both nurses and my OB talked to me about what this meant and prepared me for what would happen when she was born. I'm grateful they took the time to do that.
The atmosphere in the room was calm and quiet. With the exception of spotlights turned on my hoo-hah at some point, the only light was natural morning light through the windows. Pushing took all of my energy, and in between, I laid back with my eyes closed. I only spoke to answer direct questions; toward the end, I'm not sure if I even did that.
I pushed for an hour and 45 minutes, but I had no sense of time passing -- it seemed to fly by. The nurse adjusted the bed several times until I was at an angle she liked. She said my contractions were really long, and had me do four, 10-second pushes each time. At some point, she got a towel and had Chris stand between my legs holding the ends. She had me grab the middle and told me to try to pull him on top of me while I was pushing. It worked.
Everything happened so fast at the end, what sticks in my mind are a few random details. I remember my OB was already in the room when they were paging her for the delivery. I remember feeling something coming out so suddenly I sat up and yelled -- not from pain, but from the surprise of it. When I looked down, I saw a gray Gollum-looking thing slide out. They immediately whisked her away to a side room, where I later learned they intubated her twice to remove meconium. A few minutes (moments?) later, we heard strong cries, and they asked my husband to come over.
What happened next is documented in pictures I didn't see until a week after she was born -- Chris meeting the baby, Chris cutting what was left of the cord, Chris holding the baby for the first time. I remember a nurse relaying what she could see. "He looks so scared!" Then I remember him bringing her to me. In the pictures, I still have a washcloth on my forehead (pushing gave me a headache). I am holding her little hand. She is quiet, wide-eyed, looking at me. I remember saying I didn't want to let them take her, but they were anxious to get her to the nursery to check her thoroughly and make sure she was OK.
After they left, I remember the doctors were stitching me up. They said I had a second-degree tear, and they were using words like "rectal sphincter," which scared the bejeezus out of me. I was so afraid of feeling any pain, I kept trying to push the epidural button, but I couldn't get anymore drugs. Thankfully, I couldn't actually feel any pain. Just pressure. It was weird.
I must have catnapped after that. But the next thing I remember is Chris coming back with the baby. The nurse told me he was on his way, and I was sitting up in anticipation. I hope I never forget the feeling that came over me when he walked around the curtain into view with our baby. The most intense love, pride, joy, hope. We were complete. I was complete.
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