Unexpectedly Expecting

A Scary Story: Part 1

At first, I didn’t write about my birth experience because of the two-week hospital stay that followed it. Then the first few weeks home I was lost in the fog of new motherhood. Then life slowly steadied itself, a routine developed and I started to think about getting my birth experience down in writing. But I kept holding off. Why, I’m not sure. (If I’m being honest, probably because I was too busy nursing and watching What Not to Wear). In any case, now it is Halloween, a celebration of all things scary. I can't think of a better time to start than now.

 

Enjoy!

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Let’s start with this little fact: never during my pregnancy did I consider having an epidural-free birth. Not once, not for a second. I was firmly in the camp of taking advantage of whatever pain-relief options were available. Nothing against women who choose otherwise, but I always knew that “natural” route wasn’t for me. I’d heard plenty of gushing from women who’d birthed with an epidural, women who raved about how they slept for five hours in the middle of labor, how they barely felt a thing, how the entire ordeal was -- while still painful at times -- manageable. I’d seen The Baby Story episodes where women birthed naturally, screaming and writhing around uncontrollably, shaking and convulsing with violence. It looked awful. No sir, no thank you.

 

And so, epidural, here I come, I thought, as I packed my bags on July 17^th. Doctors had decided I needed an induction on my due date because they worried Luke suffered from Intra-Uterine Growth Restriction. In other words, they thought him on the scrawny side of normal, and apparently, that wispiness becomes more problematic the longer past your due date you go. And so, fully 40-weeks pregnant and with no signs labor would start on its own, I put aside my worries and accepted my fate with induction. That day – a Thursday – was a typical summer day in Michigan, swelteringly hot and bright. I tried to keep myself busy. I cooked a big dinner of pasta, assuming I’d need the carbs for energy and knowing I wouldn’t get to eat again for possibly a day or more. I cleaned, not wanting to return to a mess and feel overwhelmed. I checked and re-checked my lists of Stuff to Take. I had everything – my robe and comfy socks, snacks for Jimmy, my iPod, my hair-dryer for the day after, my ugly underpants that I wouldn’t mind seeing destroyed, and a carefully picked coming-home outfit for Luke. Preparedness is my game, and I was on top of it. Since Jimmy was working until midnight or so, my friend Jen had signed on to take care of me for the first shift. She swooped in at 6:45 p.m. to pick me up, and after a pit-stop at Walgreen’s for gum and a headband, I checked into the hospital at 7 p.m.

First stop was triage. It was a very quiet day, as far as I could tell, on the labor and delivery floor. Literally quiet; if there were other patients in triage, I didn’t hear them. I changed into the hospital gown and settled myself onto the table. A few nurses came by to fill out paperwork, do a quick ultrasound, ask me questions and check my cervix, which was still not dilated even a smidge. While the nurses came in and out, Jen and I gabbed as if we were out to lunch and not at a hospital for an imminent birth. At one point, we started laughing so hard that... um... I farted. Loud. That produced another round of hysterical laughter followed by a few tales of farts from our past. Yes, my birth experience was definitely off to a classy start. Eventually, a nurse came by to explain the way things would go down. My induction would start with a cervix softener, which would help me efface completely overnight. In the morning, I’d begin taking Pitocin, the drug – some would say controversial -- that mimics Oxytocin, the natural hormone that causes contractions. Pitocin is used in most deliveries today, either to induce labor or speed it up.

I would come to find out that sometimes it does both. And I wasn’t going to have to wait until morning to learn that lesson.

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Check back for more in the coming days!

Just stop it! Because I said so!

So, I've decided. I would like Luke to stop growing up now. Just stop. Stay three months and almost two weeks forever. Stay tiny and adorable and so so sweet and sleepy forever. Stay the perfect size to fit into the 0-3 month AND the 3-6 month sleepers forever.

I told Jimmy yesterday, I don't think he will ever like me quite as much as he does right now. He stares at me with straight-up adoration, people, and it feels nice. I don't want it to stop. Ever. I imagine him being a rebellious 13-year-old sneaking out of the house to throw eggs at the neighbor's car, or being a back-talking four-year-old telling me I'm stupid and mean, or being a mouthy eight-year-old having a meltdown at Target because I said he can only get one GI Joe. (Or whatever little boys play with nowadays. I'm clearly still living in 1987.)

I don't wanna. Nope. I want him to always be this way. Pretty selfish, I know, to have a baby and then demand that he just stop growing up to suit your own needs. I hear ya. But I don't care. I want him to be my little baby forever and ever. Amen.

I mean, seriously. He is too cute. He is perfect. He is all smiles at whatever I do. I am super-mommy. I am coolest lady ever. I am so original and so hilarious and so pretty (what? I can tell he thinks I'm pretty. Got a problem with that?). I am the best bestest best Mommy ever. And I know this isn't going to last. It doesn't last. Right?

Already, he is learning how to play, just a little, without me. Already, he is getting a tooth. A tooth, people! His little gummy smile is disappearing ALREADY! It's too soon! My books say he shouldn't teeth for a few more months! How dare he skip ahead! Already, he is no longer sleeping with me. I moved him downstairs this week, and I have to say, while it is a better scenario for everyone involved for many different reasons, it still seems like it is just too independent. Too much too soon. Shouldn't a little baby be pressed up with his mommy all night? What if he needs me? How can he really survive on a different floor from me?

Turns out he can. Oh, he still needs me. He still needs me lots. But I can look ahead and somehow see a time he will not. I can see what he might be like past his babyhood. Smart and strong and fierce and probably still sweet. He's probably ask me adorable questions in his adorable voice. He'll probably just grow on me more and more. That's what I tell myself, and these good days will just lead to more and better good days.

But it's hard to imagine a time better then this time I have right now.

Red state, blue state, losing my mind state

Let me start by saying that I really, really, really need this election to be over so I can sleep better. What happens now is, Luke wakes up at 5 or so, I go downstairs to feed him and instead of staying in a mushy, dream-like sleep state, my brain starts tossing and turning over the stupid election. And then when I go back upstairs to sleep for two more hours? I toss and turn over the stupid election. Then I get up at 7:30 and feed my hunger by reading more election coverage online, and then I feel my blood pressure rising and then BLAH! I just need it to stop.

I really probably shouldn't get into my personal views on things. I am trying really hard not to because I pretty much know how that would go. This late in the game, everyone, including me, is all riled up for one side or the other, it seems. I can't believe there are actually undecided voters out there. What in God's name are they waiting for? How can they not know yet where they stand? Isn't everything laid out there? So I suppose adding anything more to the national dialogue at this stage is just silly. So I won't. But just know I am really biting my tongue over here! Please, Nov. 4, get here quickly!

In the meantime, here is something that is sort of political to ponder. Check out this Web site www.storyofstuff.com. They showed a clip from it at church this week, and I came home and watched the rest. I realize it is likely way, way oversimplified. After reading some online reviews, I know one fact in particular is a gross mischaractization of a situation. Still, I think the big picture it lays out is what matters. And it's the kind of big picture that makes me never want to buy anything ever again. Or throw anything away. Or watch TV. If you watch it, let me know what you think! Or if you've seen it before -- I know it has been out for a year or so.

Friday morning in bed

These boys melt my icy cold heart, just a little bit.

Letting your baby watch TV

Just read this interesting post from Shannon from Rocks In My Dryer. It's about a Reuters report that lays out what should probably be common sense -- living in a home with constant background noise from a TV is bad for kids of all ages. 

The article starts out with the well-known recommendation that children under the age of two shouldn't watch any kind of TV -- they call it "screen media" -- at all.

Whoops. Another strike against my mothering skills!

Actually, I very much understand and agree that TV is not for babies. I very much want to hold to my desire to not let Luke watch TV until he's three. And then only the History channel, PBS and the Muppets (wait... are the Muppets still around? Probably not, but there is really nothing funnier than the Swedish chef. Am I right?) I have great intentions. But... well... already, I've slipped here. For his first two months at home, as I sat nursing and nursing and nursing him on the couch, I would keep the TV on to pass the time. Let's just say I became very very familiar with TLC's schedule. Even if I was reading the paper or talking to my husband or chatting on the phone, the TV was usually on. One day, I noticed Luke gazing in that direction. He seemed to be actually watching What Not to Wear right along with me. I thought it was sort of funny and then turned him away so he couldn't keep rotting his brain. But it kept happening... As I would watch Jon and Kate Plus Eight, I'd catch Luke doing the same. As Nanny 911 came on, Luke would glance over at the TV with me.

Since I knew he had figured out what the TV was, in a sense, I decided I might as well play him something educationamal. So I slipped in his Baby Einstein DVD, something I got at a shower that I really wasn't interested in, hence my aforementioned no-TV-intentions.  His reaction to the DVD cracked me up. He sat riveted, absolutely riveted, as toys flashed on the screen, all to soundtrack of Mozart. It was like crack for babies. He was hooked, and I was entertained as well, trying to figure out how these Baby Einstein people had taken such a simple thing --  basic shots of colorful toys and babyfied classical music -- and built an empire. Entrepreneurial genius!

Once I had broken my no-TV vow, it didn't seem so bad to turn on PBS and let Luke watch Curious George one day. Then yesterday when he seemed bored, I flipped to some cartoon, and he pretty much flipped his lid. He squealed and shook his arms and bounced in my lap and went a little nutso. The storyline had something to do with a little girl who made a promise to plug up a hole in a giant vat of grape soda that threatened to overflow and soak a town inhabited by all sorts of odd, alienish creatures. She, and several others, failed to keep their promises and at the end, they all learned a good lesson -- if you can't keep your promises, you shouldn't make them. I'm not sure Luke really caught that little moral lesson or whether he was simply intrigued by the flashing colors and cartoon sound effects. But he was sure entertained. I, on the other hand, was simultaneously relieved and self-critical. On one hand, I had figured out a way to entertain a baby who shuns napping. On the other, I realized I'd already totally broken my own promise to myself and become the sort of parent I had previously scorned.

Case in point: When we were in the hospital after his surgery, for six days we had to share a room with another baby and his parents. Each side of our rooms had TVs hooked the wall. Sometimes throughout the afternoon, we'd turn ours on, but it mostly stayed off. There was too much else going on, people always coming and going, nurses, doctors, visitors, it never ended. A TV would only add to the chaos.  And besides, I'd think to myself, this isn't really the time to catch up on All My Children. Pretty self-righteous, considering on the other side of the room, the TV NEVER turned off. Those parents literally kept it on the entire time we were there -- day and night. It drove me nuts as I tried to sleep on the terrible little couch as their TV cast a light over on my side of the room. I'd lay stewing under the pillow I'd shoved over my head and wonder what kind of parents they were to keep a TV on like that all day and night. In the HOSPITAL.

Pretty smug, wasn't I?

And the funniest part about it? The station they kept it on all day and night? TLC.

So yeah, I've fallen into the same habit as a majority of parents in this TV-obsessed country. And it is already rubbing off on my baby even though he is just three-months old. He's already glancing the TV's way when we are in that room, even if it isn't on. In the last few weeks, I have made a point to keep it off during most of the day. The quietness of the house is so much more conducive to just about everything -- thinking, reading, paying close enough attention to my son that I don't miss the little things. Praying. Talking on the phone. Cleaning. My mind is so much more productive without the constant hum of Take Home Chef. But I  think a certain degree of damage is already done. Because Luke has realized not just what the TV is... but that his mommy is a fan, just like him. And old habits die hard. My first inclination when I sit on my couch with my son is almost always to reach for that remote.

Turns out I'm still working out the kinks

The past week has not been fantastic. I've been thinking long and hard about a lot of things. The list of heavy topics includes my job. I was supposed to meet with my boss this week to hammer out the details of my return to work, which is quickly approaching. The meeting was, unfortunately, delayed a week. It's frustrating because I am antsy to find out what exactly I will be doing and how exactly this is going to work schedule-wise. Going back to work is not going to be easy, I know, and I feel like if we can get some of those things that are up in the air sorted out, the sooner I will be able to begin to mentally deal with the transition. In the meantime, I am falling into old habits, plotting and planning and working things out in my mind over and over and over until I have driven myself crazy. But the result of all that mind churning is  that I have a solid idea of what I would like to do moving forward. My boss made it sound like my new role is at least partially up to me, so I am hoping this is something he will approve. In my mind, this new role would stretch me, force me to learn new things, teach me new skills and make me more marketable and more up-to-date with what is going on. That excites me, and I know if I feel passionate and excited going back will be much easier.

So I've been a little anxious and a little bummed and a little worried. All of that emotional crap of course has me feeling run down, too. So it hasn't been a fabulous few days, and I tend to go quiet here  during periods like that. (See last December as Exhibit A -- after finding out I was pregnant, I didn't post for more than a month.) But writing is my catharsis, the way I organize and analyze and acknowledge the thoughts bouncing through my brain. I need to keep going here, and that means finding ways to talk about what I'm thinking and feeling without baring too much of my soul. This used to be easier for me because no one I knew "in real life" actually read my blog. I know that has changed a bit as word has leaked out that I write here, and I'll be honest, the result is that I censor myself. I don't think that is going to change much... but I also want to work harder to find a way to be always  honest about what my life is like at the moment.

So this is my feeble attempt at that.

Things are a little grey right now.

And my brain hurts.

How long do you want to be loved? Is forever enough, is forever enough?

Three months? Has it truly been three months?

Are you really this big?

Apparently. It's not that it has gone by quickly. It really hasn't. It's that it still seems somewhat impossible to accept that I am a mother, and that I have been for three whole months, and that you are a real flesh-and-blood three-month old little person for whom I am totally responsible. There are moments, almost every day, where I stop and think, "Really? How did this happen?"

No, you were not in the plans. No, you weren't expected.

But holy cow, are you loved.

Big, big, big-time loved.

It's a big love that gets bigger every day. Of course, we have always loved you, our son. But this past month, as you began interacting and smiling and cooing like craaaaaaaaazy, you seriously made our hearts do somersaults. You kill me, every day, with your big I-still-don't-know-what-color they-are eyes and your hilarious expressions. Often, I'd say you look concerned. Concerned and perplexed, like you are trying to order the universe but your brain is failing you. Give it time, pumpkin pie. You'll get there.

Right now, I just want you to know that you are wholly and completely adored. Can you feel that? I believe you can. When I nurse you, you sigh so softly and so contently that I believe you must know. I try to imagine what it must feel like to be so tiny and to be held so tightly and to feel enfolded up against someone who is protecting you and nourishing you. I'd guess it feels wonderful, and I know unequivocally that being on the opposite end is my new definition of happiness. I hold you and nurse you and I could not care less that the economy is in the tank, that there is a historic presidential race happening, that there are all sorts of issues to be worried about, that Project Runway's on the tube. There's nothing in those moments but your tiny hand clenching my finger and your big eyes peering up at me and your little mouth churning away.

This past month was marked with all sorts of growth. One day, while you were watching your cherished Buckeye mobile spin, you discovered your hands. I came in to find you clasping them together in front of you as you quizzically stared them down. That same day, you seemed to notice your feet as you sat on my lap and bounced them on my stomach. You no longer need me to help you hold your head up. Your repertoire of sounds has tripled from a few grunts to all sorts of oohs and ahhs and babbles. You love when I talk baby talk to you, so I pretty much spend my entire days going, "Bee bee bee bee boop!" and "Aaaah-oooh, aaaah-oooh." When I say, "I love you," to you -- as I do about one hundred times each day -- I swear you try to say it back.

You love standing and are quite good at it -- with me holding you under your arms, of course. You also love when I lift you up above me and make airplane noises like, "Wheeeee! Wheeeee!" You go nuts when your Daddy rolls his tongue to make a Chewy noise. You don't know who Chewy is yet, I know, but with your Daddy, I promise you, you will. When we take you out and about, you love to look around and take in your new environments. You focus so intently that I can rarely get you to smile at your normal cues, like when I "bink" you on your nose. In those moments, you're like, "Excuse me, mother, but I have better things to do than perform at the moment. I am watching the world. Please excuse me."

And I like seeing you like that almost as much as I love your big, dimply, goofy grin.

It's funny. The thing I worried about the most when I found out you were on your way was that I'd lose a part of myself. That I'd be forced to give up things I love or things I thought made me who I was. How would I mesh the me I'd been crafting for 27 years with a role I didn't think I was ready for? All of that goes to show that the things we worry about are rarely the problems we wind up facing. Because if anything, since you've entered my life, I feel more like myself.  I feel fully realized and confident and purposeful and complete. I feel like this is who I was meant to be all along. You have certainly changed me but when I try to pinpoint how, exactly, I can't really do it.

I'm still me. But somehow, I am MORE me. I'm your mommy. And I think, in some way, I always have been.

Hello, you

So, I got my shoes. Thanks for all of the advice. I ended up going with two pairs, both purchased through Zappos, which I love love love. Love because they offer free shipping both ways, should you decide to return. Love because I heart reading reviews from people before I decide what to buy. Love because they have about seventy billions options that I can whittle down to 15 shoes that meet all the criteria I am looking for. And love because they upgraded my shipping for free and got me my new shoes in less than two days.

The first pair I picked where these white and blue J-41s. I found them after stumbling upon an ad in a magazine. Yes, I am that person who actually sees an ad in a magazine and then buys a product because of it. The thing that caught my eye was reading that this company makes its products out of 100 percent recycled materials. The company is a licensed product of Chrysler, which makes Jeep, which I believe is where the "J" originated. So I am not only saving the planet by buying these, I'm helping prop up the fledgling auto industry here in Detroit. It would almost be wrong NOT to buy them.

Still, I wasn't sure I would love these. My fear was they would be too clunky. And even now that they're here, I'm not positive they aren't a little clunky. But I love them anyway. First of all, you put your foot inside, and it feels like it is wrapped in a pillow. So cushiony. So comfy. And I love the color scheme, which will go with just about everything I own. And the Mary Jane look dresses them up just a tiny bit so that they're not just an ordinary sneaker.

I likey.

The next pair I bought were Rocketdogs, recommended to me in the comments by Beth! At first when I looked at their stuff, I thought it was all a little to skate-boardery for me. But then I saw these...

Aren't they sweet? They're kind of simple black skimmers. Sort of standard with some white stitching details and a bit of a fuzzy finish. But that is OK. They're just interesting enough that I like them, and again, they should meet my main criteria, which is to go with pretty much everything.

And I think they make my size nines look small. That's always a bonus.

The way I really know I love both of these shoes is that I wore them all day yesterday. In my house. While I folded laundry and unloaded the dishwasher and watched my babe. That is a true test of whether I really spent my money well, because when I truly like something, I wear it immediately.

So yeah. I will from hence forth be a stylin' "mom around town" instead of a frump-bucket. Thanks again for the advice!

The two a.m. mystery. And a cry for footwear advice.

So the routine is working wonders. The last four nights, Luke has grown sort of crabby around 7:30. And as soon as I start the routine, he gets calm, relaxed, almost excited. He is so into the routine, even the part when I massage his soft skin with girly-smelling lotion. Especially that part. And he seems to understand that the routine means bedtime. Each of those four nights, he has fallen asleep after nursing and has STAYED asleep for three hours. After needing to go in and nurse him or rock him multiple times the first few nights, the last four, he's been out without needing any more nuturing. This has led to something really wonderful -- time alone with my husband. We eat a late dinner (he doesn't get home until about 9 anyway) and we watch 30 Rock on DVD or whatever and we talk and we cuddle and we are ALONE. We talk about Luke, too, and I check on him repeatedly because I am overly neurotic about SIDS, but for the most part, we reconnect, and that is a much needed thing.

The only downside to the routine is that, suddenly, Luke is refusing to take a bottle during Jimmy's feeding. My husband used to do the "second" feeding of the night around 2 a.m. But with the earlier bedtime, that is now the third feeding. I do the second one before I go to bed. So I'm not sure if it is that switch in things or what, but the last few nights, Luke has woken up at 2 and then acted completely annoyed when Jimmy has tried to give him a bottle. It has gotten so bad that my husband told me last night -- over homemade chicken jambalaya, thank you -- that he has been squirting the milk into Luke's mouth. That cracked me up. But beyond finding the humor in that, we are both stumped. What's the problem here?

Last night, I was too tired to stay awake for the 11 o'clock feeding, so I went to bed and had Jimmy bring me the baby when he woke up. After he was done eating, I put him in his pack and play instead of his crib. That meant that it was me who responded to his cries at 2. And so I finally got to see what was going on first hand. He started fussing, and so I picked him up. But he wasn't acting hungry -- no fist in the mouth, no frantic OH MY GOD WILL I EVER EAT AGAIN?!?! crying. So I simply laid him next to me and put my hand on him, and what do you know, he went back to sleep! He didn't wake up to actually eat until 4:30 or so. So my question is, what the hell is happening? Is he getting close to sleeping through from 11 to 4:30 or so, but just needs a little help? A little middle-of-the-night calming down? Is this the first step before he simply sleeps right through? Please, please, oh pretty please, say it could be so?

I hope so. But really, it beats me. 

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Your advice please: I need a "running around" shoe. Something flat and comfortable but stylish. Something that can be worn with almost anything, but especially with sweat-type pants or jeans. It could be more of a sneaker -- I'm thinking something colorful and fun -- or a classic flat. I don't want anything strappy or open-toed. Any suggestions? For some reason, I have a really hard time finding a shoe that fits this description. I have some red loafers that are a little too businessy and a little too red to go with everything. I have flip flops that are just too summery. I have slip-on tennis shoes that are off-white and look a little too dirty and clunky for me to feel put together. And I have various shoes with wedge or short heels that just feel too dressy for a quick trip into the market. I want a  fallback shoe, a pair I can throw on when I'm running to the grocery store or the bank or wherever, something uncomplicated that still makes me feel put together and un-frumpy, even though it's not a dressy shoe. Does this make any sense? Bueller? What do you wear when you're out running errands? Any suggestions? This? This? Maybe this?

The goodness of fans

I'm sure most mothers out there have already heard, but a report came out this week touting a new way to keep your baby some succumbing to SIDS -- leave a fan on. Who knows why, but apparently if the air is circulating in the room, babies are less likely to randomly stop breathing and die of SIDS. I don't really get it, but I don't really need to either. All week, I made sure our fans were going, even though the temperatures have dropped enough that we have to run the heat at night.

So let me see. My baby is 72 percent less likely to die of SIDS with the fan on, but he's 14 percent more likely to die because he's a male. He's 20 percent more likely to die when he's in bed with me, which is about 30 percent of the time. Since my SAT score was in the 89th percentile, he's at an 11 percent risk. And I read somewhere that on the nights I say my prayers properly, the risk is a mere two percent -- unless I start smoking, and then it skyrockets to 45. Don't even get me started about Saturdays and Sundays, which come with a tripled threat of SIDS deaths.

Yeah, I'm being sarcastic. All these numbers make me a little bonkers. And my running fan makes me chilly, especially since I can't pull the blankets all the way up over my head since, you know, that would cover Luke up and surely suffocate him. But I'm pretty sure I'll keep running that fan anyways -- as much as I know I'll keep looking for more who-knows-what-they-really-mean statistics to calm my mind.