Our Morning

It isn't quite "D-day", the day I go back to work. Today IS the first time I will be leaving the baby for longer than a "date night" and it is just as hard as I anticipated. I have an all day class to renew a license, close enough to work to make my stomach turn. I know Levi is in great hands, and I also know at this young age he will not spend his day missing me in return. Yes, this is a lopsided burden of emotion, as I am discovering applies to many aspects of being a parent. The first of many separations to come, get used to it Mom! We're up early to nurse and play before I go, and today's early morning feed feels special, perhaps because it will over 10 hours before we do it again. It already helps me cherish the sweet moments I do have with my boy, they are a beautiful reminder of the bond we have created in a few short months. I'm keeping this post short and sweet, the morning is passing quickly already and I want to soak him up as much as possible!

Two Months

Levi Everett, you are two months old.

You are a happy, sensitive baby.  You want what you want when you want it, I wonder where you get this from?  You are happiest in the morning when you first wake up and grumpiest in the evenings.  I sing you the "Good morning song" every morning and you smile and coo.  I think you recognize it now.  You have even giggled a small giggle once or twice!  You also like "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" and "Patty Cake".  You are starting to recognize familiar faces and you definitely know your Mommy and Daddy.  You're neck is getting stronger and you are able to hold your head up longer and steadier every day.  You still hate tummy time for the most part, but you like laying on your belly when you are on Mommy's or Daddy's chest. At six weeks you rolled from front to back for the first time.  Now you can do it both ways and you do it often to avoid the dreaded tummy time!   You're legs are very strong!  When we support you, you can hold yourself up on your legs.  You puff out your chest, flex your arms and open your eyes wide, it makes us laugh.  Just this past week you have started to entertain yourself for small amounts of time.  I can lay you in your pack-and-play or put you in your swing for 10 minutes at a time and you watch the mobile or listen to the music.  You are starting to notice your hands.  For three days, you have been sucking on them more and more!  You are getting better at holding your pacifier in, but we still have to hold it for you sometimes.  You hate wet diapers with a passion, and you are not afraid to let us know it!  You love taking a bath, but you hate being cold when you are done and we have to lotion you up and dress you fast lest we face your wrath.  Your eyes are definitely dark brown.  Your hair is very light brown but your eyebrows still look blond.  You hate to be swaddled, but it is the only way you can sleep without waking yourself up.  Not that you stay in a swaddle very long, we call you Houdini!  Sometimes you'll sleep in your bassinet but you would rather sleep in bed with us.  We laugh because we are scared you will sleep in our bed until you are five.  You love when we read you stories at bedtime.  Sometimes you stop nursing to smile at me, it melts my heart!  You love music, especially classic rock.  Not surprising since your Dad and you like to sit in his the office while he plays music for you on the computer.  At a month and a half you grew out of newborn clothes and you wear 0-3 months size now.  Your socks still fall off your long, skinny feet.  We cannot believe how fast you are growing.  It seems impossible but we love you more every day!

Today, you are two months old.

Breastfeeding: Not for the Faint of Heart

A mother's body is built to provide everything her child needs. The ability to create, to grow, to birth, to love and comfort; and the ability to nourish. Breast milk is a perfect source of nutrition, especially tailored to meet a baby's every dietary need. It provides a primary form of communication and bonding between mother and child. It is natural, but it does not always come naturally.

I knew before I was even pregnant that I wanted to breastfeed. I had a crash course during my OB rotation in nursing school, supposedly even learning how to teach mothers how to breastfeed. I laugh at this now. Really, what did I know? Even so, I knew all the benefits and craved the bond that develops between mother and child. I read a few books and we even took a prenatal breastfeeding course to prepare ourselves. While this preparation was helpful, I am a believer that breastfeeding is one of those parenting skills which requires "on the job training". I also realize for some women, breastfeeding happens almost effortlessly. I admit that with my background and preparation I had anticipated I would fall right into this category. However, on par with my labor and delivery, Levi and I struggled to find our groove. This is our experience...

Following my Son's birth we were provided an opportunity for skin to skin bonding time. During our breastfeeding class the lactation nurse had explained that even newborn babies, if placed on their mothers bare chest, would crawl their way to the breast and often latch themselves on. This is actually true! My Son did display this behavior right away, and so I awkwardly tried to nurse him for the first time. We did not have much time to practice during our bonding time and soon we were moved to our postpartum room. After visiting Family members had gone home, and the nurses were done with their tasks, we tried again. I wasn't sure if he was latching on correctly but he seemed to be a vigorous eater.

The facility I gave birth at is very "baby friendly" and provide excellent services to support breastfeeding. I was very eager to utilize these resources and began to ask my nurses for help right away. I requested the lactation consultant to visit as well. Each nurse had suggestions, and there was one night nurse in particular who was very helpful. I produced what she said was a good amount of colostrum. I felt very confident that Levi and I were off to a good start! The lactation nurse observed us and reassured me we were doing well. She offered a few suggestions and educated me about what to expect in the coming days. I logged our feedings and diapers as I was instructed. I left the hospital with our two-day-old Son feeling confident that my milk would come in soon and we would be off to the races!

That is not what happened. From that point on, nursing my child became very challenging. My memory of those days are admittedly foggy. The emotion and physical trauma of childbirth, the exhaustion, the lack of sleep; they all contribute to frustration and a lack of composure. It was very important to me that I be successful at breastfeeding. I put a lot of pressure on myself and if not for a support system of my Husband, a special Nurse, a few Friends and my Family, I may not have weathered the storm!

The first night at home was as we had expected, difficult. Levi was an alert, active baby from the very beginning and very resistant to sleep. I tease that he is afraid to miss anything! That first night home was no exception. I sat up in bed, nursing him most of the night. Latching him on was still very clumsy. He nursed for 45, sometimes up to 75 minutes at a time. Less than an hour after eating he would cry and root dramatically until I nursed him again. Despite my preparation, I had not anticipated I would be nursing almost constantly around the clock. I had also not been fully prepared for the gap between disappearance of my colostrum and my milk coming in.

Fast forward to day of life three. We had been home a full 24 hours. Levi was extremely hard to settle, and continued to nurse constantly. I began to feel sore especially when he latched on, but continued to nurse him on demand. He developed a peely rash around his lips. As exhausted, concerned Parents we decided to take him to the doctor.

At the doctor's office, Levi was weighed. The nurse read his weight as 7 pound 13 ounces. He had weighed 8 pounds, 12 ounces at birth. I was completely startled! I knew babies lost 10% of their birthweight during the first week, but this sounded like a huge drop in just 3 days. Introducing...MOMMY GUILT. I felt awful! I had sensed something was off and this was confirmation, I was starving my child. I was devastated and anxiety swept over me at the thought he may have to be re-admitted to the hospital for failure to thrive. The doctor walked in and before I could even start to explain our problem, I burst into tears. Guilt, fear, exhaustion...I was a hot mess! She was very kind, reassured me that I was doing a good job and that my milk would come in soon. I explained to her how I wanted to avoid formula, and especially a bottle until I had established breastfeeding. I had gotten it in my mind that having to use these things meant I had failed. Failed to provide him exclusively breastmilk and an opportunity to learn how to correctly nurse before introducing a bottle. The doctor explained to me that the loss of weight was expected, but that he would need to be fed soon so it wouldn't continue. She assured me that she thought I could wait one more day if I wanted, but that she would send me home with formula and a syringe "just in case".

At home, the three of us sat in the living room. Levi cried frantically. He rooted and attempted to suck on his fists. He was HUNGRY. With tears in my eyes, I told Randy "Okay, fine, let's give him formula". I felt so defeated. Levi drank the formula from the syringe. When we finished feeding him my Son lay quiet. He was finally full. Guilt continued to sweep over me as I held my happy, satisfied baby. We napped together.

My postpartum hormones must have been raging, because when I woke up I immediately cried, and cried HARD. Randy was doing his best to support and comfort me, he suggested I contact the Lactation consultant. I am so glad I made that phone call. I explained that I had a newborn who had lost 10% of his birthweight at 3 days. How I had nursed him all night and he continued to act very hungry. How he must have been starving and that I was sure my milk had not come in yet. I tried to hold back the tears but the nurse heard the desperation in my voice. She asked me if I could get to the clinic (it was 4:30pm, they close at 5pm), and told me she would stay overtime to work with me. We hurriedly packed my car: the baby bag, the Boppy, and the baby (After a diaper change, of course. Babies have a sensor that goes off when their parents are in a hurry to go somewhere.).

I must have looked positively haggard. I had tears in my eyes and could barely speak. She asked me to sit down and relax, to breathe. She reminded me there are only two rules when it comes to breastfeeding. One, Mom must be comfortable. Obviously I was in violation of that rule. Two, baby must be fed. She explained to me that milk usually comes in between day 3 and 5 and that it was OKAY to give him formula. She worked with Levi's latch, and she instructed us in a method with allowed us to supplement at the breast while continuing to encourage my milk to come in and teach Levi to breastfeed. She created a plan for us and she reassured me I was doing a good job. She SAVED me. By the end of that session I could breathe again. I felt reassured that we would tackle this hurdle and that my baby would be fed.

Over the next two weeks, My Husband and I worked together to pump, supplement and feed our baby. We operated as a team. It took a whole 6 days for my milk to come in, but Levi was fed. I continued to see the lactation nurse who helped me to overcome latch difficulties, pain and cracked, bleeding nipples. It was a difficult three weeks, but we survived together. I learned that I had not failed because I gave Levi formula. We had done whatever was necessary to nourish and care for our child. THAT is what a parent does.

Not every mother chooses to breastfeed and not every mother is able to. I want to explain that my story is not meant to make a statement or judge formula or bottle feeding, I respect all choices. I simply wanted to share my passion for breastfeeding and my own difficult experience with tackling it.

Levi and I now enjoy a wonderful nursing relationship. He remains an enthusiastic eater and thankfully my supply is keeping up! Through the challenges we have formed a very strong bond. I love that I am the only one able to give him that form of comfort and nourishment. I am so HAPPY that I persisted and so very GRATEFUL for the support system that allowed me to do so.

You Are My Sunshine

That is sunshine, isn't it warm and bright?

And those are birds..."chirp, chirp"

These are flowers, they are pretty and they smell nice.

Quiet, calm.  My Son is fascinated as we walk to the mailbox.  He was born during winter, it has been cold and rainy most of his life.  Being outside is a whole new adventure.  Everything is so new, and so vibrant.  His senses are overloaded.

Mornings like this morning refresh my energy, my patience.  They allow me to remember how special this time is at home with him.  How each day he changes so much and how I will never get this exact morning back.  I love sharing new things with him.  I love watching him expand his knowledge and take in the world.  I feel blessed to have these moments.  I hope I can remember and channel this feeling when the morning isn't so peaceful. Two days ago was a rough one. He cried anytime I put him down and refused to nap. Usually I am able to comfort him easily but was unable to on this particular day. I felt quite defeated because I could not get anything on "the list" done. I was distracted. My Husband reminded me, "He just wants to be close to you."

Today I am giving my Son what he wants. I am holding him close, I am wearing him in his carrier while he naps, I am nursing him as long and as often as he likes. I am letting him have what he needs. I am teaching him that I will always be here for him and that he is important to me. He rewards me with smiles and he coos to show me he is happy. I know there will come a day when he no longer wants to be held all day, nursed all day. There will be a time for chores and errands. For now, those things can wait. Today, we are learning about sunshine, and birds, and flowers. Today we are spending the day together.

Labor of Love, but No Love for Labor

A disclaimer: So as to capture the true feeling of my labor I have failed to spare most of the details.  Plus, I am a nurse and I cannot help myself.  Read at your own risk!

My induction began somewhere in the 7:00 p.m. hour.  The doctor allowed me to have dinner and instead of accepting the hospital tray (being a nurse, I have a severe aversion to hospital food...BLEH!) I sent Randy to Del Taco, "the last supper".  Though I did decide against the deluxe chili cheese fries, a wise decision!  We had dinner and settled in for the night.  The doctor had decided to induce me using pitocin and something called "mechanical dilation".  Sounds uncomfortable, right?  UNCOMFORTABLE could have been considered the understatement of the year in this case.  Basically what mechanical dilation refers to is inserting a rubber balloon into my uterus, inflating it with water, and attaching a liter of IV solution to provide tension at the other end to pull, stretch and therefore, dilate.  Let the cascade of medical interventions begin!  Because I was receiving pitocin, I needed to be continuously monitored. I was tethered to the uncomfortable labor bed with only short bathroom trips for relief.  This would prove to be one of the most difficult parts of my labor.  Being restricted; unable to walk, move around and listen to my body's needs made labor SO much more difficult.  The contractions began to get stronger and stronger, but I was able to breathe through them and even sleep a little in between.  Every so often I heard my nurse enter the room and turn up my pitocin drip, or adjust the external monitors. For the most part that night is a long, blurry memory.  Likely due to the ambien my MD prescribed, to help me rest...wowza!

I remember the contractions became more and more painful.  Eventually the balloon fell out which meant I had reached 3 centimeters dilated. A whole three centimeters, WHOOPEE! At this rate I felt like I might be in labor forever.  Eventually I asked for something to take the edge off the pain and the nurse offered me medication through my IV, fentanyl.  It sounded a bit extreme, but at this point I was up for whatever.  It did not relieve all of the pain, but did allow me to relax for about an hour which was nice.  At some point in the morning, I think it was around 9:00 am or so, the nurse checked me and estimated I was four centimeters. (Insert wimper...).  I had hoped I would do all my early laboring at home and avoid the disappointment of hearing how SLOW everything was moving, but induction had robbed me of that.  I was receiving the max dose of pitocin and the contractions were quite painful at that point. The doctor suggested breaking my water to help encourage dilation. "Sure, and go ahead and get that anesthesiologist in here too."   I knew breaking my water would make my contractions stronger.  "That anesthesiologist" might as well have been a knight riding in on a white horse.  I received my epidural, a beautiful moment!  For quite a few hours the pain subsided and I was able to sleep.   Breaking my water had revealed that my amniotic fluid was meconium stained, infection was a concern. They placed another tube in my uterus called an amnio infusion, basically a tube which continuously flushes the uterus with saline. The interventions continued...  They placed internal monitors to track both the baby's heart rate, and my contraction strength.  There were some signs of distress in the baby's heart rate and he seemed to "like" only certain positions. I was placed on my left side for the majority of the rest of my labor.  At the time, this felt like torture!  The epidural drained to my left side, and became ineffective on the right.  I was not able to do anything during contractions except lie there. This caused me to tense up for each contraction, exhausting!  I had dilated to 6cm, but in several hours made no progress from that point.  Discussions about the possibility of a C-section began but Randy and I continued to ask for "one more hour" as long as the baby was tolerating the labor.

I had waited all my life to experience giving birth.  I was willing to do ANYTHING to deliver vaginally as long as it was safe for baby.  That day was easily the most challenging day of my life.  I could not have imagined how painful and exhausting it would be to endure labor, especially with so many unnatural interventions restricting me from doing what my body was telling me to do.  The contractions caused by the pitocin were so unbelievably strong that I really do not know that I could have gotten through it without pain relief.  I have a whole new respect for women who labor and give birth naturally!  My body seemed to resist labor fervently, but we pressed on.

At some point around 5:00 pm on November 13, my own primary OB came on duty and visited me.  Again, we discussed c-section and he told me all the reasons why some women just are not able to deliver vaginally despite every best effort.  He reiterated that my body was in a nice strong contraction pattern but without progress soon it was probably not going to happen.  He promised me one last hour and said he would return to check me and we would make a decision at that time.  I began to wrap my mind around having a C-section.  In my mind I knew it was not the end of the world, and that I would have my baby either way when all was said and done.  I began to mourn my desired birth experience and even asked Randy and Desiree to start packing up the room as we would be moving quickly if we had to go for surgery. I think I had basically come to the conclusion that my body was just not going to cooperate and allow me to deliver vaginally.  I felt defeated.

Around 6:30 pm nobody had yet come to check me, when something changed drastically.  I began to feel the full force of the contractions. My epidural had packed up all its belongings, and abandoned me!  I remember horrific back pain like a vice squeezing my lower spine, along with the painful tightening of my entire abdomen.  In hindsight, I believe I was going through transition phase.  After almost 23 hours of labor I was so exhausted that I could no longer regulate my breathing and I lost all control.  I watched my heart rate climbing and grew anxious knowing I was at risk for infection. I had already spiked a fever.  Because of my nursing background I feared the worst scenario, a blood infection.  "Something is wrong, something is wrong; get the nurse".  In my mind I decided I had lost the fight, and I would go for the C-section.  I remember my Sister pacing back and forth, wondering out loud why nobody had come after several minutes and calls.  I sobbed from the pain and called desperately for relief.  After what seemed like an eternity, my RN and the nurse midwife on duty came.  They wanted to check me one last time before deciding if we would head to the OR.  I cried to them "something is wrong, I know it, I can feel EVERYTHING."  The midwife checked my cervix, and gave me some very unexpected news. "Well I know why your epidural isn't working, you're completely dilated."  I almost did not believe her, I had done it!  My body had finally responded and now I was going to meet my baby.  Except...oh yeah, there was more work to be done.  Now, I would actually have to push. Oh boy...

Things happened fast at that point.  A new RN came on duty and began to direct me in pushing.  Randy held my left leg, and Desiree my right.  Later, my Sister laughed as she told me how surprised she was that I did not use more colorful language while pushing.  I just kept saying "Oh Jesus, Oh Jesus."  I told her in that moment I was praying for mercy.  Some miracle to help me push out what I thought was surely a 10 pound baby.  Pushing is HARD WORK.  I tried to channel my Mother's famous advice and push my bellybutton out as if to "pop the button on my jeans" but in the end I went for the good ol' bowel movement push.  And boy, did I! I am pretty sure I pooped all over the room.  In fact, there is a funny story about Randy picking said poop up off the floor when everything was over.  His attempts at getting the nurse's attention to do so were unsuccessful and I suppose he just could not stand the sight any longer.  But really, who can blame him?  This was one of the most hilarious moments, and definite proof that he loves me.

I pushed for about an hour.  I remember feeling like I would never be able to push out what I was absolutely sure was going to be a unusually large newborn.  At some point the nurse told me if I kept pushing the way I was, I would soon meet my Son.  Finally!  A light at the end of the longest tunnel I had ever been down.  I pushed with everything I had left.  The nurse called in the team for delivery, among which were a NICU nurse to check the baby, and the midwife.  About the time the midwife arrived and started suiting up, the RN told me to stop pushing and wait for the midwife put on her gloves.  STOP PUSHING!?!?  There was no FUCKING way I was going to stop pushing!  My body had a mind of its own and I was no longer the navigator.  I am pretty sure I screamed at her "HURRY, I cannot stop pushing, I HAVE TO push, I AM PUSHING".  There may have been more expletives, I don't really remember.  The midwife sat at the edge of my bed and I gave one last push.  I felt a strong and distinct POP. I do not remember if someone told me his head was out, or if they told me to stop or continue pushing.  However, I do vividly remember the first time I laid eyes on my beautiful Levi.

The minutes that followed forever changed me.  I had dreamt of that moment for as long as I could remember, imagined what it would feel like.  All cliche's aside, that moment surpassed every expectation and was truly the most special of my life.  Following said "pop", a warm, wet, tiny pink body with the biggest, darkest eyes I have ever seen came flying through the air to meet me.  Our eyes met instantly as he was placed on my chest.  I recognized him as mine right away and I was in total awe.  I sobbed and I laughed at the same time.  I held him close and felt his skin on mine.  The miracle that had Randy and I had created through our love for each other; the little person who had grown inside me and pushed my body to its absolute limit; this tiny, perfect human being; our Child, our Baby was finally safe in my arms.  I was in love with him instantly despite every painstaking, exhausting moment.   Our Son had arrived and with more truth than I could have anticipated, I would never be the same.  I do forgive, but I hope I never forget.

And so, our adventure began...

The "9-Month Pregnancy" Myth

For the most part I enjoyed being pregnant.  I had always idealized pregnancy, been borderline obsessed with pregnant women and babies.  I often thought about what it might feel like to experience pregnancy.  I imagined prancing around (I admittedly did not do much "prancing" as a pregnant woman) in maternity clothes.  Finally free to "let it all hang out."  For once I would wear my gut with pride, white tank tops and spandex, I had no shame!

The first few months were a little uncomfortable between the nausea and the exhaustion (HA! "Exhaustion."  The early pregnancy exhaustion pales in comparison to the "oh shit, I have to get my ass up every hour and a half to take care of this newborn exhaustion."  Its all relative, right?)  These pesky symptoms were a small price to pay for the excitement of finally gaining membership to the "preggo club" and having my very own little one growing inside.

Trimester two, peaches!  My little bump became recognizable as something more than one too many carne asada burritos and people began to openly acknowledged me as pregnant.  I had more energy, less nausea and was on my way to meeting my baby, heaven!  This baby belly bliss continued right up until the 8th month, when my body abruptly abandoned me and pledged loyalty to a yet intangible being.  It did not help that my pregnancy landed smack dab in the middle of what I will always tell my Son was the HOTTEST summer in the history of Riverside summers (104*F plus for weeks at a time...positively rediculous).  Let the Mommy sacrifices begin!  All in all, pregnancy was a wonderful, hilarious, exhausting (there's that word again) experience.  I would not trade those memories.  There is something truly spectacular about the bond that is formed when you feel that baby wiggle inside you, even IF it means you have a little foot wedged in your rib cage or are waddling to the bathroom in the middle of the night for the 8th time.

After what could really be characterized as 10 months of pregnancy (In my book 40 weeks equals 10 months; I still feel like someone lied to me about the supposed "9 months of pregnancy"...) I knew I could not possibly stretch anymore. I was absolutely desperate to meet my Son and have my poor smushed abdominal cavity back to myself.  Pregnancy bliss had officially disappeared and all that remained was an extra tired, extra bloated mean lady who could no longer negotiate any sort of position which could be characterized as comfortable.  Nights consisted of trying to get comfortable in bed, getting frustrated and giving up (crying), moving to the couch to watch a movie, getting frustrated and giving up (crying); rinse, repeat.

I decided to start maternity leave two weeks prior to my due date thinking I would give myself time to relax, to organize and be ready for baby.  For the most part, being off work just gave me extra time to be miserable.  I now understand those well meaning (obnoxious) women who had stopped me in the grocery store and told me about how they had basically worked right up until the moment their water broke.  Somewhere in the back of my mind I fantasized about going into labor early, though I never admitted this out loud for fear of frightening labor away.  I imagined that I would toss and turn just the right way and my water would break all over the bed.  I made my Husband walk/run the neighborhood with me every time I felt a contraction or two in hopes "this was it."   It never was, and so we waited, and waited, and waited...

At three days past my due date we visited my Midwife.  I had grown quite a distaste for my Midwife throughout my pregnancy, but I had procrastinated until it was too late to switch and decided I would get through this pregnancy and know better the next.  She checked me and announced that I had not changed at all since my last appointment.  My third cervical check in two weeks, still only 1/2 a centimeter dilated and "very thick."  She made sure to tell me this was a generous estimate.  All of the walking, all of the primrose oil and red raspberry tea, all of the uncomfortable end of pregnancy sex; NOTHING had budged.  She repeated what she had stated at the previous appointment, if at 11 days overdue I was still pregnant she would schedule me for induction.  At this point, the thought of being pregnant for eight more days made me want to reach up inside and pull him out myself!  I managed to barely hold it together until she walked out of the exam room and promptly burst into tears.  My poor Husband Randy comforted me as best as he could, but I was beyond comforting.  I pulled myself together long enough to make it out of the office, only to turn the corner to the elevators and see the Midwife who had crushed all my cervical dreams waiting for the next elevator.  I am sure she saw my bloodshot teary eyes and searched for something comforting to say.  She put her hand on my large, pregnant belly, cocked her head and sighed, "oh, and he is still so high, hasn't dropped at all."  In that moment I fantasized about punching her.  I dragged my Husband into the next elevator going UP, and stated that we would go along for the ride (so as not to have to ride with her!).

The hardest part was feeling like my body was failing me.  Well-meaning Friends and Family were texting, calling, facebooking on a daily basis.  "Any baby YET?"  "Still having contractions?"  "When will Levi be here?"  I was beyond irritated, blame it on the hormones.  I had NO IDEA when Levi would be here!  I must admit there were moments when I thought about asking people if they cared to come check my cervix themselves.  Better judgement narrowly prevailed.

Some of you are probably wondering when I will stop complaining and get to the beautiful, sweet part of my story.  If so, you'll have to wait just a little longer.  My labor was anything but a trip to Disneyland, but I do have a sense of humor about it.  A wise lady once told me the reason pregnancy gets so incredibly miserable at the end is so we will welcome labor with open arms.  ANYTHING to get him OUT.  Only a crazy person (I was practically certifiable at the end of my pregnancy) would welcome the type of labor I was granted.  But this story does have a sweet ending, so bear with me...

At eight days past my due date we traveled to the hospital for another appointment.  Looking back I realize I may have had a small burst of nesting that morning as I hurried around the house getting things in order "just in case."  We even packed the car, telling each other that there was no way they would keep us but better to be prepared.  I arrived at the ultrasound department for my non-stress test.  To begin, the tech checked the fluid around the baby.  Since mine was borderline low, the tech called and spoke with the L&D doctor who decided to bring me to labor and delivery where she would re-check me herself.  I tried to remain calm, but we could not help but wonder if this might be the day.  After being admitted to our room for observation, we impatiently waited for the Doctor to come check me.

I remember laying there, doubting that this could be it.  I was sure we would be sent home and have to wait another 3 days to meet our baby.  The doctor finally came, and found my fluid to be even lower than the first check.  She discussed our options for induction and ultimately decided to admit me.  My biggest fear about being induced was that I would end up having a C-section.  But being overdue by 8 days does weird things to a person, and I was actually relieved.  FINALLY, this was it!  Randy and I were positively giddy with excitement and anxiety.  He called my Sister and told her to swing by the house and pick up few items and head to the hospital.  According to the doctor this was "going to be a long road."  Part of me did not believe her.  I had waited and waited, surely my body was on the verge of going into full blown labor and would only require a small kick start before we would be off to the races.  HA!  If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.  A long road indeed...

An Ambitious Endeavor

I have decided to take on a blog.  These first two months of motherhood have already provided an overwhelming abundance of heartfelt, hilarious, ridiculous material.  Many of my friends with young children have told me that they are unable to remember when their babies were so young.  There must be some sort of "parental amnesia" that has evolved to protect our exhausted minds from completely shutting down or actually reverting to our primitive sides and figuratively (or literally) eating our young.  "Survival of the fittest" at its finest.  Admittedly, I have less free time now than ever before and so it may be considered a bit insane that I am choosing this time in my life to take on such an ambitious endeavor.  Despite the odds being stacked against me to continue, I believe good parenting is all in the follow-through.  Therefore at the very least, I am committing to recording some of these experiences for my own nostalgia; sharing them with those who care to read (and hopefully enjoy) is an added bonus.

The only place I know where to start is at the beginning.  Some day my Son may read this blog and as such I must apologize to him up front.  In his two short months of life (plus 41.5 weeks in-utero) he has already provided me with more joy than my 29 years prior combined.  He has also tested my durability in ways I never thought possible.   I would like to use this blog to express both aspects and as such, he may be quite exposed.  Perhaps I can program this blog to self destruct at the time when he may actually find it an interesting read, and avoid the confrontation altogether.

As my first post I attempted to retrace the steps that led me to this point, but I found it quite difficult to "make a long story short."  Rather than an extra lengthy first post, I have divided it into a few entries for easier reading.  Mommy life lesson #1, true time management.

<3 Mommy's boy