Binkytown

Three Weeks

Fifteen seconds

We arrived at the hospital right on time. Checked in with admissions, registered and made our way to the antepartum unit. I was nervous but more excited than anything. Our nurse came out to get us. Wow she seemed young. Capable, and with a ponytail, but when did nurses get younger than me? Apparently some time ago.

We were ushered into the room, given a gown and hooked up to a monitor. The tears started to flow. I started to feel the fear. Not the life-shifting fear, that came later. This was hospital fear. IV and catheter fear. The sweet young nurse patted my hand and talked gently to me about hormones and all the emotion I must be feeling. I tried to play it off, this is what I do I said, trying to breathe deeply and save the hysterics for a really frightening event. Something slightly scarier than the elastic mesh girdle I was sporting.

The resident doctor came in and introduced himself. His handshake was weak and his hand was clammy. Again, he seemed too young to be there. I asked him some questions; how long does the C Section take? Will I get an epidural? His answers were unconvincing. He thought about 30-45 minutes and he wasn't sure. Have you ever done this before I asked and laughed to be polite but I wasn't really joking. He meekly smiled back and went down his endless checklist, asking me about high blood pressure, diabetes, family history, blah blah blah. I watched the clock as he droned on. Time was going by at warp speed. I tried to calculate how many minutes until I would meet my baby boy.

The nurse returned with news that some laboring moms had some babies with straining heartbeats. We might get bumped. I always get bumped. We didn't get bumped. OB number three came in, as did the anesthesiologist. No percoset. I told them. I was really sick last time. What are my options? I would receive a spinal, not an epidural. They could use a fast action morphine that would wear off in a couple of hours or they could use something that lasts longer. Will either of them make me sick? No, answered both the OB and the anesthesiologist. The fast acting one then, please. I don't want to be numb any longer than I have to be.

There was trouble with the IV. Tell me a joke I said to my husband, my three year old's favorite diversion. He cracked a smile and distracted me with Yo Gabba Gabba references. They tried the other hand. It hurt. A lot. No luck. They called in another nurse. The third time was the charm. They brought in scrubs for my husband. I commented on how odd that they would make him wear a hairnet when he had more chest hair showing than hair on his head. Minutes kept ticking away. My heart was pounding. Its time, they said and stood me up.

When I delivered my little man I was wheeled in to the Operating Room. I never really saw it. This was completely different. They dropped my husband along the way and said they would call him when I was ready. They walked me into the bright, white, sterile room. I saw it all. The big round overhead lights, the instruments, the table. I felt the chill air on my skin. I started to cry. The anticpation of meeting my son could do nothing to damped my fear of what was about to happen. They sat me on the table and told me to arch my back like a cat. I couldn't breathe. I started to sob. Gutteral crying sounds were coming out of me and I couldn't stop it. The nurses fretted around me. We're going to take good care of you, you're going to be just fine, you are about to meet your baby. I knew all these things. I believed them. I was still falling apart and no hand patting or soft talking could pull me out of it.

Fifteen seconds was all it took for the morphine to set in. They started to insert the catheter. I wanted to say wait, I can feel that, but I couldn't actually, just the pressure. Within half a minute my body felt warm and soft and I could hardly talk. This feels good, I thought, I got the good drugs. My husband came in. Have they started I asked him? He didn't know. I cried a lot, I confessed. That's alright, he said kindly. He talked to me about Foofa and DJ Lance Rock. I smiled weakly as they went to work on my midsection, pulling and tugging. I could hear the OR team giving instructions. With my first C Section, an emergency one, everyone spoke in hushed tones. This time I could hear everything, commands like "Suction" and "Irrigation" and names of instruments. 

Time to stand up dad, said the anesthesiologist. Do you want to? I asked him, still coherent enough to think he might pass out and how I really didn't want that to happen. He stood up but kept his eyes on mine. Minutes went by. Again the anesthesiologist spoke but this time it was Dad, you should sit down. The tugging and pulling got more intense. Tugging turned into rocking. My whole body was rocking on the table. I felt tremendous pressure on my lungs and I was wondering how on earth are they all the way up there? "Knife!" I heard, then again "Knife!" I wanted to look at my husband but I could only close my eyes and try to breathe. I had no worry for the baby, I knew he was going to be fine in the way that only a drugged mother can have. I had no alternative.

Finally, I felt a rush of air into my lungs. I can feel it. I said out loud, thinking they had pulled out the baby. They hadn't. My husband told me later that pressure and release I felt was the result of two doctors, literally on top of me. "Big baby" said the doctor, then again, a chorus of voices "Big baby, big baby and he's going to be a full back..." I heard his cry before I saw his face. I wondered before he was born if the sound of a newborn crying would be unfamiliar to me. It wasn't. They held him up so I could see him. He was perfect. There were tears in my husbands eyes and for once, none in mine. I was too drugged to cry but I still felt that wave wash over me. The one you feel when you lay eyes on your baby. It wasn't instant love like I have read about, but it was one of recognition and deep, deep gratitude. 

We had agreed ahead of time that my husband would go to the nursery with the baby. Are you sure you want me to go? He asked. Go, I told him. Be with him. I watched him disappear from sight and closed my eyes again. The anesthesiologist tried to make small talk. I wasn't in the mood. He asked about my other son, who was watching him, how old was he? He asked where we lived, what work we did. I asked if he had kids. He didn't. Lots of neices and nephews. Gay. I thought.

It was done and I listened to the OR technician accounting for all the instruments. One, two, three, four, five, six I heard her count again and again. I remember thinking she sounded uncanningly like my three year old reading his Sesame Street book as they lifted me from the table to a bed and wheeled me out. Young sweet nurse sat with me in the recovery room. You did great, she repeated again and again. I couldn't stop shaking. I didn't feel good. I told her so. Then I started to heave. Again and again and again. They tried Zofran. It didn't work. They tried another dose. It didn't work either. My husband arrived without the baby. I'm sorry I said meekly as he wiped my sweaty brow and emptied my bin. They thought it would be better if they waited to bring in the baby until I felt better. Only I didn't feel better. He was brought in for a visit and then returned to the nursery so I could "rest". I was given more IV nausea meds and many hours later a patch was put behind my ear. Finally I stopped throwing up but was too dizzy to open my eyes. 

It was morning before I held my infant and touched his fingers and toes. Before I could hug my husband and smile and actually mean it. There were tears ahead and I'm sure there will be many more in my journey to parent this child, but the smile on my face was huge as we drove away from the hospital and I said "I am so glad that is over".

 

Baby Blue

I glanced at the clock last night at 6:45. I missed it. The one week mark. Rowan was born at 6:07pm last week Tuesday.

I'm hopeful that the first week is the hardest. I think it was with my little man, but that makes sense to me - I was not yet a mother when I brought him home. I was so confident that I was beyond that. Seasoned. Battle tested.

I was wrong. I'm really struggling here and while I'm not ashamed to admit to myself and my inner circle, I'm not proud of saying it out loud here, where I have received so many well wishes and congratulations. Where I have chronicled how much I wanted to meet him. Which is why I've been silent for so many days.

The days I spent in the hospital have created a splinter, and I realize probably a temporary one, in the rock solid bond I share with my first born. The positive is that he has bonded more than ever with his father, who devotedly cared for him in my absence and I am happy about that. Still, it's not easy to be the one left behind. That five day stretch is the longest I have gone without caring for him and we are both feeling it. He is out of sorts and it is slowly breaking me, watching as he acts out every single day, wanting to help him but never seeming to find the right words. I miss him even though he is right here.

At the same time this baby is beautiful and perfect and hardly makes a sound but I don't know him yet. There's not much to know. He sleeps and nurses and sleeps and nurses and sleeps.

I feel very much like I'm a mother of two but a mother to none.

I don't want to wish this time away, but I really, really do.

Introducing...

Rowan Wickam Jones

Born July 1, 2008 at 6:07 PM

More to follow..

 

Independence Day

Today is my due date. Depsite the early morning pre labor activity going on, which is not much but just enough to create some irritating irony about the whole situation, the jig is up.

I'm scheduled for a C Section tonight at 5:30.

There is excitement- excitement of meeting the new baby, however it quickly disappears everytime I think about what's going to have to happen for that moment to arrive, and I swiflty try to push it away.  I like to picture myself as the warrior mama, but I'm really quite afraid of the gowns and the needles and the gloved-hands in small intimate spaces.

Adding to this baby-scheduling clusterfuck: The call I just received from labor and delivery wanting to make sure I received the message this morning about not eating because they could take me today at one o'clock instead of five-thirty.

Only no one called me.

Let the fireworks begin.

Like a bird

In the 2:30 darkness my little man called for me. I rolled out, padded down the hall, adjusted his kicked around blankets and laid down next to him. I barely roused at all. Neither did he.

At sometime around 4 I heard the birds chirping and saw the first light of dawn was starting to peek through the clouds. No matter how many times I tried to will myself back to sleep, reminding myself that I really, really needed to sleep right now I just couldn't. It was so peaceful. I just wanted to be.

I've been running at breakneck speed. Work commitments, putting the house back together, general three year-old-tending-to and the exhausting list I have compiled in my mind of everything I need to have in place: For example, are there clean sheets for the in-laws? Do I have enough hair conditioner? Will anyone know that little man's favorite "Music Show" is Classical Baby on HBO and that the star song is the one with the cow if I'm not here to explain? 

This last minute surge of pregnancy energy has been amazing. I don't think I really accepted "nesting" as a biological reality until now. The only down side is that this incredible burst of activity makes it hard to wind down and quiet the mind and drink in these final moments of being a family of three.

Which is why as the sky filled with light, I studied my little mans face and the wild tuft of hair standing up straight from falling asleep fresh from the bath. I tried not to speculate if this would be the last time for a long time that I had the luxury of doing so. I listened to him breathing as the cardinals sang and the chorus outside the window grew louder.

I'm hopeful that in the coming days when I am up before dawn and my nest is complete and there is one more voice in the house that I will be filled with the same tranquility I felt this morning.

I probably won't be, but I securely tucked away the knowledge that I will be again.

  

  

Beach, meet my backyard.

I actually live near a beach. The only thing, it's not a beach where you want to swim. Sad but true.

So when the temperatures were soaring this past weekend, it seemed like the perfect time to set up the Sand & Water Cart from Step Two, the new raised sandbox and water table, offering elevated play and the perfect antidote for a hot afternoon.

Read more about our backyard beach fun and Step Two's Whisper Ride Buggy at The Full Mommy!

I wish I were making this up

My late third trimester snoring has become so atrocious that not only do I wake myself up every night but this morning my husband produced these, which he kept beside the bed in the event that I woke him up - again:

Yes. While I am at it, let me remind you that remodeling in the ninth month of pregnancy is not for the faint of heart. They were beside this bed: Yes, that is a navy blue sheet over the window. Just like you would do in college when you couldn't afford a shade.

 

Although some people seem to think this is quite a lot of fun:

I do not. This is me dismantling my closet and saying Don't you dare take my picture.. I MEAN IT.

But behold! Two rooms down, two to go. Brand new windows, new closets (with shelves!) and freshly painted walls.

Before:

After: (JC Licht Light Khaki, my favorite new color evah).

Here's hoping the rest turns out as nicely as this. 

Soon.

  

 

FINE. I hear you.

The universe is trying to tell me something. At least that's what I'm telling myself because that's what makes me feel better.

First my much trusted OB goes out on maternity leave. Then my new OB decides to plan a two week vacation around my due date. She tries to talk me into a C Section at 39 weeks. I cry. She says we'll talk again next time.

Then I make a plan: If I go into labor within a week of my due date I'll push, if not I'll schedule the C rather than face an induction. I call the nurse, ask her to run it by the doctor so I can make up my mind. She calls back- it all sounds fine. Yet when I saw the new OB last week I found out it was all a badly played game of post office. What I asked and what she heard were two different things. She says to answer your question, yes, we can schedule the C Section with a different doctor while I am out of town. I say that's not what I asked. She appears confused. I cry. She says we'll talk more next week. At home I cry the ugly cry. Never pretty, but even less so at my size wrapped in a big blue fleece robe pulled tight around me for security, but making me look like a gigantic weeping blueberry.

I see her this week. She checks me, I'm one centimeter dilated but she can't find the head. We do an ultrasound to make sure he hasn't flipped. Nope. He's head down but not in the pelvis. Oh my pesky problematic pelvis. She gives me a look. I ask if I schedule a C Section for later but go into labor next week can I reserve the right to try and push him out? She says yes, if she is in town. If she is gone, however, it wouldn't be prudent for a new doctor I don't have a relationship with to take on that kind of risk and the C Section would be a foregone conclusion. That gives me until the 24th of this month to have a chance.  

I try and remind myself that I have never ever looked at my son and contemplated how he was born. I've reflected on it, many times, but never when I've tousled that wild head of hair or stared back at angry time out eyes.  

As I was leaving I saw my much trusted OB in the waiting room, the one who left me at 35 weeks to go on bed rest because she lost her last at 25 weeks. I stopped to ask how she was feeling. So far everything was good she said. She asked about me? Everything is fine, I said. That is very good, she said, in her manner of fact way with the emphasis on very. 

In the car I let that sink in for a minute.

Yes Universe, I am listening. She is right.

Pregnant..............Pause

You know how you can be watching a movie, snacks in one hand, remote in the other and for whatever reason you decide you need to fast forward (maybe it's because this is the second time you are trying to watch Sweeney Todd and Helena Bonham Carter is freaking you out and can't sing a lick and why on earth did people say they liked this movie?) so you grab the remote and OOPS you pause it. Wrong button. You press play and then OOPS you automatically hit the fast forward x2 and everything starts to move in hyper-warp speed.

Yeah, someone hit the pause button.

I'm sitting here, less than three weeks from my due date and I can see it coming- THE BIG CHANGE. It's on the horizon, just over the ledge, on the next page, the next frame forward-etc. I'm almost there and I know any minute someone is going to come along and hit that other button and BAM I'm going to skyrocketing quicker than a ray of light into my soon-to-be-future.

I'm gigantic and I'm sore from my middle down pretty much all day every day and shaving my legs is now completely out of the question but I'm not begging to be released from the vice grip of pregnancy. I think I'm really going to miss it this time when it's gone. I'm used to the elbow jabs where my stomach should be. I love it that I wake up and think where's the baby before I even question what day of the week I'm on, only to be reminded that he's here or there when I feel a shift or a flutter and I close my eyes again for a minute, my hand on my belly.  

I'm watching my son, puttering around my house as usual, making dinner, cleaning up, going to bed, getting up, doing it all over again and it seems surreal to me that in a few short weeks there will be another family member in the house, I will be at home all day, everyone's routines will come to a grinding halt and the life I have today will be out the window. I'm really pretty oblivious to it and not at all desperate for it to arrive.

I'm anxious to meet this boy child but after so many days and weeks and months of waiting and counting down I'm thinking- would it be so bad to have another month? I could go another month..but I know my days are numbered. I'm going to hide that remote deep in a couch cushion.

Just try and find it.