Andrias's Birth, Part 4 -- The babymoon

The first week was delicious.  By midwife's orders, I was on bed rest.  Baby and I spent all of our hours together.  We slept, we snuggled, we nourished ourselves.  I breathed in the scent of his new skin and stroked him.  There is no touch like that of newborn skin; there's nothing smoother or softer.  He spent his first several days naked, wrapped in blankets or wool sacks. No diaper to squish his bottom into.  No forcing his arms and legs into tiny clothes.  And he never left the room.  So there was no wrestling this tiny, fragile frame into the straps and buckles of a car seat or exposing him to the harsh elements of the outdoors.  No swirling cacophony of people, places, lights, sounds, and smells to fill his senses.  Only calm, only us.

When we slept, he wriggled his way to my breast, latched himself on and fed.  Breastfeeding has been so easy this time.  Painless and easy.  And when he pooped, I held him in my arms and put a little bowl or blanket under him to catch it.  The beginnings of EC, and it went really well.  On day four, I caught four poops.  I knew him, his rhythm, and his body language already. 

Everything was easy, and so natural.  Effortless.  I felt myself naturally become Mother in a way I never had with my first. 

At night, Baby slept, skin-to-skin with either George or myself.  Regin slept with us too.  And something strange happened to him that first night that became more and more obvious that first week:  he grew about 3 feet and gained about 20 pounds.  George laughed about the teenager that was suddenly in our bed.  Our little one had become our big one, relatively speaking anyway.

Regin loved his brother right away.  We had to hold him back a little from smothering the tiny infant with his kisses.  And in their sleep the two brothers kept drifting towards each other, trying to snuggle.  We tried to keep them separate early on, because we were worried that Regin would be rough in his sleep.

Everything was easy, except for the little matter of his name.  We'd chosen three candidates, but when Baby Boy arrived, we didn't agree on the name.  I leaned towards one of the Faroese names, Andrias, George leaned to the Spanish name, Eliseo. We waffled on it for several days, and on her check up visits, our midwife, Sena, reminded us that she needed to send in paperwork with the name by about a week.  My pull to my cultural heritage made me want to choose Faroese, plus his hair was light and reddish, like a viking!  But it was only fair to give George the choice, since I'd made the final call on Regin's name.  So, at around 6 days old, Baby lived with the name Eliseo for a day.  We told my mom and I was surprised to hear her highly linguistic tongue absolutely struggle with the name.  Then I began to feel more and more guilt over not passing on my culture to him.  Latin culture, after all, is so prevalent in the world, but there are only 50,000 people in the world that call themselves Faroese.  Plus Regin had such a lovely story to go along with his name.  So, we decided to switch back.  Andrias it was.  Sorry George.  Eliseo is a wonderful name.  We told everyone else his new name, and it seemed we made the right choice.  Even my mother-in-law had negative associations with the name Eliseo, the only person who preferred it was my dad, who still thinks Andrias sounds like a girl's name.  Haha!  Well, that's why family wasn't invited to be involved in the naming process!

The story behind Andrias's name?  Other than just being a Faroese name we both loved, it's also one of my grandfather's nine names.  He was named after the crew of a boat from his village that all died at sea.  His name was Oli Hans David Frederic Andrias Guttorm Elias Mellamgord Jacobsen and his named wrapped all the way around the back of his driver's license.  He's also one of my favorite people who has ever lived, an artist, a teacher, a giver of deep, warm hugs, and I miss him.

Andrias's middle name is Micael after my father, Michael. Who is also wonderful and thankfully still with us.

I've been surprised to find that his name is difficult for some to pronounce, so once again it's:  Ahn-DREE-ahs Mee-kah-ELL.  And for those who don't know, big brother's first name (Regin) is pronounced RAY-ihn, I assume you all know what to do with his middle name, Oscar?

---

During my week of rest, my mom and George were both there taking care of me.  Sena made several house calls to check on me and the baby.  That's another thing I love about home birth and midwifery.   There's so much respect for the mother's recovery process and baby's need for calm, quiet, and being left in the comfort of home with the mother.  I think Andrias was 6 weeks old before he really needed to venture outside of the home (by car). 

I stayed mostly in our bedroom, lying down. Occasionally I'd venture out to the loft to sit and watch a show with the others.  But the pain of sitting was intense.  My tailbone and all was extremely sore.  We bought me a donut to sit on, but it was still unbearable and I mostly stayed reclined. After a week, my body began bouncing back already, though I still took it easy, and at that time my mother left just as George's mother arrived in time to celebrate George's birthday.  He had a very special birthday present this year, one I worked really hard on!

Andrias's Birth, Part 3 -- The birth

Monday, February 8th.  I had consistent contractions all through the night.  They were frequent and rhythmic enough to make me think they might be the real deal.  I felt them through my sleep.  But they weren't the least bit painful (hypnobabies working?) so I wasn't sure if I should call my midwife.  By morning they had stopped.  Turns out, I had actually been listening to my hypnobabies tracks all night, and I believe I accidentally listened to the "Baby Stay In" track too.  OOPS!  Maybe Andrias was trying to come Tuesday morning!

By Wednesday night, I was worried that the baby was going to prove my prediction wrong that he'd come 1-2 weeks early.  Can't have that!!  He only had one day left!  So I went for a walk and did what you do to request that baby come out now.  I even asked the baby directly.  Baby, I love you, and it's time now.  I'm ready and I want you to come.

At 4a.m., Thursday the 11th, I woke up to pee.  Things were a little... shall we say... moist.  Then in the bathroom, there was a... um... gush.  And when I stood up, another, and tried to walk out, another... I made it over to George, woke him and quickly asked him to call our midwife before I ran back to the bathroom in time for several more gushes.  I guess that would be my water breaking! (It didn't break until baby came out the first time.)

George handed me the phone and Sena, my midwife, asked all sorts of detailed questions before asking me if I was having any contractions. 

"No," I sighed.

I knew what that meant.  The clock was ticking now.  I had 24 hours to make serious progress or I'd have to transfer to the hospital.  Sigh.  She told me to go back to bed and sleep as much as I could.  I went and laid down and popped on the hypnobabies tracks on my iPhone.  Within minutes I was having a contraction.  Then... another.  I knew it could be a while till I was in 'real' labor, so I tried to relax through them and sleep.  But I didn't sleep and they kept coming.  I finally woke George up again at 6 to time them.  Yep.  One minute long, five minutes apart.  Things were rolling!

We called Sena, we texted my sister JoAnn who we'd asked to be present to handle food prep for all of us, and to entertain and possibly remove Regin if needed.  George went and woke my mom up and told her the haps.  And guess what?  I decided I no longer cared about the number of people in the house, and we asked my mom to stay.  Funny how things change when you're in the moment but I knew that was a possibility and I felt strong in my right to make that decision.

The timeline after that was a blur.  We have no clock in our room, and I was in full labor, so I never left the room.   In the first hours, it was manageable.  I would walk and walk and then when another contraction hit, I would drape myself over George and we'd stand there together as he coached me through relaxation. 

I tried listening to the Hypnobabies tracks, but there was enough commotion and distraction that I didn't really hear or listen to them.  I couldn't really put myself into hypnosis every time because I hadn't practiced the unguided hypnosis enough.  And what I had practiced was mostly with me being totally alone, fully reclined, in total silence with hardly any sensory input.  I couldn't get myself in that state in the throes of labor, so I relied solely on George's ability to help me relax, which we had practiced several times during the Hypnobabies course.  And it really worked.  Unlike my friend Teddi, who had managed to get all the practices in, I would absolutely describe it as pain, but the pain with George's relaxation cues was manageable, without them I thought I was going to die.  He had a script he recited, and he'd begin reading it every time I indicated that a contraction hit.  If he delayed even by a few seconds, it wouldn't really work and I'd be in tremendous, earth-shattering pain again.  For some reason, if I lay down, I was in the worst pain of all, and if I sat, it was pretty darned uncomfortable too.  So I, the woman who had spent most of her pregnancy sick in bed with various colds and flus, the one who'd had trouble eating for months, the girl who was terribly weak and generally out of shape, walked miles in a circuit around our bedroom for hours and hours, stopping every few minutes for an intense workout called a "contraction". 

You know, in hypnobabies, you avoid use of the word contraction because of the fear and pain pregnant women associate with the word.  But when you look at the word after having birthed, it doesn't seem strong enough.  It sounds like little squeezes, like the painless, prelabor contractions I had that I called "The Squeezies" or like a bicep you're flexing and then releasing.  It doesn't remotely convey the pain, the sweat, the grunting, the moaning, the crying out, the howling, the begging, the pleading that it induces when you have one.  But that came later.  In the early hours, I was able to face each contraction, with George's help, calmly, quietly, internally, and relaxed.  It was intimate and graceful, though still painful.  My mom downstairs thought we were sleeping that whole time because it was so unbelievably quiet.

When my midwife, Sena, arrived, labor changed.  That happens.

As hands off as midwives can be, there is still a kind of performance pressure a birthing woman feels, or at least this birthing woman felt, when someone shows up to watch you and make sure things are happening as they should.

The way a midwife makes sure is very different from how a doctor would make sure, or so I've been told as I've never birthed with a doctor's assistance.  A doctor will make you undress and put on the infamous and barely there gown (and why they should call something so ugly a 'gown' I'll never know, some marketing spin there I think), then you'll be connected to machines, monitored with boops, beeps, and moving graphs, and your feet put up in stirrups while the doctor looks at you and gives you internal exams to see where the baby is and how dilated your cervix is.  I think in most cases during labor you're not allowed to eat or drink.  The doctor also has a lot of other patients to see, so he's off checking on other moms a lot, or if there's some other conflict, you have a different doctor.

Your midwife, is your midwife.  Obviously conflicts can occur, but she schedules very few births per month to try and eliminate the possibility.  And you've been seeing this woman, and not her nurse practitioner or other assistant (in typical US, assembly-line medical care), for 1+ hours once a month, then twice a month, then once a week throughout the pregnancy.  You know each other so well, she's almost like family by the time baby comes.

At that time, the midwife comes in (to your home) when you've told her you'd like her to come (or the birth seems imminent), sets up her equipment around your room, puts her oxygen tank over there, rearranges your nest to include her bag of tools in easy to reach places over here, makes sure she knows where you have put the towels and basket of birthing goodies you've gathered, and then asks you how you are doing.  Actually that's not true.  She asks how you're doing before setting up.  Then she leaves you alone as needed, because she knows you will labor better without someone hovering, or she stays in the room if you need it.  She's there 100% for you and only you.  She gives emotional and comforting support, she gets you food and drink to keep your energy up, and does her best to encourage you.  Occasionally she will request to listen to the baby with her little device, and she'll check your dilation and whatnot, if you request.  It's all on your terms.  Plus, you're in whatever clothes you want, whatever position you want, in whatever place you want... you can even deliver in your edenic backyard garden pool if you want.  It's your birth, your way.

Thing is, though I absolutely adore my midwife, I was laboring better and more comfortably before she arrived.  And though she was mostly out of the room and out of the way and she spoke in whispers to keep the quiet and make her presence less intrusive, the pain became much more difficult to bear once someone interrupted the calm, came into my space, and began to take note of what was happening.  So, for this reason, even though Sena was UHmazing and I'd recommend her to anyone, I do think I'd reconsider unassisted birth in the unlikely case that I ever had another.

-----

Things were progressing quickly this time.  It was only a couple of hours from the water breaking that contractions were regular and quite close together.  But then, after a few more hours, it became apparent to me that nothing was changing.  It continued at the same intensity, and I even felt a little, almost "pushy" but the giant lump inside me was staying exactly in the same place.  I began to ask Sena to check to see where the baby was and what was going on.  There was a lip of cervix in the way.  Ugh, that again.  She tried to help pull it aside, but that was painful and I hated it.  I began to feel defeated.  Sena reassured me that things were moving quickly and efficiently but I felt like something was stalling the process and I was becoming angry about it since I'd worked so hard to make sure I wouldn't have the same obstacles this time as I had with Regin's birth.  I was shaking with fatigue, but I kept walking and walking.  I spent some time in the bath.  I tried different positions and sat a little on the birthing ball otherwise known as my exercise ball.  But mostly I walked.  I went back to the bath, I cried out, I screamed, I moaned and wailed.  I got angrier and angrier every time George delayed when beginning to recite his relaxation script as he had been doing every few minutes for who knows how many (15) hours.  I began pushing in the bath.  I pushed and screamed so hard, my throat quickly became raw.  And then... I wanted out.  I wanted to get on the birthing stool, which I hate, because I wanted this to be done.  I wanted rest for my trembling legs, and I wanted the position that would expedite birth.  We put it in almost the same spot that it had been put for Regin's birth, the spot where Regin had then taken his first breaths. 

I still had no idea how long this had been going on.  No clocks were around to tell me, but I saw the light in the windows change from morning to midday, from afternoon to evening.  Sena kept telling me things were moving along and his head was just there.  But I still felt like I wasn't getting anywhere.

During all this time, I never once asked to go to the hospital.  I never asked to be knocked out.  Outwardly I was in screaming pain, but somewhat in control and just working.  Inwardly I was having an entirely different dialog with myself:
"What the f**k is wrong with me?"
"What do you mean? You're in labor!"
"Why the heck do I insist on doing this the hard way?"
"It's better for you and the baby..."
"Pah!  F**k that!  I'm done with this s**t.  So done.  Sc**w home birth, natural birth.  Give me the fecking drugs.  Hell... next time around, if I do this again... Not only will I go to a hospital like a normal person, but I'll probably deliver the baby in my sleep with a planned c-section.  This s**t is for the birds."

I was saying all of that to myself up until the very last moment, when on the birthing stool, again in the same place, I birthed my second child.  I squeezed and pushed so hard I was actually worried about popping blood vessels in my brain.  I screamed and screamed and pushed and felt the ring of fire as he crowned, and with all that remained of my might, I pushed some more, and I felt him pour out of my body.  And then the most amazing thing happened:  I held him.

Everything melted away when I held him.  He was beautiful and I was strong, and I immediately felt, "Oh that?  That wasn't that hard.  I could do that again."  His head was squooshed and badly mishapen, but I didn't see it. He was beautiful and I instantly loved him.  He cried and my voice immediately changed to sooth him.  Ohhh it's ok Baby, that was hard, huh?  It hurt a lot and it was scary.  Poor baby, I know... it was hard for me too. 

It was hard.  It turns out it was a lot harder than it usually is.  There was a reason my fast-progessing labor had taken so long.  Turns out, not only was he posterior, but my baby had decided to present his brow first.  That's the rarest of presentations and the most difficult.  Hmmm... rare and difficult, he's like his mamma already.   Most literature will tell you that the brow presentation is not even feasible.  Unless baby's head is very small or Mamma's hips are very wide, baby just CANNOT come out that way.  I don't think either of us is unusually proportioned and he's definitely not small.  But somehow, we did it.  And we loved each other right away. 

My mom and sister came in, and with joyful tears I told them it was a boy.  And then I told them I had gotten just what I wanted:  that rush of hormones, that instant love, that connection with my baby.  Everything I hadn't had the first time, everything I had grieved the loss of with my first birth, I had now.  And I wept, and everyone else did too.












 

After a short while I birthed the placenta, which is relatively uncomfortable in itself.  I had hoped to let the baby crawl to my breast by himself as I'd seen babies do in videos.  But after more than an hour, I decided to give him a little help.  I lifted him to my breast, he opened his mouth, and clamped it onto me.  Ouch!  I forgot what that was like!  But I was thrilled that I didn't have to wrestle a nipple into his mouth, he latched himself on.  

I was still on such a high when Sena was examining my war wounds that as vulnerable as I could have felt with my legs draped over chairs, and someone sitting right between them, looking, checking, etc., I was chipper and chatting away and laughing.

That's how it was; with happy tears and laughter, Baby and I began a new life together and a family of four was born.

To be continued.
Part 4 -- Babymoon, coming tomorrow...

Six months old today and ready to share his story!

Six months ago today I was in a lot of pain.  I was walking circles around our bedroom, stopping every few minutes to get through another contraction.  I labored and birthed at home.  After 17 intense hours, our beautiful boy, Andrias entered our arms.

We're halfway through our first year, and so much of his personality has been coming through.  I can't believe in just a few short months he'll be entering his toddler years, and making his way toward independence.  For now I'm trying to enjoy every day of his babyhood, and today I find myself reminiscing about his birth.  So I thought it only fitting to finally go back and finish writing his birth story.

It's super long... no big surprise there, when have I ever written anything short?  So I decided to put it up here in installments over the next few days.  Here's part one.  Enjoy!



Andrias's Birth, Part 1 -- The scary back story (i.e. Regin's birth)

To understand my experience this time around, I think you have to understand a little bit about my last experience, which is the one I was hoping not to repeat.  (If you want the original account, I wrote my full birth story here on the blog and a retrospective on it three months later.)

With Regin I was completely unprepared.  I was naive and didn't think I needed any preparation.  I was completely, 100% unafraid of our planned home birth, or at least I thought I was and I thought that being unafraid would help make the pain less severe so that was really all the preparation I needed.  When it came down to it, the pain did scare me.  Not the idea of it.  I thought I was going to be so ready for it because of the years of dysmenorrhea I'd had.  But when each wave of pain hit me, my body tensed up and fought it.  I said "no no no no no," as it hit and I begged and cried.  I was weak and powerless against it all.  And I hated being told I was doing great because I was doing nothing; it was being done to me.  This unbelievable force was acting on my body, and the force was torturing me every couple of minutes and would keep me in excruciating pain for up to three minutes at a time.  Do you have any idea how long three minutes is?  I can say with certainty that I do.  And the pain towards the end was so severe I actually asked George to knock me out so that I could be taken to the hospital. 

So much for my beautiful and empowering home birth.  So much for not needing preparation. 

To add to it, George's father was fighting a losing battle with cancer when labor started which he ultimately lost during the middle of it all.  That devastating news, as well as other things like an ill-timed, though wonderfully soothing bath slowed my labor down greatly.  By the end of it, it was nearly 48 hours long, I'd missed two full nights of sleep, and I was well into the third night when Regin was born.  Further, we weren't really aware of all of my issues with food (hypoglycemia & allergies) or how to handle them.  When Regin finally arrived, I was blinded by pain, completely fatigued, totally sleep deprived, and in the middle of what was probably a major hypoglycemic crash.  I was so weak I had to be fed and my brain snapped.  I didn't know what was going on anymore.  I didn't have the rush of joy and love that women get when the hormones are doing all the right things.  I didn't even know what this hot lump of flesh was that was handed to me, and whatever it was, it certainly didn't come from me.  I was for a long time unable to look at the first photo of Regin and me together because I could see my fear and confusion reflected back at me in the photo.

Love and bonding was slow in coming.  It took weeks if not months.  I was fond of my boy from the beginning, but not bonded.  By the time the affection had finally grown to the point where I was mad with love for him, I cried and cried with the grief I began to feel for the moment he and I didn't share when we first met. 

The physical pain lived on in me too.  My body took a while to recover, breastfeeding proved to rival birth in its level of pain, and I willed myself to hold on to the memory of my labor pains.  The memory was so strong and clear that I could literally feel them when I thought about them.  I wanted that.  I wouldn't let go of them.  I wanted to remind myself of how intense and, sadly, how horrible my experience had been. 

When you sum it all up into one word, my first birth experience was one of trauma.  Home-birthing women don't like to use that word.  We birth at home in part because of the trauma stories we hear about in the medicalized environment.  Truth is, birth trauma isn't necessarily iatrogenic; of course it isn't.  Even having the exact birth you want, regardless of environment, can still result in trauma.  Not all births are happy -- even when you have all ten fingers and ten toes accounted for and functioning fully.  Although I must say, I'm still glad I birthed at home.  I still believe in the reasons that compelled me to choose home birth and if I had gone through the same thing in the hospital, I don't imagine it would have gone any better.  Plus I would have been in a colder environment and if I'm going to go through something that hard, I want to have the comforts and familiarity of home around me.

Regin's birth also had permanent effects on my health.  I have never been the same.  My hypoglycemia rose to a new level of sensitivity (and worsened still after a half marathon I did later that same year), and I've yet to get it under control.  Although we'd never planned to have an only child, the trauma I (we) went through, plus the effect it had on my health made us think I might not be able to handle more.  When I found myself pregnant again last year I was terrified.  It took me some time to come to accept it, and when I finally did, I knew I would do everything in my power to make sure my experience this time would be different.  And it was.

To be continued.
Part 2 -- Preparations, coming tomorrow...

Been Facebookin' Instead

For the one or two readers still out there, sorry I've been out of touch.  More sorry for myself because I love having this blog as a record of our lives.  SO much has happened since I last posted.  Our family has grown by 33% for one thing!  And due to the lack of readership here, and the ease of quick posts there, I've been keeping people up to date almost only on Facebook.  I really don't even email anymore.  But because I don't want this blog to go away altogether, and because I don't want to lose what I've put on FB, I've decided to try and put up here all the posts I've put on FB.  I'm dating them the actual date I posted them on FB, so if you subscribe via RSS and you get a million old posts for me suddenly, that's why. 

Take care!

Oh and PS can you do me a favor?  I'd love to know if there are more of you here than I think.  Please wave a little hello in the comments for me, so I know you're still here (even if you read this months from now).  Thanks!!

FB posts - March 11th, 2010

5:32pm - Elisabeth Hurley Littlest one is one month old today. :)

 

FB posts - March 10th, 2010

12:59am - Elisabeth Hurley Yay for play group!!!

 

FB posts - March 9th, 2010

12:09am - Elisabeth Hurley Just watched some sitcoms on hulu with the hubs and we laughed our butts off. ♥ that. Realizing now that we're coming up on 11 years together in a couple of weeks. That's more than a third of my life, wow!!  

Allison Moon

oh no! glue it back on! :p and awwww to the 11 years ^_^

9:35am - Elisabeth Hurley Wish me luck to make it to my hair appointment this time!!

10:00am - Elisabeth Hurley Expect a new me to emerge in an hour or two. :^)

Rose Bloom

Woohoo!

 

12:01pm - Elisabeth Hurley New hair cut, gorgeous day, beautiful babies. Life is good. :)

 

4:12pm - Elisabeth Hurley Packing list for trip to mall kids play area with a toddler and infant:
Baby: Diaper bag, cloth diapers, wet bag, cloth wipes, snappi, diaper cover, two changes clothes, changing pad/blanket, blankets, hat, jacket, baby carrier, boobs. (haha)
Toddler: change of clothes, extra shoes, wipes, underwear, snacks, water, fav...orite toy(s), warmer clothes for when we leave, hat, jacket, stroller in case we shop (oops).
Me: nursing pads, snacks, iPhone, keys, wallet, knitting, snacks (hypoglycemia), water, jacket.
Time to pack, nurse, and get everyone in the car: 1 HR.
Time to drive and get everyone out of the car: 45 minutes.
Time for toddler to decide he didn't want to come here after all and now wants to go to the Denver library: 30 seconds.

 

FB posts - March 8th, 2010

Elisabeth Hurley URG! And this would be my pizza hangover. :(

FB posts - March 7th, 2010

Elisabeth Hurley Is bound and determined to gain back all the pregnancy/baby weight lost immediately after birth.

FB posts - March 6th, 2010

1:10pm - Elisabeth Hurley - Wanted to go to the kids expo but I think we have too much to do. :(

http://www.all-about-kids.org/

1:39pm - Elisabeth Hurley - Why "the stick" is an award-winning toy. :)
http://imaginativeplay.blogspot.com/2009/11/stickan-open-ended-play-classic.html



11:46pm - Elisabeth Hurley - Love hanging with my parents. :^)

FB posts - February 11th, 2010

11:43pm - Elisabeth Hurley - Is in love with a brand new baby boy!!!!!!

January '10 album

Just put up the rest of the January '10 album on Facebook as well. Not much in there. We didn't take a lot of pictures in January. It was mostly just baby prep going on. We also had people here a lot to help me in my final weeks of pregnancy. Here's the album. Highlights below:


I had dinner out with both my sisters -- just us girls!  What a great treat that was.  :)



Regin began a new obsession with letters, ESPECIALLY the letter H.  He makes them, he points them out.  All. The. Time!



Baby prep this time includes our new 100% pure wool, undyed carpet with natural rubber padding underneath; a new, king-size, organic mattress; and a custom-built bed frame (by my awesome dad) to hold the new mattress.  Awesome stuff!



Slats going in.



Mattress getting reassembled.  It's too floppy and heavy to move without taking it apart.


Regin enjoying the bed.



C'est finis!

Pregnancy Album up!

I sadly lost my pregnancy album from my first pregnancy.  Kodakgallery.com took it down because apparently I misunderstood their instructions for keeping my account up to date.  I plan to at some point try and reconstruct it as best I can and put down things I remember.  But a lot of those memories are lost.  Such is the digital world.  Sigh.  However, I have a new pregnancy album up on Facebook for this pregnancy.  Yes, I know I should back it up somehow, and no I haven't done that yet.  But if you want to take a look, it's there.  And it's almost finished!  Baby should be arriving REALLY soon!


Pregnancy Album

Last Snuggles With My Only Child

I'm laying here next to Regin in our family bed, all snuggled up and warm, and I'm feeling something bitter-sweet. I'm relishing this moment together and the peaceful stillness of the morning with my little one curled up against me.  But I can't help but wonder... How many days or even hours do we have left to be just the two of us?

Our relationship will change so much soon. His life will change. Three is becoming Four and Only is becoming First or Older.

Somehow even at his age I get the feeling he somehow understands his life is in transition. Even though he's going through a powerful Papi phase, he clings to me and cries for me more than ever.  He's become suddenly hyper and more difficult for an easily overstimulated Mamma to handle and it's been a sudden shift. We've talked about the baby in Mamma's tummy, how it's going to come out soon and how we'll love it and care for it when it does.  We've read Welcome with Love and We  Have a Baby together.  But can a two-year old understand what's happening?

Even if he doesn't, I do. And it makes me think back over the last almost three years...

His birth was long and difficult and I didn't bond with him right away, but when I started pulling out of my post-labor fog, and I looked at his poor little face that had been squeezed out of me, I recognized him and I smiled at the large feet he'd inherited from his Papi.  And on that first night together, as he slept on my chest, I listened to and learned the timbre and cadence of his voice in his breath.

In the early days I couldn't believe I'd made him.  When I looked at him sleeping next to me I marveled at the thought that I had made something so beautiful and I whispered to him that things would stay as they were and we'd never fight.  As he learned to focus his gaze on mine, I saw his love and felt mine.

In the following months, I learned how he and I would be together, that the books and websites were often wrong, and that I could trust what we developed together.  He learned to smile almost right away, earlier than supposedly possible, though he'd never let me catch it on camera, and after months of stressful and painful breastfeeding, I learned that I could go lengths of time without feeding him from my breast and still not lose my milk.  So in tune were we that if I was ever out of sync with his feeding schedule, even if it had changed suddenly and I wasn't there to know it, I would leak, and not any time I felt emotional or heard a baby cry like they show on TV.

As he's grown, I've been astonished at every new thing he's learned and wished I could track his language acquisition (English, Spanish, ASL, and even Faroese) and record every word as it came to him.  I tried a couple of times but just couldn't keep up.  I chuckled at my little climber, who did amazing stunts, scaling relatively high furniture before learning to walk.  I've seen him fall in love with identifying monkeys ("mono!"), motorcycles ("moto!"), balls, balloons, airplanes, fire trucks, robots, trains, and now letters, especially his favorite: the letter 'H'.  And I've watched him study his world as a scientist while using the same 'concentration face' I do.  I love that face, Little One, even though at some point you'll be misread as grumpy when you use it like I've often been and your Omma was before me.  It's funny that the 'sign name' that Tía Monica gave you is based on the word 'happy' (because you were always so happy as a baby) when others have often commented how serious you are.  I know you're just as silly as you are serious though.

He has gravitated towards boyish toys and interests despite having had no reinforcement for that from us.  So, maybe building and cars and shooting (SERIOUSLY don't know where he got that one) really do have something to do with the chromosomes.  Or maybe it's just coincidence.  After all, I did gravitate towards similar interests as a child even though I consciously made efforts to make myself like baby and Barbie dolls like my friends did.

He has his particulars with his foods as most children do.  Since graduating from purees, veggies and wet foods have been completely out, there is no limit to the amount blueberries he can eat, and as of the last six plus months, he has to have a glass of water and a glass of milk with every meal, including cereal.

He's always been extremely sensitive and empathetic and I adore that about him.  When he sees me upset or hears me yelp he asks me what's wrong and comes over to offer his kisses and rubs to make it better.  He uses pleases, thank yous, you're  welcomes, and such of his own accord, I frequently get an "I love you too, Mamma," and sometimes even get an unsolicited "I love you."  He's a hand holder, like me, and loves to hold our hands off and on when we eat together at the kitchen table.

Every day I learn something new about my boy.  Every day I get to laugh, even through the struggles and yes, fights, and delight in all the silly things he does.  I love even the things that annoy me like his singing Smilla-de-Lilla or Heffalumps and Woozles for hours on end, though I must say his aggressive display of affection for Smilla is not my personal favorite. 

Most of all I love the morning wake ups together; our snuggles and tickles and all the good stuff that comes before he insists we get up to eat.  I hope that a new baby won't interrupt that morning ritual too much, I hope it won't be too long before (s)he joins in the morning yumminess and that another member of our snugglefest only enhances the warmth of it.  But for now I want to savor the last moments we have alone together.  I love that it's just we, my little boy and me.

Smilla-Dee-Lilla-Dee-Lilla-Dee-Hey!

A while ago I started singing this variation on a Faroese nonsense song where I change the words to "Smilla-dee-lilla" which is something we sometimes call Smilla.  Regin loves this song!  He walks around singing it all day!  And if I sing along and then stop, he says, "Mamma, can you sing Smilla-dee-Lilla?" and I have to sing it some more.  Course, once I recorded it on the computer, all he wanted was to hear our recording.  Have a listen...

ANOTHER blog experiment?

I can't even manage to keep posting on the blogs I have, but I'm testing a new one for those who might be interested.  I'm trying out TUMBLR to see what the fuss is about.  And I'm using the blog to collect bits of inspiration online, to post some short bits of personal stuff, and whatever else tickles my fancy in a more micro-bloggy sort of way.  If you want to see what I'm into right now, check it out.  The name & url are sort of both temporary because I haven't come up with something better yet.  I'll warn you if I decide to change it obviously.

Don't call me brave.

I've been sitting on and meaning to post this article (a home birther's reaction to being called brave) for some time. I thought I'd finally post it as it's getting more and more relevant to me now as my second planned home birth approaches.

I urge you to read it, if only to understand me better, or if you are so inclined, to understand home birthers in general. It is fantastically written and explains it all so well, but I'm going to hack it up and give you some excerpts, because I'm doubting that most of you will read the article.  Needless to say I also have some thoughts...

When hearing the news that I had my last baby at home and am planning to have this one at home as well, the first response from most people is, "You're so brave."


This has to be one of the most irritating things that people say to homebirthers. The implication is that birth is dangerous and that we are willing to take on a tremendous risk to do it anywhere but a hospital. It negates the research and planning that we've done to come to this decision.

And after reading this article I started actually responding to these comments, which I also get frequently. Now when you say something like this to me, I respond by saying, "I think people who birth in hospitals are brave." And no, I'm not trying to be funny. Hospital births carry with them a number of risks.  Many are detailed in the article, and I'm quoting a couple...

In 2003, over 20% of women had their labors induced, with a rate closer to 40% in many hospitals... Approximately 40-50% of inductions fail... and most failed inductions end in cesarean section. Inductions increase labor pain and length, and create, among other problems, an increased risk of fetal distress, uterine rupture, and cesarean section.

And in case you think c-sections are a walk in the park...

Over 30% of women in the US have cesarean sections, while overwhelming research has led the World Health Organization to set an ideal standard rate of cesarean sections at 10-12%... Cesarean sections increase the likelihood of maternal death by as much as 4 times, and have other immediate and long-term heath risks for mothers that include, but are not limited to, infection, bowel or bladder perforation, hysterectomy, future infertility, and increased risk of uterine rupture for future pregnancies. Risks for the baby include respiratory distress, fetal injury, prematurity (if result of schedule section or failed induction), and breastfeeding difficulties.

It's difficult to get into a discussion with most women who've had c-sections.  Some of them have had truly emergent situations and I will forever say thank goodness for hospitals and surgeons for those situations; I am personally counting on their availability should any issues arise that my midwife deems emergent.

A trickier set of individuals to discuss this with are the ones who have been told by their doctors that they needed a c-section for x, y, z reasons and then they go off into the world saying, "thank goodness for hospitals, because I would have died if not for my OB."  Thing is... a large baby (obviously not as large as that 19+ lb one in Indonesia) is not a reason for most people, and 'failure to progress' is extremely subjective.  My labor with Regin lasted about 48 hours.  There are few OBs out there who would have allowed me to go on that long.  Even the one I saw recently when my midwife dumped me who was totally pro natural birth and has a great relationship with many of the local midwives (including the one I'm currently working with) told me he wouldn't let me go that long.  But true 'failure to progress' would be more than simply having contractions for several days, because that is actually PERFECTLY normal, and it wouldn't necessarily be something those electronic fetal monitors picked up either.  That increase of information can make OBs jumpier and significantly increases the likelihood of c-section.

Further complicating this issue of whether a c-section is necessitated or not is the set of women for whom the c-section became necessary as a result of a chain of events that began with 'benign' interventions such as the administration of Pitocin - a drug routinely used in hospital births to intensify contractions and thus hopefully speed up labor.  For an illustration of how giving pitocin can lead to problems here is a clip from Business of Being Born.  I much prefer the related segment from Orgasmic Birth, but I couldn't find the clip on YouTube.  (You can start at about 1m 20s without missing much).



And here is another clip about a few of the other interventions that have been used over the years.



Haha.  I love it... "The best thing to do is get the hell out of the hospital."  And this guy (an M.D. himself) used to be the director of women's & children's health for the World Health Organization.  Point is... just because a doctor says an intervention is ok, doesn't mean it is.  Case in point:  I was advised in the emergency room in October (when I went in for dizziness, cold sweats, and chest pain) to get a CT scan of my lungs.  The doctor said they were routinely done on pregnant women, no problem.  My gut said no, but he made it sound like I could die if I didn't get the scan.  Turns out, my gut may have been right.  My own doctor was upset that they did the scan, and didn't think it was at all necessary or safe for the baby, and he was visibly appalled that they hadn't covered my abdomen during the scan.

Anyway... back to c-sections...

While this and many pro-homebirth articles focus their attention on unplanned c-sections, I think it's especially important to note the issues with c-sections for those who are planning them.  The whole 'too-posh-to-push' craze freaks me out when you look at all of the data on c-sections.  Planned c-sections are one of the hardest things for me to understand.  C-sections are risky.  They are major surgery.  And the recovery is longer.  (Though I continuously hear of women who go out and shop or do heavy housework within days of a c-section.  We've become so used to the idea that c-sections are no big deal, but I can't imagine anyone doing anything so strenuous within days of other kinds of major abdominal surgery.  My midwife wanted me on bed rest for 2+ weeks after birth and I had a long but uncomplicated vaginal delivery!!)

And this is one point I return to again and again:

The vast majority of women in the US give birth in hospitals, and yet the US's maternal death rate is the worst among 28 industrialized nations and the neonatal mortality rate is the second worst. The Netherlands, where 36% of babies are born at home, has lower maternal and neonatal mortality rates than the US.

We're supposed to have these great hospitals and doctors that people travel from all over to get better medical care from.  And yet... our mortality rate is horrendous!  For more info on what we can do to reduce infant mortality, watch this short film:


Reducing Infant Mortality from Debby Takikawa on Vimeo.



And my final quote from that home birth article:

My decision to homebirth wasn't made in a void, but based upon years of research. I wonder how much research the average woman puts into her hospital birth?

Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!  That's not to be smug or superior about the research I've done.  That is simply in response to the assumption that we home birth out of bravery or some touchy-feely, new-agey reason.  I, and all those I have come across who've done this, have done this after an unbelievable amount of research and soul-searching.  This is a completely information, data-based, well-reasoned-out decision.  Well, for the first one it was, this time I also have a lot of personal comfort reasons I'm adding.  We have thoroughly assessed the risks (as best we can) on both sides, and determined this to be, to the best of our knowledge, the less risky option.  So to imply to a home birther that they have chosen it for some hippy reason, or because celebrities are doing it, or anything else that isn't based on research and reason is completely offensive.

Basically, when you boil it down, we choose the home for the same reason most of you choose the hospital:  we feel it to be the least risky option and will be most likely to provide the best outcome for mother and baby.

Wow.  I was going to let the article speak for me, but I guess I had some stuff to get off my chest!

---

Another cool thing about this piece is I have a new word to add to my vocab:  iatrogenic.  It is the "inadvertent adverse effects or complications caused by or resulting from medical treatment or advice."  It amazes me how many totally useful and very specific words there are like that in our language.  It's like when I learned the word 'jingoism' after September 11th.

Ultrasounds, Medicalization, Baby Pics

I've been having some weird symptoms lately, including dizzy spells that are combined with chest pains and send me to the emergency room*, and my doctor decided to check my protein and albumin levels among other things and thinks they're scary low.  My midwife disagrees.  Doc (and his OB friend who has delivered 20,000 babies) has never seen anything like it in a pregnant woman, my midwife has.  Midwife thinks they're only slightly low and can more than likely be fixed by eating more protein, Doctor thinks there may be something seriously wrong with me.  I wonder if he knows fully what the norms are in pregnancy, since they are lower than in a non-pregnant woman.  And OH!  Did I mention that I have had SERIOUS protein aversions this pregnancy (and last) which have made it really difficult to eat protein (of any kind)?  I wonder if that could have had any impact on my blood levels!

So, despite my own research (which suggests he's overreacting) and my midwife's feelings on it, my doctor insisted on me getting ultrasounds of some of my internal organs, and... the baby.  I fought it at first; I was terrified of these (possibly misinterpreted) labs leading him to overreact to something in the ultrasound, which could cause him to further overreact to other things and cause a chain reaction that ends with me having a high-intervention, medicalized birth in the hospital.  There are very real risks associated with hospital (and particularly c-section) births, and this is the biggest reason I'm choosing to birth at home.  And furthermore, there are scientists and doctors out there who dispute the safety of ultrasounds on babies in utero.  So I only wanted to get one if medically indicated and I wasn't sure this was the right indication.

Anyway, though I was totally terrified, I went yesterday to get my ultrasounds.  The woman performing them said they all looked normal (mine & the baby's).  My experience (with my previous pregnancy) tells me that doctors can still decide that there is something to freak out about even when everything is FULLY normal in an ultrasound (remind me to tell you the story of how my local clinic was convinced I was going to miscarry because there was no fetal pole present in a 5-week ultrasound, which is completely normal!), so I'm still uncomfortable about where this may be going.  But we did all get to see the baby.  Regin says, "Hi Baby!"  I thought I'd share some of the best images with you.

First a couple of belly shots:




And now for the baby...

I think I know the sex. I thought I saw the region in question, though I wasn't sure, then the ultrasound woman kept using a certain pronoun, though I wasn't sure if I was mishearing her. Then she clearly used the same pronoun I thought I was hearing, and after a few seconds she corrected herself and said the other 'possibility'. George of course was blissfully unaware of it all, and since he wants to be surprised, I can't share what I thought I heard. I can't talk at all about the baby's sex or what I think it might be for the next few months! AARGH! I don't know if I can keep my mouth shut that long. Stupid ultrasound lady!!


Of course, I don't know for sure... maybe she didn't even look in that area. Maybe there weren't as many slips of the tongue as I thought. Maybe she was picking generic genders just to avoid saying 'it' the whole time. Maybe... maybe... maybe...



*I should say that the emergency room doctor said he was confident that there was nothing seriously wrong with me and my symptoms can be signs of such relatively benign things like panic attacks.

October Photos - Halloween!

Happy (belated) Halloween!

On the 30th, after we FINALLY finished our last-minute costumes, we went to a party at Reed & Evelyn Meyer's house. Here are the costumes:


I was "Eye of the storm".

Close up of my tummy:


And George was blackmail:

Get the reference? :)


You can see the rest of our October photos in our October 09 album.

October Photos - Snow Storm!!!

We had a HUGE snow storm on the 28th and 29th.  My mom was up to hang out with us that week to make sure I was ok (after my emergency room trip), and she was helping us prepare for the Halloween party we threw.  But the storm put a serious kink in our preparations.  We ended up being days behind on costumes.  I didn't even get to start my costume until around 7pm on the 30th and I had to wear it to a party that evening!

The storm was a lot of fun though.  We got Regin all suited up and out there playing in it.

Two buddies.  Cracks me up that Smilla squishes herself onto those steps to avoid laying on our hardwood floor.  Poor thing needs a dog bed!  The sweater is one my mom made for my nephew Elias who is now 17.  I have a pile of handed-down knitwear in our closet.  Cool stuff!


She LOVES the snow.  How lucky are we to have found another dog that loves the snow?  She even ran around the yard and lept up into the air to snatch snowflakes out of the sky!


Regin loved being out there too (he's been asking me since then, "Mamma, where's the snow???").  But he had a lot of trouble getting himself up every time he fell down in that chunky snowsuit.


At first I suggested we throw snowballs at each other, but with his aim I knew I would get grumpy with that game fast, so then we teamed up and threw snowballs at Smilla.


We made the beginnings of a snow fort using a bucket to mold the bricks.  We got about three bricks high and 5 or 6 bricks wide before I had to come inside.  My clothes might look warm, but it's all show.  They soaked through and I was growing icicles.  Regin, on the other hand, could not be convinced to come inside without serious bribery.  I need some better snow clothes.  I wonder what I can find for pregnant chicks.

DAY 2
The snow didn't stop all through the second day.  George worked from home that day.  He got some of shots of how thick it was on his iphone.

Those things on the left are our sunflowers.  Never did measure them at full height, but I estimate around 11'-12'.  I think they must have had a good foot of snow on top of each flower.

So much for that snow fort.  Where did it go?


George got to shovel the driveway.

Check out my car!


You can see the rest of our October photos in our October 09 album.