Monday Update: Sandy Packs a Mean Punch

Well, if you watched (are watching) the weather as closely as us, you know that Sandy didn't hit us directly here in South Eastern Virginia. Instead she chose to skirt us and make landfall in New Jersey. (Which I can't type without saying "Joisey" to myself...) Thankfully these rough winds we are experiencing now weren't happening at high tide. Instead, we got a much gentler two pronged attack. This is what home looked like this morning:

Not so bad, right? Six inches of water up to the back stairs and some water in your lawn. Whatever, Amy. Easy- peasy.

It could have been worse. The first picture is of our back yard at about 8:30 this morning. About 45 minutes later the water crept in a bit more to look like this:

And see, we don't live on the water. At least not normally.

That water on the other side of the fence is a flooded road. Still before high tide.

 

It gets a little scarier when we go to the front door.

 



Notice how the water comes up over the front step. Then, if you look a bit further you can see that there is no delineation from stair to walkway to yard to sidewalk to road. It is all one large lake.

In our intersection alone there were at least two vehicular casualties. (Yes, two people drove through standing water in an intersection they don't know in the hopes of making it through.

They didn't.

Sigh.

Advice: Don't do that.

The poor Caddie in the picture below has temporary -as in this car was just purchased- tags on it. The driver side window was down all night, too. (I imagine because the water fried the circuits before he could get the window up.) I sure do hope he insured his car the day he bought it. Some people forget to do that, you know?



While we are fortunate here in our neck of the woods, I know that much of the rest of the East Coast is bracing for a rough night. The roughest patch of this has passed us here, but the wind is still howling and the rain is still falling. It still sounds scary here and I know it must be much scarier nearer the eye. These pictures and the weather we are experiencing are nothing, and frankly, I know that we are very lucky to just have had to deal with this.

I'm praying for the safety and comfort of those who are being hit now.

How did you manage, dear readers? Please do share.

Dear Sandy

Dear Sandy,

Your name makes me want to sing "Sand---y, Sandy baaay-be". But in all honesty, I don't like you. You scare me a little. You've been dubbed "Frankenstorm" and the news outlets have discussed the conditions being perfect for a "perfect storm" situation. I saw that movie and it didn't end well.

We're tracking you.

Ok, yes, that isn't The Weather Channel, it's the stock market. The boys are tracking that, too. Little Man is giving dad advice and it seemed too cute to not include. But I assure you, we're watching you just as closely, Sandy.

We're on alert.

Anyway, I'm usually quite hospitable, but not this week. Find somewhere else to play. See, we flood. (Don't believe me? Here's proof.) This week our neighborhood is having our annual neighborhood Halloween party on our yard and it won't be as fun if it is soggy. Little Man is going to be a lion. A LION. Yes, Sandy, that's going to be amazingly cute. Please let that happen. More importantly, I don't like the idea of  the creepy crawl space being flooded and all of our ductwork being replaced. Again.

(Photos quite obviously stolen from The Weather Channel)

I'm not asking you to hit higher up the coast. That would be mean. We have family from D.C. to Cape Cod, so I'm thinking maybe you could just veer right. Consider it. We'll call you baby and sing you a song...

Thanks for your consideration.
Amy

P.S. if you decide to visit, during a full moon, and rendezvous with that arctic blast, then we're ready. I've got cookies, candy corn, and an abundance of wine. No, that's not an invitation, just notice that we are prepped and ready.

Birth story part three...the saga ends

OK, so we got through the long, boring part and now, friends, it is time to have a baby!

After my epidural took hold, I kind of freaked out a little. My legs got really, really numb. They felt heavy and pain free. I was convinced that they were so heavy I'd accidentally move them in my sleep and the weight of them would pull me off the bed. My mom told me that it absolutely could not happen, but I demanded that they lessen the intensity of the epidural. I wanted the pain to be dulled enough to snooze, but really wanted to know what my body was experiencing in this whole labor thing.

Everyone kind of looked at me like I was cray-cray, but it was important to me. This will become significant later. You know, when I am regretting that decision and feeling some serious pain.

At around 2:00 a.m. (after some really nice epidural induced sleep) the nurse came in to ask me if I was feeling any pressure and felt like I had to push. I think my response was something to the effect of, "Well, I could push. I feel some pressure." Apparently that wasn't quite convincing enough, so she checked me, assigned a new number to a new measurement and went to talk to Jen. She came back a few minutes later and told me we were going to wait a little longer to see if the baby scooched down a little further. (Yes, that is a medical term.) I went back to sleep for about an hour.

I woke up to a much stronger desire to push. Everyone (you know, the 47 people needed to participate in the birthing event) got situated. Jen told my mom to hold my left leg and Beau's mom to hold my right. It was apparent that she wasn't sure what her role was in this event and she started to back out toward the door. Like I said, there were about 47 people in the room already--all of whom were going to get to know me VERY personally--so I thought she should be there for her grandson to be born. I was not going to be shy if she wasn't. So, she stayed.

Oh, I forgot to mention during the long boring part that the AC was out on the floor. Throughout the night it was moderately uncomfortable, but as more and more people poured into the room, and the baby warmer got turned on it got downright hot. Grody, sweaty hot. On top of the grody, sweaty hot one gets when working really hard to push a baby out of her. It was not pretty. (Nor was I as you shall see.)

I started pushing. It was slow going. I totally thought that since my pregnancy had been so easy and so uneventful I was going to have the easiest delivery. About an hour into the pushing, I realized that every hope I had of the last part being smooth was dunzo. Out the window with my birth plan. Probably having donuts or something yummy.

If you've ever been at the hospital for any reason you know that they ask you to identify your level of pain using this handy chart:

Up to this point--through allll that time-- I'd hit an eight or so once or twice. When I started pushing I was still at an eight, just a consistent eight. (The closest I'd ever come to this was when I broke my rib--that was a six. And it hurt like hell.)

 

 Perhaps an hour in to the pushing after varying positions and such, I was feeling really sick. I looked at my mom and, with the little bit of strength I had left, I asked for the puke bag. I expected her to know that when I turned my head toward her and mumbled "puke" she'd know what I needed. She didn't and I managed to puke on myself, my pillow and my bed. That was my break between contractions. Awesome.

 

And to really gross you out, I'll let you know that when you have had nothing but water and orange popsicles for over twenty-four hours, you puke up green watery bile. You're welcome for that visual.

 

Between two contractions, about two hours in to the pushing I asked Jen what the record was. She told me she wasn't going to let me go beyond four hours. I thought she was kidding. I really thought this pushing part was supposed to be relatively fast. Turns out I would keep pushing for three and a half hours total.

 

When Jen let me know that she could see out Little Man's hair, I asked her what color it was. I'd always half joked that I had to have blond babies. When she said she thought it looked dark, I told her I didn't want it. I was trying to be funny, but, well, my delivery was off. (Oh, how about totally unintentional pun.)

 

Now, I was at a nine on the pain scale, and I was getting frustrated. I was working so hard, she could see his hair, where was he? Was he stuck? I was starting to panic and fear that something was going to happen to my baby and I was going to be rushed in for an emergency c-section. I was terrified of that, but honestly, at this point I was more terrified for my baby. I didn't think I had enough strength to get him out and that is a really scary feeling.

 

Jen suggested a little game of tug-of-war with my mom to help me really bear down and push. She took a sheet, tied it in the middle and gave me the knot and gave my mom the two ends. She stood at my feet while another nurse took her position holding my legs. It is possible that Beau's mom took my other leg. I really think she did, but I'm not certain. When it was contraction time I'd pull and mom would brace herself and give me resistance. I was able to push much harder doing this, and it kind of got my mind off of what was going on. I had to concentrate so hard on pulling that I wasn't thinking about what was happening *down there*.

 

I'm not really sure how long I did that. I know at one point I calmly mentioned moaned that I was at a ten (hoping that there was a prize when I reached the max, perhaps.) That, I guess was the "ring of fire." "Pedro's" head was pushing through. Jen told me his head was out and I'd have to deliver the shoulders. I wanted to cry. The thought of pushing again was overwhelming. The contraction started and the next thing I knew there was a baby on my chest. My body contracted enough that I barely had to push again.

All of a sudden, at 7:23 in the morning, this squirmy, slimy baby was in my arms on my chest. I kept chanting, "Oh my God." It was, I suppose, as much an exclamation of my mind being completely blown as a prayer of thanks.

 

I finally got to meet Carter James. I'm not going to try to describe it, because I honestly don't have the words. At that moment something inside of me changed. I felt the most overpowering, breathtaking love. I thought I had loved the baby that grew inside of me for 37 weeks. I had no idea what love really was until that moment he was squalling in my arms.

 

He was absolutely perfect. (And his hair wasn't dark...)

With all of that tug-of-war going on, I'm not sure how my mom didn't have two dislocated shoulders, but when she was asked if she wanted to cut the cord, she stepped up and did it. (Honestly, I think that is almost as brave as pushing a baby out. Gross.)

Jen told me that Carter came out with his fist pressed to his temple, holding on to his umbilical cord. No wonder I hit a ten; he added another inch to the width of his head!

Almost before the pain had subsided, the acute memory of it subsided. Today, I can tell you it hurt and that it was the most pain I'd ever felt, but I can't really remember the pain. It is an abstract concept. Words, really. I'm not as scared of having another as I should be...

I'd never say these are the finest pictures of me, but they are so, so beautiful. OK, so my head is in puke, I'm sweaty, swollen (look at those chins--yes, plural. aak.) and haven't showered in twenty-seven hours, but damn, I'm a mom and that's pretty beautiful.)

 

Fortunately, before my Little Man was born, it was explained to me that because I had been running a fever and had been put on antibiotics, he'd have to be put on antibiotics and be monitored in the nursery to make sure that he didn't have an infection. I'm so, so glad that they told me that beforehand. I'm also really glad that my midwife understands the importance of that bonding time right after birth. I was absolutely the first person to hold him. His skin touched my skin. When he was cleaned off, it was done right there on me. Eventually he was taken for his Apgar and to be examined. (Because he was on the cusp of being a preemie they wanted to make sure he was healthy and sound.) That was quick and he was brought right back to me and I was encouraged to feed him.

 

 

 

For about forty-five minutes I got to hold my baby before he was taken away. I talked to him and told him how loved he was, and I really have no idea if anything else was going on around me.

 

I snapped out of it when the moms mentioned Panera for breakfast. Yummy. The nurses took Carter to be examined and such in the nursery and I waited for breakfast. I'm not sure if I wanted food or a shower more, but because of the epidural, I wasn't allowed out of bed quite yet. I waited patiently for my food and after breakfast got up to take a shower. It was glorious. And a little gross.

 

The nurses brought Carter back to me after my shower for this picture.

 

 

 

I hadn't brushed my hair after the shower and look funny, but look at that sweet baby peeking out from his blanket.

 

It hadn't occurred to me that in order to give a baby antibiotics they would have to jab a needle into his poor little body, but they would have to do that. I don't have many photos of him from the first few days because of that. The IV line just made me sad.

 

Before leaving so I could rest (heck, so she could rest, too) my mom went to the nursery and took this photo of my brave little boy (pre IV, but still pretty wired).

 

 

And at some point he was wheeled to my room. I have no idea when this was, but I know it was in my room on the first day of his life. They let me hold him one last time before he was encumbered by all those wires.

 



 

 

You'd think since the whole birth thing is over, my birth story would be done, but that's not true. He hasn't met dad yet, and that is so, so important.

 

When Little Man was born, Beau was on a flight to New York. In New York he got to see pictures of his son. It was 1:41 p.m. when he got the texts that confirmed he was a dad and pictures were sent. It was not long after that that he was informed all flights coming in our direction were cancelled because of a tropical storm off the coast. After taking a two hour helicopter ride,  and two eight-plus hour flights, he would have to drive the eight hours to the hospital. He did it with no rest and in record time (and got out of a ticket, too!).

 

At just after 11:00 p.m., I was in the nursery feeding Carter and the nurses in the nursery asked me if the man standing at the door was dad. Indeed it was. He finally got to hold his sixteen hour old son.

 

 

He looks absolutely exhausted, but like a darn proud papa. Right after I took this, he changed his diaper. Before I even changed our son, dad did. He's awesome that way. I'm easily the most blessed woman.

 

After some complications and some worry about his eating, Little man was released from the nursery on Thursday night and got to spend his first night with mom and dad. He was free of IVs and monitors and sensors. We finally got to hold him without fear of moving his line or setting off a sensor. Holding him in my arms knowing he'd be heading home with us the next morning was the an incredible feeling.

 

One last picture from the nursery for you and then I'm done. Three generations:

 

 





So there you have it my friends. My birth story. In its three-post entirety. I never, ever thought I would post photos of me without make-up, lying in puke, half naked, etc. on the Internet for the entire world to see--for all of eternity-- but it is my story and I'm so incredibly proud of it.Thank you for letting me share it. Thank you for reading it.

 

And especially, thank you for not judging my appearance (or my fuzzy slippers in that last photo...). You guys rock.

 

 

 What's the scariest, most rewarding thing you've ever done?

 



Birth story part two

I think we left off with me in wet shorts. I'll pick up from there in a minute, but I did forget two minor details and I want to warn you that I did not edit these photos. If I was a decent blogger, I would have made sure all the details were included yesterday and would edit photos. Oops. Sorry.

Details: 1)When my water broke just before 6:00 on Sunday and I contacted important people like baby daddy, my mom, Andy, etc. I realized that I'd probably be having a baby instead of going to work on Tuesday. I didn't have my sub plans written yet. I got right to that and sent them to my dear friend Angela. 2) I had also been shopping earlier that day for items to pack in my birth bag. Since I was shopping for items, the bag obviously wasn't packed. (Though Pedro's was. There I go showing signs of being a good mommy early!) While I was waiting for my mom to, you know, finish her leisurely dinner and such, I packed my bag. (I'm giving my mom a hard time; you'll see she totally earned a mom of the year award and about a billion leisurely dinners on me.)

Aside from my amniotic giggles, not much was going on. Though I was totally amped, mom convinced me to go to bed and try to get some sleep. This is the advice that everyone gives to moms in early labor. They fail to acknowledge that sleeping on the most incredible, scary, intense, emotional day that a human is going to come out of one's hoo-ha is nearly impossible.

So, to appease mom I went to bed at about 11:00 p.m. (Note, I didn't put the mattress protector on the bed because it seemed like way too much work while in labor. Fortunately gravity plays a huge role in seepage, so I was fine lying down. Just in case you wondered. You probably didn't. And didn't need that whole image planted in your head.) I got a little bit of sleep, but contractions started to come at about 2:00 a.m. They weren't intense or regular enough to really keep me up, but really, who could sleep at a time like that?!

At 2:30ish Beau sent me a text asking if I was awake. I was, so we FaceTimed. (Yes, I made that a verb.) We had not fully committed to a name yet. Our plan was to wait until we met our little guy to decide which of the names on our short list fit him best. I was really sad that Beau wouldn't be there for that and I worried that I was going to screw the whole thing up. Then he said, "I guess we'll meet Carter soon, huh?" Done. Beau got to make the final call on the name. (It was both of our favorites, so it wasn't a huge surprise to us.) He also let me know that he was going to be on the first helicopter out of there and would be on an airplane headed in the right direction soon. Stupid me, I told him I'd try to hold it as long as possible and maybe he'd be able to see the birth of his son. That sounds sweet, not stupid, right?

Yeah. Do you have any idea how long it takes a person to get from Angola to Virginia? Longer than you want to be in labor. Trust me.

After our conversation (he was amped too!) I decided that sleep just wasn't going to happen. I wanted to get back on the sit up ball turned birthing ball to help move things along. My contractions were about six minutes apart at this point, but not consistently.

Since I was up, mom got up too. I forced her to watch way too many episodes of Say Yes to the Dress to try to pass the time. She kept telling me to get some sleep--because she's wise--but I knew it was definitely not going to happen at this point.

Because the twelve hour window was coming up, I took a quick shower at about 5:00 a.m., had breakfast (because I knew once admitted they weren't going to let me eat!), talked to Jen, my midwife, on the phone and headed to the hospital.

I was clearly in a good mood and the contractions hadn't started kicking my butt yet. I am wearing one of Beau's shirts because mine hadn't fit over the bump in months.

Since it was so early, we had to go in through the emergency room. I was chauffeured upstairs in style.

Because of the lack of sleep I was too delirious to remember I was going to push a baby out of me and was just excited about the wheelchair ride.

I got situated in my delivery room and Amanda my nurse filled out my whiteboard. I wasn't ready to commit to a name yet, so we stuck with Pedro for the time being. I love that Pedro is part of my photographic birth story.

 

Sorry for the view of the trash cans. Here's something prettier. ME!

 

Nice Gown, huh? I love that picture of my bump. I don't love that I have eighteen chins in that shot. Oh well. There's no place for vanity in the delivery room. Besides, in no time I'd be out of that gown and into the cute pajamas brought. I'd be holding my perfect little baby and watching The View. Little did I know, I'd be stuck in that bed and its immediate vicinity for the next twenty-four plus hours.

Jen came in to see me and told me she had an intern and asked me if it would be cool if she participated in our adventure. I was still excited about this whole thing and thought it would take all of two hours, so I said yes. The intern checked me to verify that my water had indeed broken and measured my dilation and effacement. My water had broken (durh, we all saw that picture!), but I was still only at a 1 cm dilation. (I have no idea what the number attached to my effacement was.)

Jen, or Amanda, or someone asked me if I'd prefer Pitocin or some other labor inducing suppository.

Let me take a moment to let you know that I had spent quite a bit of time considering how I wanted my labor to go. Beau and I discussed everything and came up with a plan that would give a directive for what was best for our baby. I had dutifully typed out a birth plan that had every one of my wishes and desires. I printed it and had a copy in my bag. I had my mom go over it before we went to the hospital. I had been very thoughtful and intentional in my planning.

Nowhere on that plan were drugs. I was going to do this cave woman style. This is not because I am tough or think that drugs are bad, but because I had done enough reading to know that Pitocin is from the devil and brings on some serious pain.

When Jen (or Amanda?) told me that not doing either was no longer an option because my water had been broken for twelve hours and my risk of infection got higher, I realized that my intentional planning was out the window.

Because I was going to get Pitocin, (I chose that over the other option because it is given via an IV and can therefore be controlled) I was going to be attached to an IV pole and both the baby and myself were going to be monitored consistently. The part of my plan that talked about how I was going to walk around, take hot showers, etc. was shot to bits as well.

The cords were, however long enough that I could move from the bed to the birthing ball or rocking chair.

I love this picture of my mom and me. This was still early on. You can tell because I'm smiling an almost genuine smile.

Angela was dying to know what was going on, so I called her. She let me know that she was on her way. She didn't ask, she told. I love that she came. She told me even if I didn't want to see her, she was going to sit in the waiting room in case we needed her. What an awesome friend.

Also awesome is that she braided my hair for me.

 

In high school and college Cyndi would braid my hair for me. I loved it. Not only does it get my hair out of my face, it is very soothing. Cyndi couldn't be there to braid my hair for me, but Angela stepped in. Later--many, many hours later--I'd be super grateful that my hair was pulled back from my face.

 

Shortly after Angela arrived, Jaimie arrived. (Jaimie, sorry about the red eyes in your C &C debut...) Aren't my friends pretty?

 

 

I suppose at this point it was probably noon-ish. My friends stayed with me while my mom went downstairs to get some lunch and stretch her legs. They kept me amused and entertained.

 

At some point I developed a low-grade fever, so Amanda added antibiotics to my IV cocktail. It wasn't a bad fever and the antibiotics were to prevent infection.

 

 

The Pitocin was starting to take effect and  the contractions were getting stronger and stronger. My mom was there to hold my hand and help me breathe through the pain. (I also had John Mayer and Norah Jones on iTunes, so that was pretty nice.)

 

My friends left to go watch our school's soccer and baseball games since they were in the regional tournaments and playing not far from the hospital. Mom stayed with me. At some point mid-afternoon the intern came back in to check my progress. She felt around and let me know I was dilated to about a six. Jen got excited for me and told me that things will start moving more quickly because I'd made it over the hump. I was stoked; her encouragement was infectious. The contractions hurt, but I felt like they were manageable enough that I was going to stick to my plan of not getting an epidural. Things were moving along and I was going to meet this little person I'd fallen in love with already.

 

My timeline is fuzzy, but I think Jaimie and Angela came back to give mom a break for dinner. The contractions were getting worse and I was certain that meant I was making progress.

 

At this point Amanda had gone home and I had a new nurse. I don't remember her name, but I loved her. She was so encouraging. Anyway, she came in and asked me if she could check me because she felt like I should have made some more progress.

 

It didn't quite click when she told me that I was at a one. There are so many numbers associated with child birth that it didn't occur to me that she could be talking about my dilation (because I was at a six a few hours ago). She looked kind of sad for me and I realized that a one was bad, whatever it was. I asked her to clarify and she told me that's how far I'd dilated.

 

Let me recap: At this point I'd been in labor for almost twenty four hours. I'd had Pitocin, the devil's drug, coursing through my veins for just shy of eleven hours. I was still at a one, despite being told I was at six centimeters. The intern had somehow mis-measured me. I was devastated. All of that progress I thought I'd made was a pipe dream. I was just as dilated as I was when I walked in the door.

 

 

 

I asked my mom to tell Jen I didn't want the intern to touch me again. According to Jaimie, my mom may have ripped them a new one out in the nurses' station. Around me, she was a vision of calmness, but apparently the mama bear instincts stick around long after the baby bear is a baby. She got fiercely protective. needless to say, I didn't see the intern again.

 

At some point in the middle of all of this Beau's mom called. I had telephoned earlier in the day when I was all smiles and let her know her first grandson was on his way. She got so excited she booked a ticket south. She called to tell us she'd be here at about 11:00 p.m. I was in the middle of a painful contraction when she called, so my mom was on the phone with her. She thought she was coming to see her grandson, but I knew he wasn't going to be born yet. Surprise!

 

I was in some serious pain and morale had plummeted. I was running on about three hours of sleep and a bowl of cereal. I was absolutely exhausted, but in so much pain that I wasn't able to get any rest.

 

I hadn't heard from Beau, so I had no idea what his travel schedule looked like, and things seemed pretty bleak to me. At this point my freinds left. I'm not sure if mom sent them packing or what, but I needed some rest and it wasn't going to happen when we were hanging out. And, to be quite honest, we weren't really hanging out. I was clutching the bed rail in pain and don't really know what they were doing...

 

Around 8:00 p.m. the sweet nurse came in and asked me if I would consider an epidural. I didn't want one. She told me I'd be able to sleep. All of a sudden I wanted one. I knew I wasn't going to have the baby any time soon, and I didn't want to be so exhausted that I couldn't push. After talking it over with my mom, I opted to get a needle inserted into my spine. (Frankly, the reason I didn't want one is because the idea of needles anywhere near my spine freaks me out, not because I wanted to experience the pain of child birth.)

 

About an hour after it was offered, the most wonderful, handsome man in the world came into my room. Nope, not Beau, but the man who was going to put the lower half of my body to sleep. I have no idea if he really was handsome, but in my foggy memory, he is god-like. After stabbing me in the spine he told me he wasn't going to leave my room until I was smiling. Obviously he had no idea what labor was like. I wasn't sure I'd ever smile again. Then, all of a sudden, my legs went numb, the pain went away, and I was smiling like a simple minded fool. He was my hero.





 

I'm smiling under that mask.

 

I was able to nap now that my southern half was numb, and at some point someone came in an put an oxygen mask on me. I know she explained why, but I was so tired I just let it be put on me and went back to sleep.

 

Mom snapped that picture, by the way, because Beau was on FaceTime. He was in Barcelona (maybe?) getting ready to board a flight to NYC, then one home and would be there with me by 10:00 a.m. on Tuesday. I let him know that I wasn't going to hold the kid in that long, but we'd be waiting for him.

 

I'm grateful I got the epidural for many reasons, but the biggest is that I got to talk to Beau when I wasn't in pain. I can't imagine how helpless he would have felt seeing me in that amount of pain and knowing he was still twelve hours away.

 

At about midnight Beau's mom arrived. She was going to just say hi and then leave the hospital to sleep. She said she'd meet her grandson the next day when it was convenient, but I figured she'd flown down from Boston, she might as well hang out with us and then be here when her grandson arrived. It just made sense to me.

 

Here's Grammy updating the family on my lack of progress.

 

 

She spent the night in that uncomfortable chair. I'm sure it wasn't what she had planned, but I'm so glad she was able to be there.

 

Well, my patient readers. Here is where I'll leave off for the night. This one post birth story is going to turn into three.

 

I'd stay up to finish, but the little guy doesn't allow me to sleep in...

 

Moms out there: Did your birth go according to plan, or were you like me with what turned out to be a laughable plan? Were any of you realistic enough to not have a plan?





Birth story part one

I wasn't going to post this. But now, almost four months later, the details are getting fuzzy. I realized I need to put to paper blog the events of the most intense thirty-seven and a half hours of my life. It was a long labor; this will be a long post. (Edit: This will be two (?) long posts...) My mom was here to document the event in photo, among myriad other very important tasks she happily tackled. I'll include those photos as I go. (Note: Those will be in part two. Sorry to get your hopes up... You know how wordy I can get..)

On the Friday before Memorial Day a very well-meaning coworker told me the baby had dropped and I was going to have a Memorial Day baby. I wasn't due until June 18, two days after graduation, so I told him to bite his tongue because I had way too much to get done to have the baby early. He just looked at me knowingly and shook his head.

That night I took my sweet yearbook girls to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory for our annual end of the year dinner. After a super satisfying meal and some even more satisfying cheesecake, the baby (Pedro, at that point) was VERY active. At one point a bunch of girls were watching my belly and he did a crazy hard judo chop and made my belly bounce. There were loud shrieks of surprise, and maybe a little fear, and I knew we had probably overstayed our welcome at the crowded restaurant.

We went outside and took our group pictures.

 

(I do have some really cute group pictures, but I don't want to put pictures of my girls on the Internet without their permission. Someone did snap this photo of my big belly and two of my teensy tiny editors.)

I headed home. I was exhausted from a very long day. My feet were as big as I'd ever seen them. I called my mom and asked her to bring the spa foot bath thingy when they visited the next day. (They had already decided I was done making the hour long drive north until after the baby was born.)

When they visited on Saturday, my mom massaged my huge feet after they soaked in divine lavender bath salts she brought for me. (That's love!) Even they commented on the way my belly had dropped. Earlier that morning, I posted this picture to my Facebook page:

Beau was out of the country for work and I didn't want to have another "holy shit" moment when I picked him up from the airport. (Two weeks earlier when I picked him up he looked at my belly, said "holy shit" and then had to try to delicately backpedal so I'd give him a ride home.) My plan was to take and send weekly belly pictures. It turns out that it would be first and last installment of bellygram, the not so well known sister of instagram.

I took it easy the rest of the day and rationalized excuses not to do the grading I had brought home. I had a relatively restless night, but managed to get some sleep. The restless nights were just starting and I was expecting them to get worse for the next three weeks.

Sunday morning I got up and decided to check some errands off my to-do list. There were a few minor things I wanted to get done to prep for the baby's arrival and I figured doing them Sunday would be another awesome way to rationalize not grading. (Because I knew running errands would be enough to wipe me out for the rest of the day.) Monday I was going to buckle down and get all of the papers graded so I could spend the rest of the week packing up my classroom and getting all of the work related prep work done.

On my list of things to do was go to Bed Bath and Beyond for mattress protector (in case my water broke) and travel sized shampoo, conditioner, soap, etc; stop by my maternity photographer's house to pick up our pictures (she's amazing and will be getting her own post soon!); and a trip to Moe's was in order as well.

I was going to get started relatively early, but I was moving pretty slowly and then my BFF called from California. (Remember her from here?) We chatted for a while and discussed books that we had been reading, my pregnancy--I insisted I felt great and that the little guy was going to keep cooking for a few weeks-- and her super adorable kids. I got to Moe's and ordered my taco salad and sat and read while I ate. It was a leisurely lunch and the taco salad satiated little Pedro. (Did I mention that throughout the pregnancy I craved Mexican food? That's how he got his nickname. Obvs.)

Next was  Bed Bath and Beyond. I felt silly getting the rubber sheet, but I worried that amniotic fluid would ruin the pillowtop mattress. I envisioned my water breaking at home in bed, because too many people had suggested that it would be so funny if it broke at school. One of my EMT certified students even offered to deliver him for me if my water should break at school. The whole scenario was mortifying and made me not want to set foot in the building so I had to picture my water breaking at home just so I could work. (I had, by the way, decided that if my water broke at school I would calmly walk out of the classroom with my purse and phone, would get in the car and drive myself to the nearby hospital and while on the way would call the office and ask for a sub. I was going to vacate the building before anyone knew what was going on.)

I digress... I got my items and headed to Amanda's to get my maternity shots. I was so excited to get them! They are stunning. Seriously, when I post my story about her you are going to want to book a session with her. She's a magician/goddess/miracle worker.

During our maternity session we had discussed how Beau was going to be out of town almost up to my due date. Amanda does birth photography and she said that she'd gladly shoot my birth if Pedro came early so that Beau could see it all through her lens. Her one caveat was that I couldn't go into labor the week of Memorial Day because she was going out of town. When I went to pick up the photos, she reminded me of her offer, looked at my belly and said something to the effect of, "there's no way he's coming before I get home." I agreed, told her how great I felt and practically skipped down her driveway. (OK, I totally waddled, but in my head I was skipping. I felt so good. I'd checked items off my list and it was a beautiful day. Skip to my Lou.)

It was late afternoon at this point. As I was driving home, I passed Taste Unlimited, my favorite non-Mexican eatery. They have gellato. Divine, wonderful, amazing gellato. And I had had a scoop the day before when my parents and I went for lunch. It was good. So good that I HAD to have more. Right. That. Minute.

I was devastated when I looked into the gellato case and saw the chocolate concoction I had the day before was gone. I literally didn't know what to do. It was the one thing I had to have. And it wasn't there. I just stared blankly at the case and the poor teenage girl behind the counter probably thought I was simple. I told her how sad I was (and probably rubbed my belly in the most pathetic way possible) and she said that there was just a little bit left so they had packed it into a to-go cup. There was a pint left. Had the case of gellato not been separating us, I would have kissed the poor girl.

And being a mere child, she had no comprehension of what kind of hormone induced craving roller coaster I had just been on. She was, at that moment, my best friend in the whole wide world. (Sorry, C. You understand, though, I'm sure.)

I happily drove home and started digging in. I got about four bites in when I realized I had to go to the bathroom. Pedro hadn't been too hard on my bladder, but every once-in-a-while he'd move just right and I had to go that instant. This was one of those moments. I put the gellato down on the kitchen counter and waddled to the bathroom.

Now, I'll spare you the details, but I lost my mucus plug on that trip to the potty. (If you don't know what that is, I urge you NOT to google image it. Seriously. Now you'll want to, but don't.) I knew from my obsessively extensive reading that this was an early sign of labor, but not indicative of anything immediate. I had actually been expecting it and was excited that we were getting the ball rolling.

In my reading I had also read about how many women experienced incontinence because of pregnancy. (This was another of my school/pregnancy related fears: wetting myself in class. Ugh. I'm embarrassed for myself just thinking about it.)  As I was walking back to my gellato, I felt wetness and thought that I had experienced some of that aforementioned incontinence. Recall, though, that I had just gone to the bathroom. Odd.

I went back and decided that in order to have undisturbed gellato time it would be best if I wore a pad. (Sorry, this might be a little TMI...) I started walking back to my gellato when I felt it again. I knew, though, that there was no way I could have peed a third time in two minutes. There might have been a baby playing hackey sack with my bladder, but three times? Not a chance.

Could my water have broken? Gasp.

I hadn't had any contractions, so it couldn't have been that. Besides, I had three weeks left. And first babies come late. Everyone knows that.

I called my mom to put her on alert and to get some you're-not-in-labor reassurance. Our friends Andy and Meagan called. (Well, just Andy, but on behalf of Andy and Meagan.) They wanted to know how I was feeling and if they could do anything. My half of the conversation was probably so bizarre for poor Andy. It went something like this: "Yeah, I'm fine. I feel good. My water might have just broken, but it might just be nothing. We'll see. But thanks for checking on me. You guys are sweet." I'm pretty sure he suggested I call the doctor.

So, I did. Again, I'm sure I sounded like a moron. I called the answering service and told the lady that my water might have broken but I'm not sure, so can someone call me back? The midwife on duty called back a few minutes later and seemed a little skeptical. She said that sometimes mucus plugs keep coming out in parts and maybe it was that. She told me to lie down and then get up. I'll spare you the details, but the difference in consistency would indicate if it was mucus or amniotic fluid.

Based on what she told me it seemed very amniotic-y. I called her back and told her about my lack of contractions and that I didn't really want to hang out at the hospital if I didn't have to. She told me I could labor at home for up to twelve hours or until the contractions got close together (4-1-1 as per birth classes!).

Andy called me back and I told him I was probably in labor but it wasn't a big deal yet. He invited me to have dinner at his in-laws' house so I wouldn't have to be alone. I had enough sense to decide that it wasn't polite to leak fluid at the dinner table so I declined. Then, I called my mom and asked her if she wanted to have a sleepover at my house. Her response, and I kid you not, was, "we're about to have dinner. I'll leave when we are finished."

I'm not suggesting that mom is cold hearted or wasn't excited. I like to think this reaction was a testament to how calm and collected I was. Or, whatever was for dinner was darn good. Who knows?

At some point in here I sent Beau a text that read, "I think I might be in labor. I'll let you know" of course, he called immediately and let me know that he'd me home as soon as he could. I told him to text me when he was done working and if I was up we'd talk. I wanted to be able to confirm that I was actually in labor before he flew home from Africa.

Mom arrived at about 9:00 p.m. and we hung out for a while. I was still not entirely convinced that this was IT. I started having minor contractions, but nothing to make me really believe that I was in labor. I decided that if it was, I should move it along a little, so I got my exercise ball out and did a thousand crunches.

Just kidding. I wanted to see if you were still reading. If you aren't, you should start.

I was swaying on the ball and mom said something funny. I laughed and fluid squirted out. I thought that was really gross/funny and laughed more. I gushed more, which made me laugh more. You see how this is going. It was a vicious, and very wet cycle. I sent this photo to Beau with the message, "Yep, water definitely broke..."

 Like the towel between my legs? This might just be the hottest photo of me.

Stay tuned for part two of the birth story. Where there is an actual birth. And way more pictures. That don't make me look like I wet my pants.

OK, fess up, how many of you looked up mucus plug?

I'm back...

May 3rd was my last blog update. What the what? Did you think something horrendous had happened to me? I'm not one to make excuses, but here goes...

See, what happened was...I got busy trying to get everything done so I'd be ready to have a baby. I had to finish up the class I teach at the community college, get my exams made and approved, have grade books updated, 1200 yearbooks to adoring and expectant high schoolers, clear out my classroom, finish a nursery, prep meals and freeze them, wash and organize newborn clothes and pack hospital bags. See, busy.

I was working like a crazy person. I got the college class finished and grades posted. I did the laundry and almost got the nursery finished. I even packed a bag! Then, three weeks early, my little guy decided to join us on the outside. My mega long to-do list got pushed to the side as he got pushed out. (Sorry...it just typed itself...)

I've got tons of interesting things to write: books to review, products to discuss, sunshine to spew, etc. (Beau tells me that sometimes my posts are a little too cheesily sunshiny. At least he's reading!)

But first, enjoy gazing at my belly the day before I went into labor and, more importantly, the beautiful baby I get to spend the next eighteen years embarrassing. I'll tell you all about the amazing photographer who shot those two pictures in the next day or two (or certainly before a few months pass by!)

So, what have you kids been up to over the past few months? Anything as exciting as having a perfect baby? (Ten fingers! Ten toes!)

Hobbit Feet and Hearburn

I know you all think that some tragic fate has taken me out of this world. Fortunately, you're wrong. I've just had a gazillion things to do and updating my beloved blog has been pushed to the end of the to-do list far, far, far too often.

I know a void opened in your world without me. I will try harder to remedy that!

Today I am going to post about something that consumes my world: pregnancy. This pregnancy has been blissfully easy and fun. I'm one of those freaks who really enjoys pregnancy. I've not really had any of the aches and pains associated with pregnancy yet (knock on wood) and as I enter my 34th week of pregnancy I can really only complain about two minor discomforts.

Yes, Hobbit feet and heartburn. Fortunately for me, I don't have the other dreaded "H" that is often associated with pregnancy. (Again, I'm fiercely knocking on wood.) If you've been pregnant, you know which "H" I'm referring to.

Tuesday was my last day going straight from work to my second job at the community college. Those Tuesdays were my 14 hour days, and as I got further and further into my pregnancy, they got harder and harder. Tuesday night I was wiped out, and when I propped my feet up on the coffee table at home I saw not the cute little feet I am used to, but Hobbit feet. (Minus the disgusting hair, obvs.)

(BTW, a Google images search of "Hobbit Feet" results in some really gross images. This one, from here was the least disgusting one I could find.)

Basically, since Tuesday my feet have been puffy, square appendages that are in desperate need of a pedicure. That's why the image above is not of my own feet. (Well, that and I don't want to become one of the gross images that comes up in Google images when people search "Hobbit Feet." What? People search for that. Trust me.)

Aside from staying hydrated, another "remedy" to Hobbit feet is to elevate them. I try to do that as frequently as possible. I'm currently teaching Hamlet and Macbeth  in the two different levels of 12th grade English I teach. Instead of standing, I have been sitting in front of the class and propping my feet up in another chair to keep the swelling to a minimum. I find that said posture also keeps my professionalism to a maximum... Or not. Oh well.

Anyway, I'm hoping that at some point in the next six weeks the swelling goes down and I can have ankles and cute feet again.

My other ailment is good old-fashioned heartburn. Prior to this pregnancy I'd never experienced heartburn. Now, it is a daily occurrence. It doesn't matter what I eat, it's going to light my esophagus on fire and slowly burn until I pop my new favorite product, Tums.

The Assorted Berries are pretty dang good. Once upon a time, the 96 tablet size above would have lasted me years. Now I'm lucky if I can make them last a month.

But, like I said, I am so very lucky and thankful that aside from these minor discomforts, this pregnancy has been an absolute pleasure.

At this point our little guy is big, healthy and head down. I like to say he's locked and loaded and ready to greet the world. (But hopefully not until I finish the school year...)

Over the next few days I'll (hopefully) have posts about my AMAZING baby shower, some great reads, some products (other than Tums) that I have loved over the past 33.5 weeks, the nursery, my trip to CA, etc.



Until then, have you guys made it though experiences that should have been majorly taxing with only minor complaints? More importantly, have you missed me?

Blasphemy

As a Southern California gal, I have a deep love for all things CA. My deepest love might just be for this place.

If you have ever been to Texas, Utah, Arizona, Nevada, or California, I hope that you felt the magnetic pull of the neon arrow. The menu is basic at best. If you are looking for selection, this little slice of heaven is not for you. If you like the gooey goodness of this, though, heaven awaits you.

(In-N-Out images via Pinterest)

MMMMM. Yummy. All of a sudden I am feeling a little homesick. Imagine my shock, awe, and disappointment when I was reading my favorite magazine, Food & Wine,  and stumbled upon the following quote: "As a native Californian, I grew up loving the famous In-N-Out Double Double, but the Paradise Burger (oak-grilled with cheddar, onions and tomato) blows it away." Jesse Rodriguez, sommelier from San Diego had that to say about Paradise Cafe in Santa Barbara, California.

(Image from here)

How can this be? Did Food & Wine, a magazine I have always thought to be reputable, dare to blaspheme In-N-Out? Food & Wine  has never--let me repeat that--never lead me astray. The recipes have been divine. The restaurant reviews have been spot-on. The wine suggestions perfect. You see where my confusion lies, right? Years of consuming burgers, fries and shakes have told me one thing. Food & Wine has told me another.

Clearly there is only one remedy.

(Image from here via Pinterest)

 (Image from here via Pinterest)

(Image from here via Pinterest)

Yep. Road trip. I need to sample the Paradise Burger. While I'm there, I'll have to stop here...

Has anyone had the Paradise Burger? Does anyone else feel that Food & Wine might not be the food experts they claim to be? C, can you make a short trip for me and do some recon?