36ish weeks and NOT READY!

Easter Sunday and 36 weeks

 
So I'm now 36 1/2ish weeks.  Measuring over 42 weeks. For some reason since my appointment last week my pregnancy math skills did this: 41-35 = 4 weeks big.  Um yeah...that's definitely 6 weeks big.  No wonder I'm down to 2 shirts, only one of which isn't stained.  Both shirts were made or altered by me to fit too.  I might have to make another one or two to get me through potentially 6 more weeks of pregnancy.  Let's hope it's more like 2-4 weeks though.

As for comfort: I was doing okay until I realized the baby had more than likely dislocated a rib.  It hurt A LOT.  But then I got it popped back in and it's been feeling better.  BUT THEN, the baby decided ramming its head into my left hip was a comfy spot and now I have little use of my left leg most of the time and am in so much pain when I lie down I can barely sleep.  And it doesn't help that my daughter's mouth has picked NOW to work on 2 year molars.  Yeah, she worked on her last 8 teeth in my first trimester.  Her mouth hates me.   So even if I do fall asleep, she's waking up a good 3-4 times a night. 

But this baby is not allowed to come until next week at the earliest.  My doctor, doula, and parents are all out of town until then and I simply have not planned enough to do this without them.  I'm in a slight panic about the whole thing, actually.  I know I can get this baby out, but I'm not sure I can do it naturally without the support of my "team."  So prayers appreciated that the baby will wait at least until the middle of next week when everyone will be around.

I still don't have other essentials ready for the baby.  Like a name.  I *think* we've settled on a girl's name, but the boy's name is still not coming together.  At all.  We had a list of three potential names, but the more I said them, the more I didn't like them.  So we scrapped them and started over.  And I'm still not thrilled with any of the names I've come up with.  The name I fell in love with is one my husband does not like at all.  Which is fine, this is his child, too.  But it's hard for me to get past that name I have in the back of my head.  And so far every other name I've come up with that I like, there is some sort of "baggage" one of us has associated with it: an old boss who was a total jerk, a high school teacher that was an idiot, a family member that is not particularly preferred, etc.  Names are hard.  And I think they're harder now than they were back in the day.  I mean, honestly, our grandparents just picked a name, didn't matter if their cousin or next door neighbor had the same name.  But now, if an old highschool classmate that you weren't even friends with but is now your friend on facebook has a child with that name, you cannot use it or you're perceived as copying.  Really???? ugh.  And here's the thing, I don't want to pick a name that is too trendy, but it seems like that sometimes can't be helped.  We named our daughter and only knew of one or two other people who had that name, but now everyone I meet has a daughter or granddaughter with that name.  Just. Can't. Win.

So I'm stressing just a bit.  I still need to finish my birthing skirt (based on this tutorial).  I haven't finished reading the birthing books I want to. Nor have I sat my husband down and forced him to read certain sections so he can be helpful during labor.  My birth plan is still in my head and not on paper.  I need to get my sitz bath stuff put together or any other postpartum stuff.  Haven't organized or even made a list for my hospital bag.  I really wanted to make a little present for Little Miss from the baby.  I had hoped to get some freezer meals together (since I think I'm opting out of getting meals through our church: our diet is fairly particular and I've heard what the women say about new moms with special food requests. Plus I just flat out don't want any visitors for awhile).  I need to make a sign for the door that says in a nice way to go away because I'm resting.  The hubby and I have finally decided a tv in our bedroom would be super helpful for me when I'm in recovery, so that needs to happen.  Plus the hubby is in full "get going on finishing the basement" mode. 

So little sleep + too much to do = exhausted and stressed.  And the thought of just a few more weeks is both terrifying and comforting.  I'll survive, I know I will, but will I have the energy to get through a natural labor?  Hopefully.

The Birth of My Daughter Part Two

Part One

My daughter's birth was certainly not as horrible as it could have been, nor as traumatic as other women's experiences, but was still far from what it should have been.  I knew deep down that I was not happy with her birth, but for a long time I claimed everything went great.  I mean, after all, a healthy baby is the only thing that determines whether a birth went well or not, right?  It wasn't until I started learning more about natural living, breastfeeding, pregnancy, and birth that I finally acknowledged why I tried to never think about her birth.  Hopefully after writing all of this down, I can think about our first face to face meeting with a little less guilt and anger.  This won't be stellar writing (not that I ever write well) as the memories are very choppy.

So we left off with us going to check into the hospital the morning after my water broke.  We got there, checked in, and were put in a room.  I was told to change into a gown and they started making the calls necessary to get my records from my doctor.  I was terrified.  I had not given much thought to birthing our daughter.  I figured we would just take it one step at a time and never researched into anything.  ANYTHING.  So when they handed me a pill and told me they needed to induce me, even though I was having contractions and labor was clearly beginning (though slowly), I did what they told me.  It wasn't until over a year later that I learned that what they gave me, Cytotec, is not only not approved by the FDA for inducing labor, but has been linked to uterine rupture and the deaths of the mother and/or child.  There is no standard dosage which means doctors are just guessing.  It says in my chart that they went over the risks and the fact that this was an off-label use of the drug, but my husband and I have no memory of this.  Even if they had, I don't personally believe that informed consent of this kind can take place while in labor when the one offering the drug is in a position of authority. It infuriates me that they experimented on both me and my child and risked both our lives simply because they were too impatient to wait for my body to do what it needed to do. 

About a half hour after taking the Cytotec, the contractions started hard.  Really hard.  I panicked.  I called the nurse and told her how much pain I was in.  She just shrugged and said that's how it starts.  I felt stupid.  I felt ashamed that I could not even handle the BEGINNING of labor.  And I agreed to the epidural.  I didn't see any other option.  I was clearly a wimp. I was already confined to the bed with all the monitors, so having zero use of my legs didn't seem to matter much.  When the anesthesiologist came in to give me the epidural, I was beyond pain and I became convinced he was going to paralyze me.  My husband tried to calm me down and keep me still, but I was freaking out and crying.  I sometimes wonder if the Cytotec made me a bit paranoid as well.  And then the pain was gone.  And I started getting loopy.  Cracking jokes, feeling funny. I had become completely disconnected from my daughter's birth. 

My husband went to get something to eat where the poor man cried as he tried to deal with the stress of having lost his grandfather and his wife having his first child.  That's a lot to handle.  A lot.  While he was gone, I started feeling pain again.  Lots of pain.  I had to start breathing through contractions again, but I didn't want to up the epidural level.  My husband returned, the nurse checked me, informed us I was complete, and they wheeled all the equipment in.  I had gone from 4/5 cm to complete in about 15-20 minutes.  The epidural dosage was low enough that I could still feel and push (which I am so grateful for!).  They, of course, had me do forced pushing: pushing for 10 seconds/3 times every contraction.  My husband counted to 10 probably a thousand times in those three hours.  It didn't feel like 3 hours to either of us though.  In fact, up until my current doctor informed me a few months ago that I had pushed that long, we were both convinced I only pushed for an hour and a half at the most.

It turned out Little Miss was face up and pushing on my back, which hurt like crazy, especially when I was confined to a bed ON MY BACK!!  I had a bruised tailbone for months.  She rotated on her own though in the birth canal and was born face down.  Unfortunately she dragged her little arm up by her face and did a little more tearing that I would've liked.

I remember the doctor asking me if I wanted to touch her head with all its hair as she was crowning and I promptly refused.  I think I was only thinking of the current pushing and forgot completely what it was I was striving for.  Little Miss did not seem to be my goal, if that makes sense.  And I was disgusted with the whole birthing process.  I felt so exposed and ashamed, I just wanted it over with.

She was born at 3:05pm on Monday, June 1st, 2009 and my first thought when they put her on my chest was "Eww, couldn't they have cleaned her off first?" That makes me sad.  I didn't feel that excited.  I didn't really care.  They took her again, poked, prodded, and nearly got decked by my husband.  He went instantly into protect mode and still struggles with not stopping how rough they were with her.  One happy memory I have is of my husband saying something and Little Miss lifting her head to look at him.  She must have recognized that voice!  They took her away after the poking and prodding to give her a bath and such and my husband went with.  All I could think was that I barely got to see her.  They could bring me back a completely different baby and I would never know!  I had nightmares for a long time that I couldn't recognize my own child.  I'm not sure how long they were gone and I have no memory of her being brought back or even of nursing her, though I know I did right when she returned.  I know mentally that she latched on strong and well, but I can't picture the moment.  And I have no emotion attached with seeing her again.

I think that's what bothers me most about her birth: the sterility of it all.  The drugs, the matter of factness, the lack of emotions from those attending as well as myself and the fact that I just flat out can't remember so many things that should be etched in my mind as life altering.  I feel like I had those memories stolen from me and I will never get them back.

The next few days in the hospital were rough.  My back hurt from both the back labor and the epidural placement and I struggled to even walk.  One of my legs continued to feel tingly for at least a month which freaked me out to no end.  And I still struggled with being apathetic to the fact that I now had a beautiful, wonderful baby girl.  I was now a mother, but I just didn't seem to care.  I still felt very ashamed of the birth and the lack of dignity I was allowed.  I remember a nurse walking in on me while I was going to the bathroom and asking me questions.  I was so embarrassed and it only added to my sense of shame and lack of personhood within the hospital walls.

And then there was breastfeeding.  Even though they said I was doing great, Little Miss had a good latch, and my milk seemed to have come in, they said my daughter was starving and needed formula.  I refused the first time or so, but when a nurse kept telling me my baby was "so hungry" I eventually gave my permission.  They forced more than 4 oz into her tiny stomach (barely the size of a walnut) which she promptly threw up everywhere.  And they continued to do that repeatedly during my stay.  I'm crying now just thinking that I allowed that to happen.  They kept saying she wasn't getting enough, never enough.  I would nurse her for 45 minutes or so and then they insisted she get a bottle on top of that.  We did that until she was 10 days old when I finally put my foot down and said NO MORE.  I knew that's not what I wanted and I was determined to make breastfeeding work.  I still think the formula played a role in why she was so colicky.  I had allowed her gut flora to be sabotaged and her digestion wasn't working the way it was supposed to.  She spit up a lot during those months.  And it just breaks my heart that she suffered so much in her first few days, weeks, and months. 

We recovered physically.  We bonded.  We exclusively breastfed from Day 10 to 7 months.  And we're still breastfeeding at 23 months.  And she is amazing.  And I can barely stand to be away from her for more than a few hours because I just miss that cutie pie!  I've done the best I can to make up for those first few days and weeks, but I don't know if I'll ever stop feeling guilty for what I allowed to happen.  I could say I just didn't know any better, but that's the point.  We, who have access to information more than any other generation in the world, should know better.  I plan everything.  I'm a list maker.  I research things to no end.  But I didn't research with pregnancy or birth.  At all.  I picked the wrong people to trust and I deserved what happened to me.  But my daughter did not.  She should have been brought into the world better than the way I gave her.  She should have been protected better than I protected.  And she should have been loved better than I loved.

The only way I've been able to console myself in this is knowing our God is sovereign.  Because of how her birth went, we made changes in our lives.  Our lifestyles have changed drastically and we've done the research for this next child's birth.  God is good.  If her birth had been natural and perfect, I can pretty much guarantee we would not have made many of the changes we've made.  I can also guarantee that there would be a lot more arrogance in my attitudes towards those struggling with their birth or breastfeeding experiences.  I still will grieve over her birth, but can at least move forward knowing that God is in control, even when it feels like everything else is so out of control.

The Birth of My Daughter Part One

I've never written down the birth of my daughter.  I've always tried to steer my thoughts away from those days in the hospital, but I think I need to deal with the anger and guilt I feel over that experience so that I can be fully present in the birth of my next child.


My pregnancy with my daughter was rough from the start.  We had lost our first child in a miscarriage and looking back, I think that stripped me of any confidence I had in my body.  I was terrified that I couldn't even carry a baby to term, let alone birth said baby.  I had already failed as a mother in my mind, unable to protect that little life, so how could I possibly trust my body throughout another pregnancy and then a birth?  I was incredibly insecure during the pregnancy, from the doubts of my abilities to the drastic changes in my body.

And like most women, I trusted my doctor.  I trusted medicine.  And this is where I feel guilt.  I had already been burned horribly by the medical community and they had done nothing to regain my trust and yet I trusted.  They had told me I was a weak, attention-seeking complainer and even after I had proven that wasn't true, I still let them tell me I was weak and incapable of doing anything.  Why did I let that happen?  Why didn't I stand up for myself and my child?  I should have known better.  I failed yet again to protect my babies.  I followed all the medical advice.  I did everything I was supposed to do, but there I was, swollen, my blood pressure rising and desperately trying to convince the doctor to induce me.  For ignoring me on this point, I thank him.  I would have done almost anything to just not be pregnant anymore.

When I was about 34 weeks along, we learned that my husband's grandfather had cancer.  The really bad cancer that just comes in and destroys in a matter of months.  We went to visit him and prayed he would live to see his first grandchild, but God had other plans.  Thursday, May 28th, 2009, he went to be with the Lord.  I had woken up that day feeling absolutely amazing and energetic at 38 weeks.  I knew that baby was coming, but at 9 am, my husband came home crying to tell me Grandpa had died.  What could we do?  We only had a few options: not going to the funeral, my husband going without me, or both of us going and risking the baby coming.  Not going at all was quickly rejected as I knew my husband would always regret it.  I was terrified to have him go without me especially since I woke up feeling so incredibly amazing.  So we decided to go together.

Sunday we had church and then gathered as a family before the visitation.  My daughter was going crazy in the womb.  My husband's cousin looked on in horror as feet and hands could be seen pushing my belly out and bouncing everything around.  I was getting more and more uncomfortable and my mother-in-law told me later that watching me walk, it seemed like the baby's head was RIGHT there.  Visitation over and back to the house where we talked about Grandpa and laughed and laughed (he was a VERY good joke teller!). I think the laughing was what did me in.  I got up to the go to the bathroom (for about the 40th time) and halfway down the hallway I started peeing my pants.  Or so I thought at first.  It didn't stop though.  I went back to the room and firmly told Ty I thought we should go to bed.  I went downstairs where I found my MIL and asked her how I would know if my water broke.  I believe her exact response was "Really?????" spoken with just a hint of dread.  We decided to labor at the house for as long as possible, but labor never really started.  I maybe had 2 or 3 contractions the whole night, but was terrified enough that I didn't sleep a bit. 

In the morning we decided to go into the hospital which is where any remaining confidence was promptly stripped away and I became a patient, not a woman or mother.

Part Two

37, I mean 33 1/2 week Update

Saw the doctor this morning and I discovered why everyone is giving me those shocked looks when I share that I have over 2 months to go: it's because I'm measuring nearly a month big!!!

oh, the classic bathroom mirror shot.  I hate doing this, but I was too lazy to set up a tripod, etc.

I measured big with my daughter, too, but never a whole month.  The doctor felt around and it really is simply because of the baby's position: kinda halfway between transverse and head down. Plus I'm carrying super high. My husband keeps teasing me that I'm gonna get stopped leaving the store for stealing a basketball.  The doctor seems to be a little too concerned about me having a 10 lb baby though.  I was a 10 lb baby.  My friend that is half my size had a 9 lb baby.  I assured him that I'm really not concerned about it one bit.  I need to really be diligent about the Spinning Babies positions though to make sure this little one does in fact go into the head down position. 

I've also come to a rather comforting conclusion: I gain a lot of weight during pregnancy no matter what.  I ate horribly with my daughter and gained about 60 lbs.  I'm eating very healthy this time (although I do have some sweets, though usually they're homemade and still rather healthy) and I'm gaining about the same as last time, maybe even a little more.  My doctor is (fortunately) not concerned.  We've talked about my diet and he says this is just genetics then.  This is simply what my body needs to do to grow a healthy baby.  It actually is kinda liberating in a way to discover this.  I think I can let go of the guilt I felt about "letting myself go" during the last pregnancy.  The way I ate added other complications, but gaining weight really wasn't one of them.  And I feel confident that with nursing two little ones, the weight will drop off quicker than it did before.  And if it doesn't? Oh well, I'll survive.