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My aunt walked me into the airport carrying Jude in the carseat and my suitcase. I had the two diaper bags (my carry-ons) on my back and shoulder and couldn't keep up with her fast pace. I wondered, at that moment, how the hell I was going to travel from Dallas to Amsterdam and from Amsterdam to Italy with all of my bags and Jude.
After a slight panic of not having some sort of information for Jude's ticket, we got the suitcase and carseat checked and I strapped Jude to my chest with the Bjorn. At this point, he's about 15 lbs, I have my shoulder diaper bag across my shoulders (heavier) and my backpack diaper bag on my back (heavier still). Just standing my shoulders and neck started to complain, but with a hug and a determined nod, I made my way to security, just me and Jude.
Anyone who has been at an American airport in the past 8ish years knows that people are tense. The security guards are no-nonsense and everyone just wants to get through quickly and without finding out that they forgot to take something forbidden out of their bag. Add me and my screaming baby, who I found out in this first security line, hates being in the Bjorn. It took me forever to just get my bags, shoes, and any metal items off of me while trying to balance and quell said screaming baby, and as they started getting sucked into the conveyor belt, I realized that my bag of liquids was not in plain sight I yipped and grabbed it back, got another bin, and set it in. Dirty looks abound.
I sighed and smiled to the security guard, hoping that my smile will help everyone not hate me, and walked through the metal detector. "BEEEEP." Great. Took off my passport booklet and set it in the conveyor. Walked back through.("Waaaa! Waaaa! WaaAAAaaa!") "BEEEP." Took Jude out of the Bjorn, put the Bjorn through the conveyor belt and walked back through with Jude. "BEEEP." I muttered an explicit phrase and shrugged. "Ma'am, do you have a phone on you?"
Oh.
I took the phone out of my pocket, put it through the conveyor belt, and walked through. No beeps. Fantastic. I saddled my bags and baby onto me once again, having extra fun with the shoes, and started a light jog to my already boarding flight.
Here is where I will say that KLM (Royal Dutch Airlines) are amazing. Best flight I've ever been on, complete with eye candy, helpful flight attendants, a free seat next to me, and a bassinet for Jude. Wooo! That flight itself was the most pleasant time I had the entire time, all 8 hour son the plane. They kept me supplied with as much water, coke, wine, and actual meals that I wanted. I put Jude in the bassinet, set up both trays on both seats, sat sideways, and either read or watched Dexter on my portable DVD player while I relaxed. After the first couple hours, Jude got used to the sensation and was calm almost the entire time. Didn't even poop on the flight. Woooooo!
Arrived in Amsterdam an hour early, which, it turns out, was a bit of a bummer. I no longer had any help and had to track across the entire airport as my impersonation of a pack mull and as it turns out, my terminal was 2 floors and another terminal away from the food. This coupled with (again I mention) Jude does NOT like the Bjorn for any amount of time, I was miserable, in tears, and wishing I could be back on KLM airlines. Not to say that the Dutch aren't amazing. They are. Every single person, from higher ups working for the airport to the man who picked up each piece of luggage and put it on the conveyor belt, spoke fluent English. They were kind, helpful, and loved Jude. The Starbucks guy gave me an extra cookie "to keep up your strength as a new mom" and the guy at Burger King (gotta love what America has contributed to the world. Fast food and the entertainment business.) carried my tray to my table for me. After I got my food, I parked me and Jude near a bathroom and tried to relax for the rest of the 9 hour wait between flights.
I set up a makeshift bed for Jude. Luckily, he loved it. (See picture at top.)
I waited and waited for the flight, getting frustrated from being cut off. No phone, no email; Nothing. Just me, Jude, and a bunch of Dutch people. It was a long, long wait.
The flight to Venice from Amsterdam was considerably shorter; About 2 and a half hours. It was a little, tiny plane so Jude and I were stuck in one position the entire time: Cradle hold, trying not to move because the smell permeating from his diaper increased every time he moved. There was literally no room to change his diaper, so he fell asleep and I looked out the window with him in my arms the entire time, searching for the Alps. Is that a mountain, or a cloud? Was the thought running through my head, until I actually saw mountains. They cannot be mistaken for clouds, nor clouds for mountains. Incredible, flying over them for a about half the flight.
I landed and went to baggage claim, hoping that they let people in that area because with Jude in my arms, I cannot lift my suitcase. Of course, they don't, so I was left alone. Luckily, the carseat came before the suitcase, so I grabbed it and undid Jude in record time, put him in the carseat, and grabbed my suitcase the first time it came around. Then I begged some help from a dad with a family (in pantomime; They didn't speak English) and I grabbed Jude in the car seat, the Bjorn, my two diaper bags, and he rolled my suitcase out to the open area, where I found my husband right away. I handed Jude to him and told him that he needs a diaper change ASAP, walked outside, and enjoyed the feeling of not having something heavy loading me down while Scott changed Jude's diaper and his friend Nathan loaded the military vehicle up with all of the belongings.
The actual Italy experience will be documented in a future blog.
I packed a bit smarter for the trip back, now that I had experience, but I also had to pack more in the carry-ons because the trip home was almost twice as long as the trip to Italy, so I was weighted down even more. My flight from Venice to Amsterdam was delayed two hours, but I didn't mind because my flight from Amsterdam to Detroit was in 13+ hours. Why not wait some of those in Venice instead of Amsterdam? I asked if there were any empty seats put together to change seats so I could get a bit more room, so she found 2 and changed it. I boarded quickly and sat down, hoping that no one had booked the chair next to me since then.
I was let down when a young (see, 22) french man sat next to me. (Who I greeted with Ciao, but was responded with "Oh hello!" He spoke fluent English.) I was highly disappointed that I was stuck with Jude in a tiny space again, but this turned out to be my main piece of luck the entire trip back.
We spent most of the flight in silence, but then Jude started smiling and cooing and the french dude got quite a kick out of it, and we started talking. We got along just fine, even though several things were lost in translation as he couldn't always understand my American accent and I couldn't always understand his French accent.
We got to the Amsterdam airport at 9 pm, where he found out that he'd JUST missed his flight and rescheduled for 6 am. He went to go argue or to find a better connecting flight and I went to go get my bags, as they wouldn't let me just pass them on to the next flight because it was at 8 am, the next day. I got my bags off of the conveyor belt, but by this time the baggage claim was cleared of most everyone, and certainly everyone within listening distance that spoke English, and I stood there in confusion about where I should go with my bags and if I could even transport them to where they needed to be.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and was greeted by Emmanuel, the french man, with a cart to carry my bags. "I coollld not git a cohnehcting flight, so I weel heelp yOU with yourrr bahgs, yees?" Yes please!
We found a service center to ask for help, and was rebuffed. "Well ma'am, you can get a hotel, or you can stay in baggage claim, but you cannot check your bags until morning." I asked, what like midnight? 1 am? "No ma'am, not until 5 in the morning. Thank you."
Great. I could not afford a hotel, and thought it was a waste of money anyway, so I was looking for a place to spend the night in baggage claim. Manue, as he asked to be called (Weird nickname, I told him haha) told me that since he had nothing to do and that company passes the time, would help me with my bags and we should set up somewhere and get comfortable.
We found a Starbucks. We talked politics, culture, made fun of each others phrases, about our significant others (he showed me pictures of his girlfriend in Venice) and took pictures of the empty baggage claim. He surprised me with dinner and we made fun of Americans and the French in general.
It definitely passed the hours, and it was nice to have help. He even held Jude while I packed things up when I had to go to the bathroom to change diapers, make bottles, and pee. I was told that I'm much more assertive and confident than any European woman he'd ever met. I told him he was not nearly as much as an ass as I thought a french man would be, even if he was preppy. Then I explained preppy. We parted ways at 5 am and made our way to our different terminals. (With a kiss on each cheek and a "I hope we meet again in another airport someday Sara.")
The next bit was the worst luck I've ever had. Northwest airlines are awful, and I am appalled by their lack of customer service during the flight. I was not served water or food, had to get water myself for bottles from the back, never brought the bassinet I was promised and requested, 3 times, and the flight attendants were rude. I held my unhappy (and air sick) baby the entire 9 hours. I do not recommend Northwest. At all.
Got to Detroit and went through customs. All special treatment I got for having a baby in Europe went out the window in America, which just figures, although a woman in line at customs was kind enough to hold Jude while I filled out my blue sheet. When I picked up my bags (because again, I was not allowed to have them just transferred to the next flight.) a man came up and asked if I'd like help with my luggage. I gratefully said yes, and thanked him profusely. He got my bags in a cart and right before we started walking he said, "Now, you should know I work for tips, only." Uhhh. Ok. Fine. I nodded and didn't thank him again, although I gave the tricky b*stard a tip at the end of it. Got my bags rechecked in, my new boarding pass, and went to find my terminal with my very, very unhappy baby. My flight was in 8 hours.
I sat down and watched the rest of Lost and fed Jude. I was at my limit and didn't care that I was taking up about 4 seats and an outlet and talking on my finally in service American phone. At least Jude wasn't crying.. but.. but...
Oh no. I'm out of diapers. I couldn't believe that I didn't pack enough diapers. I put the last one on him and got up to go find some. "The only store with diapers is 2 terminals down that way." Greeeaaaattt. Love you Detroit. So I walked through the seizure hallway and started my long trek to go find the MOST EXPENSIVE diapers in the history of the world. 2 diapers, 7 dollars. I bought 3 packs grudgingly, knowing it was my fault but hating that I, as an unprepared mother, was being exploited, and made my way back through the seizure hallway to my own terminal. (Seizure hallway: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oreMhpo-NTo and picture at top of page.)
Got back to my own terminal with absolutely no intention of moving until my flight, with enough bottles, diapers, and drink for me to last, and sat down. This is when Jude had an absolute meltdown. Started screaming from jet lag, being uncomfortable, and the awful 32 hours of travel time that we've experienced. I tried for 20 minutes, and nothing worked. He still screamed. I put on my ipod headphones, grabbed my book, and started reading. There was nothing I could do and I needed to save my sanity. People moved out of my terminal quickly.
He finally calmed down right before we boarded, where I found my aunt's mom! Couldn't believe it, but in a strange twist of fate we were both on the same flight home. Got on the flight and both Jude and I passed clean out. (I think. I don't remember but 10 minutes of that flight.) Found my aunt and went home.
I do not recommend traveling that long with a baby.
Motherhood has already taught me so much about myself and about what love can be. There is nothing like doing something and hearing your child's first giggle. Each new development and each time you comfort them with just your arms gives you something that you can't experience in any other way.
I say that because this will not be a happy blog entry. This is the other side of motherhood. The complaints that you're not supposed to voice, the struggles I'm having to deal with. It can't take away from the joy, but it does take a toll.
First of all, sleep deprivation. Although it is better because he's sleeping a bit longer than he used to, it is still there. I am never not tired. Each time that I am awakened, it is a struggle to get out of bed. Each morning, only the fact that Jude will not go back to sleep do I get up. Because I am so desperate for sleep, I have a hard time falling asleep because I'm anxious about when I'll be woken up next.
There is so much stress with this. I'm trying to do so much all at once and I keep missing things. Forgetting details that I need to remember. Because of my mistakes, Jude is not covered by health insurance at the moment. It's only been since the first, and today was the day that I was going to remedy that, but about 3 mistakes later, I couldn't.
I forgot to call my own doctor. I misjudged the time and didn't go get Jude's passport. I didn't get to the notary because I forgot. All of these things that I promised myself and Scott I would do today... nada.
Jude is not always a happy baby. In fact, most of the time he is in a bad mood. Just simply not content. The small, complaining cry that he does wears me down. He can be clean, dry, fed, burped, and held and still complain. Also, he's started fighting when he's tired, so he doesn't go to sleep when he should and then he is too tired to relax and go to sleep. Unless you're a mom, you cannot imagine the immediate irritation that comes when a sleeping baby suddenly opens their eyes and cries.
Put the stress, failures, and lack of real sleep together and you get overall exhaustion. I know I'll get through it, but when I'm tired, remembering all the things that didn't get done and rocking my crying baby who has nothing to cry about... it wears a person down.
I'm worn out.
Like many first moms, I had never played with a true baby before. I've played with toddlers and even babies around a year old, but I never even considered how to play with an infant. After watching my aunt play with him, I began to pick up my own kind of style.
The trick to playing with babies is to not make any sense at all while using a high voice and tickling them. For instance, when he's just wearing a diaper, I'll say "Woooo!" while I dip my head and tickle his stomach with my hair. Sometimes, I'll make my hands into spiders and, to the Jaws theme song, crawl up his legs and tickle him under his arms. When he's wearing a shirt, I push my face slightly into his stomach and shake it around going "Hooooo!" and if he's shirtless, I make the same noise while blowing on his stomach.
All of these make him wide eyed, kick his legs, making cooing sounds, and sometimes even smile.
Other times that I play with him are distractions for what is about to happen. For instance, if he's in a bad mood and I have to change his diaper, I'll whoooosh him around and make airplane noises as I lay him down on the changing table. When he's fussy and I'm at my limit, I'll put him in his stroller and do "drunken baby strolling" which consists of lots of swerving, light bumps, and warnings of "Ohhhh nooo Jude, you're gonna crash!!"
Sometimes, I set him in his bouncer and turn it sideways. He turns his head to the side and watches TV with me. Seriously! I had no idea that little babies did this, but he looooves to watch TV, especially music videos. (Preferably rock.)
I love to dance around with him, but I don't see this as playing. I see it as practice for later :)
Sometimes we play "Where's Jude?!" which is either when I pull a blanket over his head and whip it off, or when he's in his crib and I hide underneath it and pop my head up. That's one of this favorites.
Some of the things that I learned from Miki that are bunches of fun? Cute little baby games that integrate a small rhyme that he's already learned to anticipate something fun. (He either gets really still and waits, or he gets really spazzy.) Also, when he's crying for no reason, you can make funny noises by moving your finger to and from his mouth. (Turning Waaaaaaa to Wa-a-a-a-a-a) Sometimes the noise makes him stop crying!
So, be stupid. Babies love it.
I am Jude's main caretaker right now. I am almost always the only one who gets up with him during the night, I spend almost all day with him, and I like to think that I know him best. Unfortunately, a newborn comes with a lot of stress. At first, the stress didn't hit me. When it did, I had no idea how to deal with such a heavy load. I had no coping skills for this type of stress, and there was no way to get away for more than a couple hours. So, through mistakes and errors and trying again and again and again, I have learned. This is how I deal.
First and foremost, I love him. I love him and I play with him and I laugh with him. I have fun with him. I enjoy my son, and this takes so much pressure off.
Secondly, I ask for help. Frequently. I am lucky enough to live with a seasoned mom who loves my son. She has this way of knowing when I need a break, and when I just need to work through the stress. She also taught me how to play with a newborn, and helped me find different comfort techniques that work for Jude. I'm sure I would have learned on my own, but her help has been invaluable.
I escape in my mind, or more accurately, in a book. I've always loved to read, but now that my own situation can be very frustrating. For instance, I woke up with Jude 8 times last night, most of them just because he didn't feel good and he wanted to be held. I know that he couldn't help any of this, but I was on my last nerve. To keep me sane, I sat down and opened a book while I rocked him to sleep. I did this a few times, and once even while I was feeding him. I get so into the book that sometimes I even want to stay awake longer reading. (Don't. Go to sleep.) It helps.
Music! When I discovered how much music can make a difference (see post below), I started putting music on all the time. It entertains him, and it boosts my spirits when they're low. Most of the time it ends up with either him going to sleep, or me singing and dancing with him in my arms. Either way, a win.
With the help that I am given, I take breaks. I get away from the baby for a few minutes to a couple hours when I need to. I normally use this time to sleep, shower, or run an errand, but no matter what I'm doing, I'm away and the constant vigilance that I keep stops for a bit, and part of my brain relaxes that I didn't even know was tense.
I recommend all of these to new moms and new moms to be.
People tell me to take pictures because they change so quickly. I have been doing this, more so than in the beginning, but I have decided that pictures are not enough. I like to think of myself as a writer and I'll be damned if I don't write down what I want to remember.
Our first dance together. He was about 3 weeks old and he was screaming his head off. I was stumped. I'd fed, changed, burped and cuddled him. He didn't seem to be in pain (different cry) but he certainly wasn't happy. I was getting a headache and very frustrated, so I decided to add some distractions to the mix. I put on music, picked up Jude, and started dancing around with him. The song was Bad Things by Jace Everett. Almost immediately he seemed to falter. I started singing along as I bounced, dipped, and spun him (safely in my arms, of course) around the living room. He stopped crying. I kept it up, and he put on his happy face. (Not quite a smile since he's just learning how to smile, but bright eyes and excited breathing.) By the end of the song, his eyes were drooping and his body was relaxed. I rocked him to sleep. From then on, this song always has a positive affect on him.
When a baby is born in the hospital, the mom, dad, and baby all get bands that have a number on it. The nurses must always check the number on each wrist before handing the baby over. For some reason, the nurses put Jude's identification band very tight around his ankle. This bothered me, but didn't seem to bother him, so I didn't say anything. The morning before I left, Jude came to us from the nursery sobbing. The nurse checked our numbers and handed him over, saying that he was hungry. I tried to breastfeed him, but he wouldn't stop crying. I became flustered very quickly and looked at Scott with a bit of desperation in my eyes. It was the first time that he'd cried and cried and I couldn't stop it. Jude kept throwing his head back to wail, his body was tense, and his back was arched. I couldn't get him to relax, and finally handed him to Scott because I was afraid that I was going to start crying with him. Scott looked a bit lost for a few seconds and then made a decision. He took off his shirt (babies like skin to skin contact) and laid down with Jude on his chest. Jude started to calm down, and as I started to feel relieved, I saw blood on Scott's stomach, where Jude's leg was. The plastic identification band was so tight on his left that it had cut into him. At this point Jude had fallen asleep on Scott's chest. I called in the nurse and luckily, he was getting discharged so they raised no issue with cutting it off. I don't know what I would have done without Scott and his good instincts.
More in later posts. I'm going to keep this up.
Jude is now a month old. In that time, I have gone through some of the biggest ups and downs of my life. I don't think that there is anything more frustrating and rewarding as a newborn. I'm learning as I go along. Learning how he likes to go to sleep, what he does when he's hungry, and something that has taken a bit longer, what supplies I need.
A friend and fellow blogger ( http://katesmakinbabies.blogspot.com/ ) Kate said in one of her posts that she doesn't quite yet feel ready to buy baby things, and I felt the same way when I was pregnant. I felt this way because I have no idea what babies need. I relied on my showers and parental advice to equip me for what I'd need. Now that I've had a month to get to know a newborn and what they need, I have a list for anyone to look at, and for me to remember when I have another baby a few years down the line. (Obviously, each baby is different and you need to specify to what your baby needs and wants. This is just what has been working for Jude and me.)
I had several different kinds of diapers to try out from various shower gifts, including Luvs, Huggies, Pampers, and Parent's Choice (Walmart brand). I have been trying to find the cheapest, best brands out of everything to buy, so I was glad that I disliked Luvs and Huggies. (Both leaked out of the side.) I loved Pampers, and liked Parent's Choice. I decided to go with Parent's Choice, but found out that they also leak from the side, and they aren't as comfortable as Pampers. I decided to spend the extra money for dry clothes and a more comfortable baby. Pampers win. I buy 100 at a time. (The normal kind, not the new Swaddlers brand they have for sensitive baby butts.)
Since Jude is not picky about wipes, I go with Parent's Choice. I buy 3 packages at a time.
With all of the wonderful contributors at my baby showers, I had about 50 newborn onesies. They say that you cannot have too many onesies, but I think that they're wrong. Especially when he outgrew the NB size and had to start wearing the 0-3 size in about a week after birth. I didn't even use half of them. Not only that, but I only had about 10 0-3 onesies. After doing laundry every other day for a couple weeks, and sometimes having to squeeze him back into the NB onesies because he'd spit up, had a blow out, and urinated on every clean 0-3 onesie that I had, I bought a few more cheap ones at Walmart. Onesies are almost disposable. Unless you get some nice ones bought for or handed down to you, do not invest in designer onesies. (If you do, despite my advice, go for The Children's Place and Calvin Klein onesies. So comfortable and durable!)
Car seat, stroller, and Bjorn were all given to me from moms who no longer need them. You need the first two, but I seriously advise investing or finding someone to donate to you a Bjorn. So much easier to carry around a baby in a Bjorn then in a car seat. Car seats are heavy, bulky, and although the safest thing ever, very inconvenient. Carrying baby in the Bjorn is almost like being pregnant again. Kind of heavy and after awhile of walking around your back hurts, but Jude sleeps the entire time when I'm shopping. Win.
Mechanical swing! Also had this donated to me, and could not love it more. For instance, right now he is dozing in it while I type on the computer and eat lunch. He would not be dozing in his crib, car seat, or even in my arms. He wants to be in the swing. Worth it.
Cutesie clothes. Not practical, but worth it for those get togethers when you want to dress up nice and you want him to dress up nice. (Bring a couple onesies for when he ruins his outfit, which he will, but the entrance is the important part.) They're fun and great for pictures. Only problem is that they aren't comfy. If baby seems more fussy than usual, go ahead and put him back in the onesie.
My NB bath tub is nice... but not what I what I expected it to be. Sure, it fits in a double kitchen sink, recycles the water the entire time, and tells me the temp, but it doesn't support his body at all and washing him is a constant struggle. Also, it's huge. I have no place for it. Perhaps go with a less complicated bath and make sure it has some sort of body support.
Blankets! When I started buying baby blankets, I was looking at the super comfortable, puffy, snuggle blankets. Unfortunately, they're too thick to swaddle the baby with, and generally too warm to use. They also don't absorb liquids well. (When you're feeding your baby and some milk comes out of his mouth, you'll grab the nearest thing to you to wipe his face.) So what blankets do I use over and over again? The 4 flannel blankets that came in a package. Light weight, absorbent, swaddle-able, and cheap. Like onesies. I bought 4 more.
Towels and washcloths. Towels for baths and washcloths for everything. But, buy big towels. Right now all I have are the infant towels and they're cute and have a little hood, but they barely cover all of him after the bath, and babies almost always scream after baths because they're cold. (Note to self: Buy bigger, softer towels when you have a chance.)
A few other things that have truly saved my sanity?
Boppys (Especially if you're breastfeeding!). Get two, and 4 different Boppy covers.
http://www.amazon.com/Boppy-Expandable-Miracle-Middle-Pillow/dp/B000KW5I6E
Bottle drying rack and bottle cleaner. Believe me, you won't have time to wash them in the dishwasher.
Diaper changing pads. (For those spills and random pee moments while changing the diaper.)
Different kinds of bottles and nipples to decide what you like. (I go with Avent and Soothie brand. Same with pacifiers.) At least 4 pacifiers and 8 bottles. Yummy smelling Johnson's baby wash and lotion. (Cucumber melon for day time and Lavender for night time :D) I at first went with Aveeno, but I don't like the smell and it doesn't seem to be any more soothing and soft.
Diaper trash that has the flip opening to lock the diapers (and smell) in it. ( http://www.amazon.com/Baby-Trend-Diaper-Champ-Blue/dp/B000CCEWBY )
Butt Paste. Funny name, seriously great at treating and preventing diaper rash. ( http://www.amazon.com/Boudreauxs-Butt-Paste/dp/B0006OG6RQ )
A good monitor.
Mylicon. ( http://www.mylicon.com/ ) Why is he screaming? Sometimes a fed, changed, burped, healthy, cuddled, and comfortable baby will scream. In those times, I use Mylicon in case it's gas. Babies love the taste and it works.
Nail clippers.
A good nose aspirator.
A couple infant toys that rattle, bzzzzz, crinkle, and have a bunch of colors. Put these in his mouth, in his hands, and teach him all the new sensations with them.
A large and fully stocked diaper bag. I at first had this super cute one that my sister in law got me, but it was too small for normal use. I went to Baby's R Us and bought this http://www.toysrus.com/product/index.jsp?productId=3199293 . Has a huge compartment for just about anything, an insulated part for a bottle, and several smaller compartments for things like pacifiers, cell phones, and anything else. I rarely ever use a purse now. Plus, when Scott uses it he won't look like he's carrying a purse. I'm sure this makes him happy :)
Wipe warmer. Babies hate cold butts and nothing turns a night feeding more unpleasant then a screaming baby while you're changing him. (Ok, maybe not nothing, but you get the idea.)
A few things that didn't work for me?
Pee pee teepee. http://www.bebabean.com/product/pptp/index.aspx Cute idea (put it on a little boy's penis while changing him to make sure you don't get peed on) but you still get peed on. Instead, do a few quick flips with the diaper to make sure he at least pees down.
A crib moving picture thing. Like a mobile but it hangs on the side and looks like a jungle or an ocean and it has nature sounds and moving colors. He did not care about it and preferred a non moving colorful mobile that I made myself. http://www.toysrus.com/product/index.jsp?productId=2265070&CAWELAID=107513638 .
Blankets made for swaddling. http://www.mypreciouskid.com/swaddle-blanket-sleep-sack.html Have the nurses teach you how to do an actual swaddle with a blanket instead. Cheaper and the babies are used to it when they leave the hospital.
Towel robe. Adorable, but not practical. He wants to be warm and wrapped up, not clothed. http://www.babyearth.com/under-the-nile-organics-terry-bath-robe.html
I'm sure I could keep going on both, but I've covered quite a bit. I'm glad i have this to look back on, and hopefully other moms will chime in and new moms might get something from it. :)
They tell you that until you're taking care of your newborn, you won't understand just how difficult it can be. Ladies about to be new moms? It's true. You are never prepared.
No matter what kind of labor you had, you will be sore. I don't mean sore like you were working out all day sore. I mean you were just hit by a truck sore. Labor takes a lot out of your body and those couple days stay at the hospital are needed simply to give you the help of the nurses until you go home. Then (I guarantee it!) you will miss the nurses.
Scott was an instant dad. He wanted and took on the night screams, and helped me out as much as he could. Because of the intense tearing I had, the first couple weeks were extremely difficult on me sitting down and getting up. There is a lot of that during the first couple weeks. Being handed the baby instead of getting up to get him was such a blessing. The only time we got frustrated with each other was during the night.
Jude starts crying. Scott doesn't wake up for anything, so I smack Scott a few times to go get the baby. He snaps "What?!" I say something to the affect of, "The damn baby is crying!" He gets up and picks up Jude, saying "shh shh shh" and trying to get him to quiet down. Sometimes, this worked. Other times, I would say, "He's hungry, give him to me." Scott would hand him over and go back to sleep. If not, he would continue to cry while we put down each others ideas as to why he was crying. We never had a full on fight or anything like that, but we definitely lost patience with just about everything when there was little to no sleep going on. Fortunately, once day broke, everything was forgiven and giggled at.
They say, sleep when the baby sleeps. Granted, this does not always work. Sometimes you just can't. For instance, today I decided to shower and clean house instead of sleep while Jude took his nap. Last night wasn't a terrible night, so I'm a bit tired, but I feel so much more clean. BUT, do try to sleep as much as you can when the baby is sleeping. Why? Because if you don't, as soon as you do decide to sleep, he will wake up. You will climb into bed after checking on your bundle of cute joy, still sleeping away, and you will fall into the covers. You'll turn off your light and smile as you close your eyes. Your thoughts will get hazy as you start to nod off... and then you'll hear him stir. Your eyes will pop open, but you'll continue to lay there, hoping that the noise you heard was a sleep noise, and that he'll continue sleeping. You start to nod off again, and a wail of impatience from your bundle of joy will cut through any happiness and hope of sleep that you have and you will feel the most intense irritation of your life.
So, truly, sleep when the baby sleeps. You won't be sleeping any other time.
When I stared this blog, I did not plan on continuing with it after Jude was born. I considered pregnancy to be the most amazing and life changing event of my life, and I wanted to document it. Although I am so glad I did this, it almost seems laughable to how little it compares to having a baby.
In my last blog I wrote that I expected to have my baby naturally with my husband here. I was hesitant to put that, especially since everything is so uncertain with labor, but I'm glad that I have it on record because what actually happened is almost unbelievable.
Thursday July 30 2009 - Friday July 31 2009
My husband's flight was late. I kept checking delta flight times and the arrival time kept going back further and further. I could barely sit down. My aunt was with me, keeping me calm. When it was finally time to go pick him up, I slipped on my sexy dress (that I bought for this occasion), checked my makeup (water-proof mascara and light lipstick) one last time and headed towards the door. I was so excited that as I was leaving the kitchen, I felt myself pee a little! Thinking quickly, I ran to my bathroom to put on a pad so I wouldn't leak on my dress and undies. As I was putting on the pad, I felt something, looked down, and saw a small puddle of water on the floor.
"MIKI!! I DON'T THINK IT'S PEE!" I yelled out. I heard her curse and she came through the bathroom. She looked down at the puddle and said, "Did that just come out of your vagina?!" I started laughing at the incredible situation, but I was still unsure. What if it was pee? My aunt having no scruples at all about this, grabbed some toilet paper, wiped up most of the puddle, and smelled it. "It doesn't smell like pee.."
So as we were leaving for the airport, we grabbed my hospital bag, some towels, and a trash bag for my seat. We considered the fact that maybe I should go to the hospital first, but decided that women almost never start having contractions right after their water breaks and that there was no one else to pick up my husband. Plus, by this time, we were already running late. With me sitting on the towel and the trash bag protecting the cloth seats, we were off. Me giggling in disbelief and Miki demanding that I tell her if I start to feel anything out of the ordinary. With only a few tense moments when we hit unexpected heavy traffic, we got to the airport in good time and found my husband quickly.
"Honey, get in the car. No really, hurry, get in the car. My water broke."
(I should mention that I was so impressed by how calm he was when he heard this. He nodded and kissed me and we took off. Turns out, he thought I was kidding until about halfway through the drive.)
We're driving and laughing and all a bit nervous. We call my frantic mother, who has to wait for her cell phone to charge a bit before she takes off. My dad is super excited and jumps in the car right away. Suddenly, with all the laughing, I feel a huge GUSH come out of me. It couldn't have possibly been pee because it was much more than my bladder can hold. I couldn't believe the amount of liquid. I thought about my minipad still in my undies and laughed at the thought of it drowning. And... was that a contraction? Miki started writing them down. Everyone gets a bit more serious when we realize that they're about 3 minutes apart and quickly becoming more painful.
When we arrive at Labor and Delivery, Miki drops Scott and I off at the door and I squish my way out of the car. Although I doubt anyone would notice if I peed my pants at this point, I am very serious about finding a bathroom ASAP. Scott and I walk in, tightly holding hands. I find a bathroom and waddle my way in, dripping more water on the way. I pull down my panties and my poor pad pops out and plops on the floor with an explosion of water. "Ewwwww!" I said. I hear Scott laughing on the other side of the door. We go to the labor and delivery triage and they immediately get me a room and they check to see if my membrane busted. PH test finally confirms it; I am in labor. (At this point, the nurse makes a note on my chart that I have a very small pelvis.)
We go to the delivery room and I'm already being told to breathe through the contractions. I realize that the cramping that I'd been feeling all day were early labor contractions, and that actual labor contractions hurt much more. I get cleared for IV pain medication and I can't wait for the pain to go away and for me to perhaps get a bit of sleep because it's a narcotic. This labor thing will be a breeze. I even tell my husband to go take a nap because he's been traveling for the past 22 hours and must be dead tired. He agrees and crashes out on the floor.
They put my meds straight into my IV and I feel the haze come on. I smile and my aunt smiles and the nurses smile. I get the feeling that they know something I don't, but I ignore it and relax. My labor plan (lots of pain meds, please) was going to work out great.
The contractions start coming on harder, and I'm feeling them in my back. It's getting harder and harder to breathe during each one, and they are very irregular. Sometimes they are 6 minutes apart, other time I have 3 in a row. Not knowing when they will stop or come back makes them even worse. My aunt holds my hand, puts her weight for a counter pressure on my lower back, massages it for me, and continuously calls the nurse to ask when I can get an epidural. By this point I have lost any dignity and am whimpering and crying almost the entire time. Praying out loud for a break because even when I'm not having contractions, my back pain stays. My nurse explains that I have back labor, and that although I am cleared for an epidural, I have to wait 2 hours for the anesthesiologist to get out of surgery.
I must say, looking back now those 2 hours are very blurry. At some point my husband woke up an held my hand. It was good to not be alone, but the truth is, neither of them could help with the pain. I just had to get through each minute. If I wasn't in pain, I was passed out sleeping for strength. Miki and Scott let me know when each contraction was at the peak, and when one was coming on. Hearing their voices and reminders that the pain was temporary got me through it.
I don't remember any pain from getting the epidural, although I'm sure it must have hurt because that was a huge needle in my spine. I looked at Scott and he mouthed, "I'm so proud of you." Then.. relief.
My dad and stepmom showed up not long after. This part is very blurry to me. I remember their arrival, and I remember wondering about my contractions, but for a few (couple?) hours nothing really happened. At some point, my mother also showed up, not long after my dad and stepmom. The nurses changed shifts and I got a new nurse, a lovely woman named Stacy. She let me know that my labor was stalled, and that they wanted to start a pitocin drip to help it along. At first I said no, that I wanted it to come naturally, but with my contractions still very irregular, I knew that it might never happen on it's own (at least, not with being in the safe 24 hour mark after my water breaks) so I agreed.
Some say that it's a myth that pitocin makes labor harder, faster and more intense than it would be naturally. I am here to say that it is not a myth. Just a bit into it, my contractions started coming on strong again, and I was feeling a lot of pain in my back and hips. They told me it was just pressure. I told them, "No, pressure is what I feel in my vagina. Pain is what I feel in my back and hips." They brought more medication for my epidural, and this had to be repeated a few times. Luckily, when it was time to push, I was only feeling pressure.
I felt silly pushing at first. I was so numb from the latest medication in my epidural that I couldn't even feel if I was pushing or not. I kept asking my family to look away, and if I was crapping on the table. This was apparently a huge fear of mine. Soon though, each contraction brought on an intense amount of pressure (and truly, the pressure was amazing..) and my body wanted to push instinctively. This was tiring. Each contraction came on average of about every 3 minutes, and I pushed with all of my might 3 times per contraction. When asked if I wanted a rest, I declined because I wanted to get it over with. I asked for ice chips constantly to keep my mouth wet, and had no strength to hold up my legs when the contractions were over. I spent the breaks sleeping.
This is things from my point of view. What the nurse, my husband, aunt, and mom didn't tell me was that from push number one, I was torn and bleeding. I could feel them replacing towels underneath me, but had no idea that they were full of blood. They didn't tell me that the amount of blood was scary, and that everyone thought I was going to have to have a c-section because his head was so large and my pelvis was so small.
At some point, I passed clean out and slept through several contractions. They woke me up and slapped an oxygen mask on my face. After just a few more contractions, they tell me, "We can see the head. He's crowning." I demand to see a mirror and ignore the warnings about the blood. I see his hair and my thought is, "I knew his hair would be brown." The doctor comes in for the last 2 contractions and with an enormous amount of pressure I push Jude out at 12:21 pm. ("Miki, 12:21 midnight or noon?" I asked in my haze.)
They put him on my chest and Scott cut the umbilical cord. Perhaps right then I should have realized something was wrong, but Jude was moving and kind of whimpering and his head is so strangely shaped (long oval. No joke.) that I don't even notice that he's not crying. They take him over to a table on the side and everyone surrounds it. Only my doctor and nurse stay with me as they push the placenta out and then sew me up with about 40 stitches. (2nd degree tear inside, 3rd degree tear outside, and many 1 degree tears all over.) After about 30 minutes, they tell me that they are taking Jude to NICU because his breathing is shallow. I start crying immediately, and everyone starts to reassure me that it happens all the time, that it was just a stressful labor for him, and that he was going to be fine. Scott hands me Jude and I hold him for about a minute before they take him away.
They move me and Scott into our room that I will be staying in (complete with a second bed for Scott, which was wonderful. He stayed every night.) and Jude gets moved out of NICU before the day is over. I am in massive amounts of pain and am overwhelmed by all of the visitors. I attempt breastfeeding which goes.. OK. Then, I am thankful for the nursery so I can get some rest.
I know this isn't my normal post. I'm sure it is riddled with grammatical and spelling mistakes, but I wanted to get it down; documented. I will continue to document the first week of Jude's life in one or two other posts, but I wanted to get this down. Now I'm going to change Jude's diaper and feed him. More to come!
When I explain my relationship with God, or even my religion, I like to say that I am faithful. With my experiences, epiphanies, knowledge, and open ears, I have decided that no religion truly makes sense. Everyone of them has conflict, hypocrites, and hate. Although I do not think that God is without the faults of humans (He did create us, after all) I do not think that I can follow such religions. I call myself a Christian because I believe that a man named Jesus Christ gave himself to death for my sins, but my definition of sins differs from most people. I also have a very confusing view of the Bible, Heaven and Hell, and most of the politics. I don't know of one person who would agree with me completely, so I take all of that out of my relationship with God. I see him as my father, my protector, my light. I pray and I know that I will not always be answered, let alone get what I want. I do not know what is best. I have faith that he does, and any thing else, any doubts, confusion, and pain doesn't touch the faith.
Lately, I've been thinking that I know best. I've been frustrated and hurt by the pain and loneliness that I've felt. When I prayed, it was more of a begging for relief. I couldn't understand why God would make me wait, make me go through daily torture of extreme body pains and the postponing of seeing my husband, my partner in life. I could not see one damn reason for it, not when I've been so strong, not when my spirit was so finally broken. His answer of "No" was beginning to seem cruel more than anything, although I kept praying, kept trying to go into labor so I could end it. So I could be with my husband.
It's amazing the things that I did that did not make me go into labor. Walking and biking for miles. Jumping on the trampoline. Driving on very bumpy roads. With how close my doctor kept saying I was, with how much I was cramping and contracting, I had no idea why this wasn't happening. Even when I walked into my appointment today, she said, "What are you doing here?? I never thought you'd still be pregnant!"
With a smile, I was finally able to say, "Yes, but there is a reason."
I was never meant to go into labor without my husband here. He called 2 days ago to let me know that his superior was insisting that if he was going to take his paternity leave, that he had to take it now. He has training that he must be at in Aug and he had to either come home now or wait several weeks. In about 3 hours, he will start his 22 hour trip to come home to me. My doctor agreed, since starting Saturday I am 39 weeks along, to induce on Monday at 8 am.
Tomorrow I will be picking my husband up at 7 pm at the airport. He will see my stomach. He will feel Jude kick. He will be able to hug me and rub my back when I wake up in pain at night. He will be there to hand me my son when I go into labor, which at the latest will be Monday at 8 am. Here's the trick though! My doctor expects me to go into labor in a couple days. I have continued to dilate and am cramping constantly. My contractions are not regular, but they do happen all of the time. There is a very, very good chance that I will go into labor naturally with my husband here.
Which is, as I'm sure you've figured out by now, how it's supposed to be.
Keep the faith.
I didn't even take the suggested route. In my junior year of high school, it was uncertain if I would even graduate. I did graduate, but it was a combination of moving to another city, home schooling, another high school, and a credits only school that made it happen. (Not to mention getting a lot of problems taken care of, which were the reason I was having such a hard time functioning and going to school.
College had always been the next step, so I surprised everyone by joining the Army right before I graduated. I felt like I needed a structured plan to really get a good start to my future, and I wanted to fight for it. I enjoyed the physical activity and the way that the only way to get any respect was to give it completely. I thrived under the intense atmosphere.
Unfortunately, life throws curve balls that no one can plan for and all we can do sometimes is try to keep up. I met a man through a few friends. Bryan was older, good looking, and what really interested me was the fact that he was also in the Army. We talked a few times on the phone, bonding over the fact that we enjoy the military structure, and he gave me advice on how to be successful in the Army. I was enamored and impressed by him.
On our first date, we went to a pool hall to play pool. From there, we went to a party, driving our own cars. I had plans early in the morning, so I didn't drink at the party, which is why when he asked me to give him a ride home because he was drinking, I didn't hesitate. He raped me that night, and I was left damaged in ways that I couldn't start to understand. Suddenly it felt like my fascination with the military and with Bryan were wrapped together, and it took only a few months for everything to fall apart. When I finally turned to my superiors for help, it was too late, and my Master Sergeant recommended that I get discharged from the Army, with a note on my record to welcome me back should I ever choose that route again.
I moved to live with my mom and grandparents to get my life together. I enrolled in college, but was still unable to really function and ended up dropping out. At a low point, I went to the mall to see my cousin's new job at a museum. There I met her boss, who offered me a job. A science museum seemed so far away from anything I'd ever considered before and I wanted to do something, anything with my life. I started work the next Monday.
I arrived at 9:50 am at the front gate, and was greeted by a handsome man that I had noticed the week before. He asked me if there was anything he could do for me, and I told him it was my first day. He opened the gate, brought me inside, and gave me a tour of the museum, telling me tips and tricks of how to work there. I was nervous, but I was enjoying the new start. Turned out that this man was having a rough week, and to cheer him up one day, we went to go play pool with my cousin and a friend of his. We became inseparable after this, always on the phone, always hanging out after work. We started dating.
If I had not had a troubled youth, I wouldn't have had a hard time graduating high school. If I hadn't of had a hard time graduating high school, I wouldn't have joined the army. If I hadn't of joined the Army, I wouldn't have gone on a date with Bryan. If I hadn't of gone on a date with Bryan, I wouldn't have been raped. If I hadn't of been raped, I would have never moved to live with my mom and needed the new start. If I had not needed a new start, I would have never met my husband that day at the museum.
I am not most 21 year olds. I am starting life as a stay at home wife and mom, and I could not be happier. I have definite plans (with so much encouragement from my husband and family) to return to school and obtain a degree. This will take me longer then most, but I will be learning and loving the entire time. I get to start my life a survivor, and I get to start it with my best friend and lover by my side, and my baby boy in my arms.
I thought that I was for sure in labor. I talked to my aunt about it, waited a few hours, talked to my doctor about it, and got the "Go get checked out at labor and delivery." In other words, I sounded like I was in labor and I should go to the hospital.
My aunt and I packed my back (because I was so prepared like that) and we calmly made out way to the hospital. I kept saying that it wasn't necessary, that I was almost sure I wasn't in labor, but I couldn't help but feel that excitement build inside of me. We got to the hospital and made our way to labor and delivery. People walking by gave me knowing looks and smiles, and I felt the excitement build even more. I got dressed in gowns and they hooked my stomach up to a monitor. With the nurses taking everything so seriously, I thought, "I must be in labor!"
And an hour later I was sent home with, "You couldn't have known unless you came in, but you're not in labor. Come back next time and maybe it'll be different!"
Sigh. I don't think that anyone can understand that sort of disappointment and embarrassment unless you've been there. I decided to take things into my own hands and make it happen.
I started off bike riding because it makes me contract. Not sure why, but when I go bike riding, I have contractions almost the entire time. It used to scare me, but now when I ride, I start getting excited. "Perhaps this will make it happen!" When the first 2 mile bike ride didn't work, I started walking, as this is the second most used way to go into labor. Walking with my medical community astounding swollen legs is not easy. I did it anyway. When I was in too much pain, I simply walked to the end of the street and back. When I felt better, I walked a mile. No labor, and my feet felt like falling off. Getting a bit desperate, I asked my aunt to help me on the trampoline. I bounced and bounced and then sat down and had my aunt bounce and bounce me, like popcorn. (We called it pop-a-baby.) No luck.
I'm guessing that what everyone has been saying, ("When that baby is ready, he'll come out!") is the heart wrenching truth. New studies even say that the sure-fire way (sex) doesn't actually work unless you're about to go into labor anyway. And according to the fetal stress test that they did at the hospital, not only is he fine where he is, he's thriving. More responsive then most babies. Apparently I have a very happy uterus. Great.
Am I giving up? No. Staying active helps my morale at the very least, helps keep me healthy and my blood pumping, and at most will send me into labor. Do I expect to go into labor? I must say, I've given up hope at going into labor before she said she would induce. (Because of the extreme swelling, cramping, and the fact that he's now making his way to 8 lbs, she said that she would induce at 39 weeks.)
That seems so far away, even though it's only 6 days. Everyday is long and a struggle to get through, but the days will tick by, and soon I will have my baby with me, not to mention my husband. Thank goodness for my family for providing support, distractions, and amusement to help me get through the "home stretch". Soon, everything will change. Soon.
This has information about my body and body parts in general. If you read it, you get over it.
So the doctor appt went in a direction that I had not predicted. Will she induce earlier then 39 weeks? No. Have I dilated anymore? No. Is there hope? Yes!
Did you know that only 15% of women have their water break naturally? The rest of them are far into labor before the doctor breaks it for them. (Your 'water breaking' is actually a tear in the amniotic sac, causing amniotic fluid to either gush or drip down your legs. When this happens, the baby must be delivered within 24 hours no matter what because of the increased risk of infection.) Most of the time women know that labor has started not because of their water breaking (unlike what the movies make it seem like) but by the intensifying and constant contractions.
While my doctor was checking my cervix, she said that not only was it effacing (thinning out) but she could also feel my water sack pressing against it. She told me to set an appointment for a week later, and that if I hadn't gone into labor by then she'd set a date to induce, but that she'd be surprised if my water didn't break in less then a week.
That'll teach me to listen to books, statistics, and stories of "normal" labors. I asked her some good ways to naturally encourage my water to break, and other than the obvious way that's not possible due to absence of husband, I'll be walking, dancing, and aiming for potholes in the road while in the car. Wish me luck!
*bounce bounce bounce bounce*
Although as a writer, I'm not supposed to apologize for my work, I have reread this and I hate the tone. I sound (and perhaps am in this moment) very bitter and defeated. I considered not posting it because I know I'll feel better later, and that I am very happy about my healthy pregnancy, but I thought that if I'm documenting these last 2 months that I should document everything, including the ugly side.
It's interesting how quickly our perspectives can change. With all of the contractions, how big my belly is, and the fact that 2 weeks ago I was beginning to dilate, most people were predicting that I would not make it 2 weeks. My aunt was nervously almost certain that I wouldn't. I began two weeks ago hoping that I would continue this pregnancy longer. Then... everything froze. No more dilation. No different contractions. I was so let down at my last doctor's appointment that I was brought to tears. Apparently Jude would like to stay longer then anyone predicted.
I am in the middle of my 37th week of pregnancy, which means I am considered full term. My stomach is 44 inches around, and I constantly get the comment, "I was never that big during my pregnancies!" I have gotten to the point that I am physically miserable. Simple activities such as walking, showering, or even standing up take immense amounts of energy. When I wake up (5 or 6 times) during the night to empty my bladder, rolling over, putting my weight slowly on one foot, then the other, then bracing myself as I stand up, straighten my back, and freeze, hoping that I continue to stay on my feet takes up so much energy that in the morning, I force myself to get out of bed and never feel rested. My knees are now in the habit of locking up because they are so water logged. (Twice the size that they used to be.) Despite me swimming, elevating my feet, taking it easy, and drinking about a gallon and a half of water a day, I am still incredibly swollen. Fortunately (or unfortunately, as I've begun to inadvertently think of it) the only danger of swelling is high blood pressure, and my blood pressure is fine and dandy. So, no need for induction.
In fact, despite my numerous and extensive complaints, I am still having a very healthy pregnancy. Jude still moves as if he has room. (My bruised ribs want to make sure that you know that he doesn't.) Torn stomach muscle from the pressure? No big deal as long as it's not a hernia. Swelling so bad that I am not only a memory foam mattress, but my joints refuse to work correctly? Bah, who cares as long as my blood pressure is fine! All day cramping? I should be excited, it's a sign of labor coming soon! (And been happening constantly for over a week *rolls eyes*.) Painful contractions? Keep track of them, and when they're 5 minutes a part, that means labor. Hands and arms fall asleep randomly in the day time and constantly at night? That baby must be sitting on a nerve! Hips popping in and out of place? Well, of course they have to move out so there is enough room to come out! Clumsiness and general exhaustion so bad that I've fallen numerous times in the last week or so? As long as there is no vaginal bleeding or low fetal movements afterward, everything is fine and dandy! Heartburn and daily nausea during late 3rd trimester? Don't worry, that won't hurt the baby at all.
Great. Glad I'm having such a healthy pregnancy.
Tomorrow I have a doctor's appointment. I'm taking every physical and emotional complaint that I have and I'm going to beg for an induction soon. I'm not going to lie or fake any symptoms or problems. I am going to let her know that I am never not in pain and have become a useless lump of pregnant lard. I am also praying hard right now. I am praying my little heart out that I have continued to dilate. 1 cm sounded so amazing 2 weeks ago, but after the let down last week and how much life inexplicably sucks, 1 cm dilation has become a cruel joke.
Hope that I'm closer to labor. Hope that I'm dilating. Hope that she'll understand and agree that induction is a good idea. Hope that I can continue to do this if my other hopes crash because the last few days have left me without any optimism.
I keep thinking that I will get used to being this pregnant. I mean, as humans, we're built to adapt to situations that we don't like, even physically uncomfortable situations. I know people who live with pain day in and day out of their lives. It's amazing.
Unfortunately for the pregnant women, we not only have no time to get used to the circumstances, but they also constantly change and worsen. I think about a week ago and how I would love to go back to how I was feeling physically then.
So hear this Jude! I am just a few hours from being considered full term. (37 weeks! w00t w00t!) I am utterly exhausted. My feet, calves, and thighs are swollen and although I'm not positive, I think my a$$ is asleep just from sitting on it. My stomach muscles have separated and one is swollen and sore. My contractions alternate from annoying to down right debilitating. (I think pregnancy turns normal women a bit masochistic. I start getting hopeful and happy when I feel more than one awful contraction in a row, hoping for labor, but alas, they stop and disappoint.) I have gained a total of 43 pounds! (I would be concerned, but my doctor is very happy about this and only complains about my weight when I don't put more on.)
To put it lightly my baby Jude, you have overstayed your welcome. Prepare to vacate because I am going to be using every safe, natural trick in the book to encourage your insane entrance into the world. I hope you're ready because I sure am.
Because of the complications of where I was going to living for the birth, where I had my main baby shower, and just overall confusion, most of Jude's things were at my mom's house, 300 miles away. A couple days ago, she drove up in a truck with an incredible amount of stuff. Baby clothes, car seat, strollers, baby swings, pumping materials (yikes! Scary looking stuff) bottles, toys, blankets, weird looking pillows, pacifiers, a charger for my car for my breast pump (*wonders what situation I will need this in*) a baby bumper, an infant to toddler high chair, a bouncy chair thing ("Babies LOVE those! You'll need one."), and about a thousand other randoms, half of which I had to ask, "What the heck do I need this for?"
It filled the truck bed and the back seat and just about gave me a heart attack. Half of this stuff I'd been given at the baby shower, and the other half had been great finds from my mom. Gently used baby helping instruments that probably saved me a couple grand (at least, from the look at this!). We unloaded all of this stuff and started organizing. Although I'd been nervous and downright dreading this because nothing says "You're gonna have a baby!" by owning more things for the baby than yourself, but as we got started, I didn't want to stop.
Tearing off tags, putting things into piles of soft toys, hard toys, things the baby will eat from, things I will need for breastfeeding, linens, clothes, first aide, diapers, diaper changing accessories, bath time fun, and those random little things that I've been told I have to have, and I was in heaven. Asking my mom questions, laughing and complaining about how much they constrain onesies together (seriously? Are they going to escape if you don't glue them to the cardboard, tape the arms down, roll them up, and then tape the roll together?) and talking about how each thing needed to be cleaned and put away. Suddenly my room is a nursery and I couldn't be happier about it.
There were some tense moments. The small tiff of a wicker basket ("No mom, I do not need another wicker basket." "Yes you do! It's to keep his dirty clothes in, separate from yours!") which lead to the inevitable debate over whether babies need a special detergent for washing their things, ("Sara, what if he has an allergic reaction to the non-hypoallergenic wash that you use and he stops breathing?" "I'll take off his clothes?") but it all ended up working out as we compromised. (I now own a wicker basket for his clothes and am currently washing everything he wears with Dreft! A newborn safe clothes detergent.)
I couldn't have done any of it without my mom. I was incredibly overwhelmed just by looking at it, and she helped break it down for me. The more that we organized and worked and she told me how to clean each thing and what I'd need it for, the more confident I felt in this. Now, I am a cleaning machine, throwing everything removable and cloth into the wash (With Dreft, baby safe detergent!) and even considering counting just how many onesies I have.
Speaking of, I have a load of laundry to switch out, and I will leave you with this one question: How do I clean the cloth items that cannot be removed from the appliance it covers, like a carseat or stroller? If anyone can answer me that, they will probably save me from cutting off everything, washing it, and then sewing it back on. I'm on a roll people.
Warning: This may have too much information. If you decide to read it, you decide to get over it. Thanks!
I've prided myself in my first pregnancy as not being one of those new moms who calls the doctor at every tingle and twinge. I called when I had such horrible morning sickness that I was afraid to go into a public place, when I started having the first contractions, and today. Today I called because so much has changed since my last doctor's appointment and I thought that I should check in before my next appointment, which is the 15th. I was even reluctant to call because of me not wanting to be one of those first times moms.
(Here I want to point out how amazing my doctor's office is. I called and asked to speak to a nurse, and I spoke to a nurse not even 2 minutes later. The nurse had my chart pulled up and was able to respond to me with my own medical history as the conversation was going on. I love it.)
When I did tell her what was going on, the fact that Jude dropped, that my blood pressure was higher than normal, and that my contractions are sometimes regular and painful (Last night, I timed them and they were about 7 minutes apart for an hour, then tapered off.), she asked a couple questions and then put me on hold. I just wanted to get some perspective and to see if my appointment should be moved up a few days, so I was surprised when she came back with, "Can you come in right now?"
With wide eyes, I said sure and quickly jumped into the shower. (There is something just wrong about being funky when at a doctor appointment.) I grabbed my aunt's van and drove to the doctor's office. (Effectively leaving her with no transportation because my car was blocking in the other vehicle, and I took my keys with. Sorry Mik!) I was so proud of having a full bladder and not getting lost that I wasn't even upset about the wait, unlike Scott who told me to yell and get someone fired if I wasn't seen soon. (He's so cute.) After about an hour, I got called back.
First of all, they sprung something new on me. I expected to get my cervix checked and I believe I may have yelped, "You want me to swab what WHERE?" when they handed me the swab to test for Step B when I went to go give a urine sample. After that, it was just like another appointment. They look my blood pressure (normal) and asked me all the normal questions. After that, the doctor came in and talked to me before she had me strip, which is always a bonus.
I talked to her about my concerns of the lack of control I have in this situation. We talked about what birth plan would be right for me, what the chances were that she would be my doctor for the actual delivery (she said that she delivers 8 out of 10 of her babies), and what I should expect from the staff in general. I explained the strange situation that I'm in with my husband being gone and she let me know that although it's not the norm anymore, it will be no problem to have the baby without him. She let me know how my nurses will be my absolute allies and how I will be so focused that nothing else will matter but my son. (All of this and I didn't even have an appointment. I love my doctor.)
After this, she handed me a paper robe and told me to undress from the waist down. I was waiting for her when she came back about two minutes later and she quickly checked my cervix. (My first time. Irritating, but not as bad as a pap smear, which isn't bad at all.) She pulled me up and explained that I am 1 cm dilated. My eyes kind of widened, knowing that this could mean a lot or nothing at all, as many women go weeks being slightly dilated. (When you push the baby out, you're 10 cm dilated.) For me though, this is the beginning, and I am very excited.
She told me that any guesses she gives me are just that, guesses, because Jude is in charge. I nodded, and asked to hear the guesses anyway. She said, "I don't think you'll deliver tomorrow, although I could be wrong. I definitely don't think you'll deliver after July, although there is a small chance I could be wrong. In my experience, with the baby being in position and dropped like he is, with you starting to dilate, and with all the uterine activity (contractions) you're experiencing, I give you two weeks. Feel free to call or even come in if you're concerned about anything, and keep the appointment on the 15th."
So there it is folks. At this point, I'm taking it easy because I want to make it to the 21st. (Which is, funny enough, in exactly two weeks.) After those two weeks, my aunt and uncle will be done with the instructor's course and my husband will be back from Germany. Also, in 2 weeks, I will be 37 weeks along. Although Jude has fully developed organs at this point and is staying in only to put on weight, I would like to give him a little more padding for his first time into the world.
Operation make it two more weeks!
I always wondered how new moms went from getting a full night sleep to BAM BABY and having to wake up all the time to change diapers, feed, and just hold the crying baby. Such a change is a shock on the body, and I wondered how anyone did it at all.
Ah. They don't go from a full night sleep to no sleep at all! There is a gradual process in the pregnancy that you get less and less and less sleep. For me, it was insomnia in the first trimester. I just couldn't sleep because my brain and emotions wouldn't turn off. In the second semester, it was actually much easier. In fact, I think it's the second semester that must hook women into this whole pregnancy thing because the first is emotional roller coaster as you try to get used to the idea that a baby is going to pop out of your vagina, and the third?? Well the third..
The third trimester is hell. The baby is so large that your insides are bruised, your stomach is the size of someone with new gastric bypass surgery, you have so much heartburn that you now have favorite flavors of Tums (the strawberry and orange are really quite nice. Like candy!), your hips bones are being pushed apart until they feel like they're going to pop like a wishbone, and sleep is now a thing of the past!
In the third trimester, there is one position that you may sleep; On your side. Your shoulders will complain, as will your aching hips, but your back, spine, and stomach will allow no other position. If you are able to get to sleep despite the hormones and emotions that remind you that you, despite your best efforts, are not ready for an infant, despite the heartburn, the back pain, the hip pain, and the general itchiness of your entire body (Did I mention that? Yeah. You'll want to scratch your skin off), then you shall be woken up several times a night.
Obviously, you will be woken up by all of the above. Just because you find a decent moment to fall asleep doesn't mean that they will let you stay asleep. Oh no! I have woken up with the sudden thought that I don't know how to take care of a newly circumcised penis. I wake up about 3-4 times a night to pee. I wake up because I'm thirsty. I wake up because my baby just kicked the crap out of my rip and I'm wondering if it's bruised. Sometimes I wake up because the heartburn has made me switch positions so my lower back has completely seized up and I can't turn over because my hip won't get back into place. Yeah. Super!
And then there are the surprises. (Perhaps not a surprise now that it happens every 20 minutes or so, but they used to surprise me. That counts, right?) The contractions. Yes, ladies who have yet to experience the joy of pregnancy, contractions are not just a part of labor! Contractions are a part of every day (and night) life. These are considered Braxton Hicks contractions, or practice contractions. Getting your body ready for labor includes making those uterus muscles work! (You will be able to tell that these are not actual, labor contractions because they are not regular and they go back and forth in intensity.) So about 15-20 times a night I get woken up (normally just slightly) by a contraction.
Don't worry though, even if you do find yourself in this pregnancy predicament, there are plenty of ways to ease the unease. I keep Tums by my bed, I full on body hug my body pregnancy pillow and tell myself that I like it, and every time I have a contraction bad enough that it hurts too much to just go back to sleep, I take that as an opportunity to pee. Works like a charm. ;)
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There is a nest in my back yard. I'm not sure what type of bird as I am normally not a fan of birds in the slightest, but they made their nest in full visibility and I have watched the babies hatch, grow, cry for food, and today, take flight. Right now the parent birds are having a fit as one of their babies is refusing to try again, and is perched above the door. They are flying around him, chirping and showing him how easy it is to fly. The other baby is watching anxiously from the nest, sometimes beating his wings, but hasn't quite taken off yet. Oh wait, the baby bird above the doorway just took off! He's brave.
I got mad at my mom the other day on the phone. I was ranting about how everything feels out of control and she said (about my husband getting leave), "I know that it will work out. You just have to have positive thoughts, and it will work out." A lovely sentiment for sure, but I think that she forgot when she said this just how many times I have tried this and had it fail.
I had positive thoughts that we would get stationed in the United States. Couldn't believe for a second that he would pull out Italy for a first duty station. That went out the window. Then I knew that I would be able to move to Italy before Jude was born. I had no doubts, until I found out how long it takes to get an Italian visa. But of course, we could get him here for the birth. No problem. Right? Wrong. Unless I'm in labor for a couple days, if he gets leave, he will get here after the birth, as he has to wait until I'm in labor to apply.
Even hoping for the best and expecting the worst seems like too much for me. For instance, I found out some more cheery news last night. At the time that my aunt and uncle will be busy taking an instructor course for Krav Maga, my husband will be in Germany. Last time he was in Germany, he was practically unreachable the entire time. So the scenario of me going into labor while they are extremely busy and when I can't call my husband is going through my mind. Great.
And let me tell you, signs that labor is coming are all there! I'm having contractions (braxton hicks) all the time. Jude dropped partially yesterday. Not completely, which my hips are thankful for, but my stomach is lower and I can take a deeper breath. My actual due date is about a month away. With all of the uncertainties of when I will go into labor and who will be there and who I can call and how the labor will go and when my husband will get here.. I'm feeling a bit like I'm on a train that's about to crash and I can't get off.
As I have been reminding myself though, this isn't about the pregnancy. It's not about my comfort or how the labor will go and who will be there. This isn't even about my husband or me. This is about Jude, and he will be in my arms soon. Then this story of my pregnancy will be one that we tell to family members about how crazy it was in the beginning over dinner, while I keep one eye tracked on Jude as he gets into mischief under the table. Our son is healthy and showing all signs that he is ready soon to meet this world, and that's all that matters.
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When I walked into my second appointment with my new doctor (who I love) and the first question she asked was, "So how are you feeling?" I kind of balked because I don't want to complain about stuff that I can't change and is normal, and ended up giggling and saying, "Eh?" And she laughed along and said, "Just very pregnant, right?"
Yes. These days, I am feeling very pregnant. (At 34 weeks and 1 day I can safely say that I am huge. I've had well-meaning women walk up to me and ask me when I'm due. When they find out that it's about 6 weeks away, they have said, "Really? Wow! I never got that huge during my pregnancies!" Instead of immediately getting offended, I laughed and nodded. What can I say? My belly is big! And who can blame it as Jude is at 6 lbs already.) What does feeling pregnant mean? Feeling pregnant means that every part of my body is affected by the weight. My hips, back, thighs, knees, calves, ankles, neck, pelvic muscles, and stomach muscles ache pretty consistently. Some more than others.
Sometimes, the tendons in my lower stomach freak out and cramp like a charlie horse. My hips have been pushed to their limit so much that they pop in and out of place. My knees calves and ankles are all swollen from the water retention and feel bruised. My back? I don't think my back will ever forgive me. I have so many back problems that it seems silly to complain. Unlike normal injuries, the worst thing a pregnant woman can do for the pain is become sedentary. As women on bed rest can attest to, not moving these aching body parts doesn't make them ache less.
I turned to pregnant-friendly exercise. First thing doctors, books, and seasoned moms always recommend? Walking. So I walked. One thing you may not realize until you are carrying much more weight then you are used to is walking is jarring. After a walk, my feet went from tender and puffy to painful and swollen. My back went from tight and achy to spazzy and solid. Walking was out. I went back to an old familiar and started doing ballet barre exercises. I was extremely disappointed to remember just how much balance, core control, and hip strength this took. Although fully stretched and not feeling as awful after a long walk, my stomach hurt more than usual and my hips were so tender that I had to either lay down or stand; sitting was impossible. Ballet was out. I tried a slightly less orthodox approach and went biking. Even during a lazy ride, I would have a contraction. Biking was out.
I was starting to feel pretty pathetic, and hating the weight I put on. My doctor even expressed that I needed to gain more weight then I currently was. I was discouraged. I wished to be weightless.
Then something in my mind clicked. I could be weightless. I am lucky enough to live in a house with a pool in the back yard. No, the belly doesn't make me more buoyant, but as I stepped into the pool, I felt distinctly not pregnant. My hips, back, thighs, knees, calves, ankles, neck, pelvic muscles, and stomach muscles all gave a sigh of relief as the pressure my belly creates was taken off of them. I swam a lap. Easy as pie. I swam underwater. Exactly as I remembered. I walked to the steps and did a ballet barre exercise with the water to cushion. I felt strong, flexible, and light. The pool felt like a miracle.
Since this first discovery, you can find me in the pool almost every day. With my new, smoke free lungs, I am an even better swimmer then I was before I got pregnant. I stretch, swim laps above and under water, and work out my legs. I am even able to semi-effectively stretch my back. (A task found to be impossible before.) I've even begun to play and slightly roughhouse with the family.
In the water, I am as close to being able to do everything I used to before I was pregnant. (I even take a book with me to read because sitting on a step in the water feels better than sitting on the couch.) With my bikini getting more wear then my super comfortable maternity dresses, I have found my happy place.
I used to be a very touch oriented person. I had no qualms hugging a perfect stranger, and would never consider a nonthreatening touch would be unwelcome. This changed a bit when I started to fall in love with my husband. I became more picky about who I allowed in my personal space. Still, I was not a person to become uncomfortable or uneasy with an unwanted hug until he left for boot camp.
Suddenly, I was going a week or so without being touched at all. A hug from a parent or friend would come every once in awhile, but I became used to only being touched by another person sparingly. When he got back from boot camp and we married, I remember talking to him about how uncomfortable I felt with every single person at the wedding wanting a hug. Normal, I know, but I felt like my skin was crawling half the time.
Imagine my shock when the first person grabbed my stomach without asking first. She walked up from behind me and started rubbing it lightly, ending it with a soft caress with her nails. Her eyes were bright with excitement and I felt that there was no way I felt like I could do what I wanted; tell her to get the heck off of me and leave the room. I felt down right violated, and avoided this person after this for the sole purpose of not wanting to be touched. Unfortunately, I could not avoid everyone who wanted to have special moment with my belly, and started coming up with tricks to avoid awkward situations.
For my baby shower, my aunt came up with the ingenious idea of putting a note at the bottom of the invitations. "No grabbing momma's belly, it's sensitive!" Most people were amazing and didn't mention the note nor did they touch my stomach, but a few people asked why it was so sensitive, and if they could touch it anyway. When he started moving, more people seemed to think that my stomach was public domain. I started keeping my hands over it when my pregnancy came up in conversation to stop people from grabbing it. I know how special a baby is, and I know what a treat it is to feel the baby kick or move around, but the fact remains that it is my stomach and I don't feel any more OK with some random person touching it than I did before I was pregnant.
There are times that I want to share what is happening. Sometimes he is moving so much or his leg is sticking out so far that I want someone to share it with. My mom, my aunt Miki, and my little cousin Samantha have all had their hands grabbed and plastered to my stomach so they could feel that I was feeling. A couple other people I feel so comfortable with that I don't mind if they give it a little pat as they walk by, although I am thankful that this is not a common occurrence.
Most moms will agree with me that they did not appreciate strangers coming up and grabbing her belly, but most have expressed that they had no problem with those that ask and family members touching at all. I wondered why I was so different than most, and then remember that all of these women had their husbands feel the baby kick too. A huge part of my heart aches when someone else gets the joy of feeling him kick when my husband has never felt this. I have not cut off everyone because those that I am close to get as much joy of feeling him move as I do from them feeling him move, but there is a part of my brain that screams, "Unfair!" It isn't fair that he has yet to feel Jude kick, and probably will not have a chance.
Still, knowing all of this doesn't change the fact that I hate to let people down when they want to feel Jude move around. Most of the people who I am around on a regular basis know that I don't want to be touched and don't even try, but sometimes a person asks, and I have yet to find a way to make both of us happy with a short explanation. Hopefully this little proclamation will spread the word a bit.
Pregnant women are known for being irrational beings. We apparently can't see reason. This has been used in movies and is usually the backbone of the best stories at baby showers. The best have to do with labor and/or contractions. For instance, my mom was 'one of those' who refused to admit she was in labor. She went for a job interview, having contractions the entire time, and then when her water broke at home, she yelled at to my dad, "I just peed myself!" Thank goodness my dad didn't buy the, "I just peed myself!" explanation and took her to the hospital, where she gave birth a couple hours later. Talk about denial!
There is the other end of the spectrum of the woman who thinks she's in labor at every twinge and rushes everyone to the hospital a few times, sure this is the time, only to be sent back home. (See: Father of the Bride 2). So even though we've read about it, heard an enormous amount of stories about it, no one really knows what labor truly feels like until it has already happened.
Last night I was having a hard time sleeping. Around 2 am I got up from my bed because I couldn't find a comfortable position to lay down. In fact, it was downright painful. In my mind, Jude was in a ball and pushing against my stomach, making everything very hard and semi painful. Sure, he would relax and it would be fine, but then he would tense right up again! I started walking around the kitchen. I considered eating, but food didn't seem appealing, especially with the way that my back was hurting. Why was my back hurting?
After about 45 minutes of pacing around, trying to get Jude to stop putting so much pressure on me and trying to relax, I decided to call my doctor and talk to an on-call nurse. The idea in itself made me feel foolish, calling at 245 am for an irritable baby and a backache, but I did. When I got her on the phone, I explained how Jude was acting like a bowling ball in my stomach. She was not the nicest lady, and seemed very irritated with my phone call. I told her that it hurt, and my back was also hurting, and that I just wanted him to relax and my back to ease up so I could go to sleep. Then I got the question:
"Sweetie, is this your first pregnancy?"
Um, yeah. Why?
"Well, it sounds like you're having contractions. How far apart are they, and how long do they last? How painful on a scale of 1-10?"
?!?!?!?!
I explained how I wasn't keeping track of what I thought was my baby being a jerk, that I didn't think they were regular, and that they hurt at about a 4. Enough to keep me awake, but I was walking and talking during the feeling with little difficulty. She told me to relax, drink some water, and to keep track. If they're 5 minutes apart and regular, go to the hospital. Thanks for calling and good luck!
And then I was alone. My friendly on-call nurse had done nothing to ease my mind or my discomfort, and I was completely freaked out. All I could think was that I was in pre-term labor and that Scott was unreachable. I called his phone anyway. Straight voicemail. I started pacing and crying, not keeping track of the contractions at all, resenting my husband for being in the army, resenting everyone else for being asleep at 3 am. I walked to my aunt's room to wake her up, and then walked back. (I hate, HATE waking people up.) I did this a couple more times until I started having another and got scared and woke her up, positive that I was in labor, hating to be alone, but wanting to make sure that even though I was crying, even though I was scared to death, and that even though I was waking her up at 3 am, that this was not a big deal.
She was great. Asked all the right questions and told me, "This is what Braxton Hicks contractions feel like as you get closer to the birth. Painful and more real, but very irregular," (and they were, as we started watching the clock) "But completely harmless. Just a practice for the real thing." She talked to me and calmed me down and gave me half a glass of wine. After an a hour, they stopped. After another 30 mins, I was ready for bed.
So I had the two extremes. The complete and utter denial of contractions and then the jumping to the conclusion that I was in labor. Glad to know that I'll be reasonable when the actual labor starts!
I am certainly not one to say that the only correct way to have a baby is between a husband and a wife. With the right kind of resources, determination and support, I believe that a single mother can do just a great job as a more traditional family with two parents. I think that greatness comes from all kinds of families, including same sex parents, single mothers, single fathers, grandparents, adoptive parents, and of course the traditional husband and wife. What I do not believe is that a woman should go through a pregnancy alone. She should have a partner.
Unlike most of the people in my position (living with family during the pregnancy for support), I have a husband. When he is with me, he is more support than I could ever ask for. He volunteers to join me during doctor appointments, he reads baby books, and he is always willing to jump through the mood changes with a hug while I cry, share my insecurities, and take out my frustrations. He is.. incredible. Unfortunately, he has only spent 3 weeks of my pregnancy with me. Two of those weeks were the wedding and honeymoon and another week was lucky leave. He is in the US Army, airborne. He is stationed overseas and has been living in another country for the past 3 and a half months, and he is the bravest person that I know. I am proud of him, and proud to say that I am his wife.
It is quite a different experience than I thought it would be when I'm pregnant with me first child. He has no idea what Jude's clothes, furniture, and carriers even look like. We were able to share two ultrasounds together, but he has never seen me in person with my belly, nor has he seen Jude look like a human. He is missing out on a lot, on almost all of it, and I cannot imagine how difficult it is for him. He has never even felt Jude kick. To say the least, it is unfair that he is missing this. Although he never truly lets me see how difficult it is for him, I think it is the most bittersweet experience of his life. I know it is mine.
Without my family's support and my husband's phone calls, I am sure that I would be completely lost without him. To say that I miss him is to say that a fish misses water while on dry land. Before this experience, I had no idea that a person could feel this sort of desperation and need and still go on with living life. If asked beforehand, I would have said I could not survive it. With every change, every pain, every moment that I cry from frustration and fear... I wish that he could be here. In contrast, with every kick, every moment that my stomach takes the shape of a foot, and every time I hear Jude's heartbeat... I wish that he was here.
With every cloud and every struggle that we have in life, there is a silver lining. Did you know that the divorce rate for couples married in the first year of service is 80%? Hearing that statistic may have been a bit daunting at first, but now it simply lets me know that no matter how hard things get, we must persevere. And despite all odds, despite every painful moment, we have thrived. I feel as though I can honestly say that no other wife in this position has ever been more thankful for her husband. I don't take a moment that I can hear his voice for granted. Every "I love you" makes my heart flutter. Hearing him say, "You can do this," is what gets me through each week. Although I cannot speak for him, from what he has said to me I think that he feels a similar appreciation.
This is the hardest time in our lives, and a hell of a way to start a marriage. We have known struggles that many couples will never know. With all of that said, I am proud to say that with each mountain we make it over, I know how strong of a family we are. We will make it.
