Note: This post is a little snarky, or maybe a lot snarky. Please don't take offense at it. Be sure to read my commentary at the end.
How to Make a New Working Mom Feel Bad:
1. Assume she isn't going back to work.
2. When you find out she is going back to work, make an "oh that's too bad" face or comment.
3. Assume she found a "desirable" daycare situation for her baby, like family, or friends, or, at the very least, an in-home daycare.
4. When you find out the baby is going to a regular old daycare center, make an "oh that's too bad" face or comment.
To really hit this one home, say something like, "Can't your parents take him?" or "My friend is using this website to do background checks on home-care places. I could get it for you." or "I bet if you ask around, you could find a home-care place. I knew a lady who only took teacher's kids."
5. When you find out the regular old daycare center isn't a fancy special one, but just a Kindercare, make an "oh that's too bad" face or comment.
6. Offer platitudes about how it will all work out to try to make her feel better.
Okay, so, first, please note that most of my actual friends have not said these things to me, as they've been in the loop on the situation the entire time. It's actually mostly been acquaintances and near-strangers who've commented. And if you are my friend, and you have said something like #4, know that I know that you weren't trying to hurt my feelings; you were just trying to be helpful.
Perhaps the most fascinating thing I've discovered in the last week as I've prepared to go back for work is that somewhere over the course of the last several months, I have learned to believe that by sending my son to a daycare center, he's not in the best situation he can be in. When people ask me "who is taking care of him?" I respond with "He's just at a daycare center." Just? No, not just. It's a very nice facility, with a staff that seems lovely and well-trained and very caring so far.
I shouldn't have to feel guilty for going back to work. I'm not here just because we need the money, but because I love my job. LOVE it. Being a SAHM wouldn't work for me, although I admit that I could probably go part-time if the finances allowed.
I shouldn't have to feel guilty for putting him in a daycare center. I asked around. I put out feelers for a home-care situation. Nobody I knew was able to recommend someone to me, and I just wasn't comfortable finding a place online, regardless of how well it was rated. So I visited a few centers near school and home, and picked this one based on several factors. It's not just a daycare center. I'm not going to let myself say that anymore.
The reality is, I'm a full-time working mom. I love my job, and I love my son. I love my son more than I love my job. I wasn't going to put him somewhere that wasn't good for him. We'll see how this goes, and if doesn't work out, I'll find somewhere else. But for now, I'm happy with it. He's doing okay, he's getting adjusted. And I don't want to feel badly about my choice.
I guess I'm saying that it's really not all the fault of the people who've made those faces and comments, because I've set them up to say them by saying he's just at daycare. I've believed that family or friends or home-care is best, too, and I've felt guilty.
But I'm done with that, okay?
From now on, here's what I'm going to say: "Will's at a daycare center really close to our house. So far, the staff seems really lovely. I really like the directors, and the lady who is with him most of the day is this Bosnian-grandmother type who clearly loves babies and wants to take really good care of him. He's only been there a few days, but he seems to be adjusting pretty well - I think he really likes watching the other babies and can't wait to be able to sit up on his own and play, too."
So that's that.
Showing posts with label Will. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Will. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Sunday, July 29, 2012
4 Months
Will officially turned four months old onTuesday, the 24th, the same day his Great-Grandpa Bob turned 97 years old. Grandpa Bob loves being with Will, so we made sure to go over to my parents' house for Gpa's favorites: spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, and carrot cake for dessert. Grandpa gave Will lots of kisses, and Will got lots of attention (as always). I'd say it was a very successful "birthday" for both!
Development: We went to the pediatrician on Thursday (whom, by the way, I absolutely love. We actually see the PA in our office most of the time, and she is just incredible. The doctor that is technically ours was also my childhood pediatrician, but as she is super in-charge of the whole medical group, she doesn't work too many days a week and is harder to schedule) for Will's four-month Well-Child Check.
Will weighed in at 13.5 pounds, three more than his two-month check up. He's still in the 30% for weight, but that's okay, because he's been consistent in his growth all along. His height moved up to the 35% percentile as he has officially reached two-feet tall, being exactly 24 inches long. No wonder he doesn't fit as cozily anymore!
In other developmental areas, this was a big month for Will. He's learned to roll onto his side, so I bet to his tummy isn't too far away. He can see you from across the room and smile at you. He discovered his voice - the first few days of that were non-stop cooing. And, in the last week, he's started reaching for toys and is fascinated by their bright colors and fun textures. We didn't really have many toys, just a clip on elephant for his carseat, but a friend sent a package that had some fun little squishy blocks that crinkle, so we're set. His little legs are in constant motion - we have no idea where he thinks he's going, but he's apparently going to be a sprinter, cyclist, or swimmer based on his movement. And he's working really hard at taking the pacifier out of his mouth and putting it back in on his own. After a while of not quite being able to get it, he usually sticks his fingers right in, which brings me to the drooling. Yes, we've started the slobber-fest that apparently indicates pre-teething.... but no signs of any actual teeth yet. Thank. Goodness.
Personality: This little boy wants to be a happy little boy, he truly does. Sometimes, when he's starting to get unhappy about something, he'll still smile at you even in the midst of his tears, before he gives in. He is a very smiley baby and is content much of the time. He likes to be social and visit with others, and he drinks in the world around him.
But when he's unhappy, well, he is unhappy. As in screaming. Usually it's because he has a problem of some sort and thinks we should be able to fix it instantly, and when we can't, he tells us about it. He tells us all about it.
Sleep: Right after our three-month update, Will moved from our room to his own room. We'd been sleeping in the basement, due to the fact that the smoke from the Waldo Canyon fire kept us from being able to open the windows and cool off our near-90 degree house, and when we moved back upstairs, it seemed silly to re-set up the pack'n'play. So to his room he went. He's really adjusted quite well, I think.
The other big change, and again, this only in the last week, is that we've stopped swaddling him. He was too big for the swaddle we had and was continuously "busting out" of a blanket swaddle and waking himself up. A friend gave us a Woombie, which we love and would still be using, except for the fact that it's been so hot in his room when he goes to bed that I didn't feel right about it. He was sweating and crying and just seemed miserable, so we decided to tough it out and let him learn to fall asleep unswaddled, as well as to put himself back to sleep if he wakes up.
It's going. There have been some rough moments, some "this is breaking my heart" moments, and a couple of "I should just go get him" moments. But overall, he's been doing really well. In the big scheme of things, he doesn't cry as long as I have heard many babies do, and he definitely is getting it.
The first night time sleep lasts anywhere from four to six hours before I feed him, and then the second one has been getting longer, also. I'm hoping we're getting to a place where he's going to be on a good schedule for the school year. Naptimes are less regular - he still is only a cat-napper, so he takes several little naps throughout the day. The pediatrician said that might be in his favor when he starts day care - many babies who are long nappers have trouble taking their regular naps in that setting and get over-tired, so he might be in like already being a cat-napper. We'll see.
Overall, I feel pretty good about where we are sleep-wise.
Eating: Still doing the pump-to-bottle thing most of the day and nursing at night, with some nursing or formula during the day, depending on the situation. We're trying to stock up on frozen breast milk for day care. He's slowly starting to spread out his eating times. By that I mean he can now wait two and a half or three hours to eat, instead of every two. None of those four of five hour periods for us. I was afraid he might be eating too much as a result, but since his weight gain was consistent and good, I'm not worried anymore. He'll eat as he needs it, I think. We're not quite ready for solid foods yet - maybe in a month or so. Husband did let Will lick a banana though; my-oh-my was his facial expression hilarious. Total disgust. His mama agrees.
Likes/Dislikes: Will likes his scrunchy-crinkly blocks. The elephant on his car-seat. His Graet-Grandma Harriett, who got him to giggle a lot while she was here last week. Doggies (his new fav!). Apparently, watching the Olympics.
Actually, there isn't much he actually doesn't like, except being hungry, being tired, and having tummy troubles. Really, who can blame him?
Milestones: His first "road-trip" up to Estes Park. Many of the aforementioned developmental things, like noticing toys, sleeping in his own room, more and more control of his head, and even pulling himself up almost towards a sitting position. Noticing his first baby, his cousin Henry. His first hike, his first trip to the pool, his first rodeo (all chronicled in this post).
Mommy Update: I'm doing pretty well. Gearing up to go back to work, and mostly excited about it. I know leaving him is going to be hard, though, so I'm trying to prepare myself for that. Weight and health-wise, I'm not doing too much better, but I'm also not doing too much worse. Getting into meal-planning and grocery shopping to assist my eating habits and hoping to get to do some exercise a couple times a week once we establish good bedtime routines with the new school schedule.
Development: We went to the pediatrician on Thursday (whom, by the way, I absolutely love. We actually see the PA in our office most of the time, and she is just incredible. The doctor that is technically ours was also my childhood pediatrician, but as she is super in-charge of the whole medical group, she doesn't work too many days a week and is harder to schedule) for Will's four-month Well-Child Check.
Will weighed in at 13.5 pounds, three more than his two-month check up. He's still in the 30% for weight, but that's okay, because he's been consistent in his growth all along. His height moved up to the 35% percentile as he has officially reached two-feet tall, being exactly 24 inches long. No wonder he doesn't fit as cozily anymore!
In other developmental areas, this was a big month for Will. He's learned to roll onto his side, so I bet to his tummy isn't too far away. He can see you from across the room and smile at you. He discovered his voice - the first few days of that were non-stop cooing. And, in the last week, he's started reaching for toys and is fascinated by their bright colors and fun textures. We didn't really have many toys, just a clip on elephant for his carseat, but a friend sent a package that had some fun little squishy blocks that crinkle, so we're set. His little legs are in constant motion - we have no idea where he thinks he's going, but he's apparently going to be a sprinter, cyclist, or swimmer based on his movement. And he's working really hard at taking the pacifier out of his mouth and putting it back in on his own. After a while of not quite being able to get it, he usually sticks his fingers right in, which brings me to the drooling. Yes, we've started the slobber-fest that apparently indicates pre-teething.... but no signs of any actual teeth yet. Thank. Goodness.
Personality: This little boy wants to be a happy little boy, he truly does. Sometimes, when he's starting to get unhappy about something, he'll still smile at you even in the midst of his tears, before he gives in. He is a very smiley baby and is content much of the time. He likes to be social and visit with others, and he drinks in the world around him.
But when he's unhappy, well, he is unhappy. As in screaming. Usually it's because he has a problem of some sort and thinks we should be able to fix it instantly, and when we can't, he tells us about it. He tells us all about it.
Sleep: Right after our three-month update, Will moved from our room to his own room. We'd been sleeping in the basement, due to the fact that the smoke from the Waldo Canyon fire kept us from being able to open the windows and cool off our near-90 degree house, and when we moved back upstairs, it seemed silly to re-set up the pack'n'play. So to his room he went. He's really adjusted quite well, I think.
The other big change, and again, this only in the last week, is that we've stopped swaddling him. He was too big for the swaddle we had and was continuously "busting out" of a blanket swaddle and waking himself up. A friend gave us a Woombie, which we love and would still be using, except for the fact that it's been so hot in his room when he goes to bed that I didn't feel right about it. He was sweating and crying and just seemed miserable, so we decided to tough it out and let him learn to fall asleep unswaddled, as well as to put himself back to sleep if he wakes up.
It's going. There have been some rough moments, some "this is breaking my heart" moments, and a couple of "I should just go get him" moments. But overall, he's been doing really well. In the big scheme of things, he doesn't cry as long as I have heard many babies do, and he definitely is getting it.
The first night time sleep lasts anywhere from four to six hours before I feed him, and then the second one has been getting longer, also. I'm hoping we're getting to a place where he's going to be on a good schedule for the school year. Naptimes are less regular - he still is only a cat-napper, so he takes several little naps throughout the day. The pediatrician said that might be in his favor when he starts day care - many babies who are long nappers have trouble taking their regular naps in that setting and get over-tired, so he might be in like already being a cat-napper. We'll see.
Overall, I feel pretty good about where we are sleep-wise.
Eating: Still doing the pump-to-bottle thing most of the day and nursing at night, with some nursing or formula during the day, depending on the situation. We're trying to stock up on frozen breast milk for day care. He's slowly starting to spread out his eating times. By that I mean he can now wait two and a half or three hours to eat, instead of every two. None of those four of five hour periods for us. I was afraid he might be eating too much as a result, but since his weight gain was consistent and good, I'm not worried anymore. He'll eat as he needs it, I think. We're not quite ready for solid foods yet - maybe in a month or so. Husband did let Will lick a banana though; my-oh-my was his facial expression hilarious. Total disgust. His mama agrees.
Likes/Dislikes: Will likes his scrunchy-crinkly blocks. The elephant on his car-seat. His Graet-Grandma Harriett, who got him to giggle a lot while she was here last week. Doggies (his new fav!). Apparently, watching the Olympics.
Actually, there isn't much he actually doesn't like, except being hungry, being tired, and having tummy troubles. Really, who can blame him?
Milestones: His first "road-trip" up to Estes Park. Many of the aforementioned developmental things, like noticing toys, sleeping in his own room, more and more control of his head, and even pulling himself up almost towards a sitting position. Noticing his first baby, his cousin Henry. His first hike, his first trip to the pool, his first rodeo (all chronicled in this post).
Mommy Update: I'm doing pretty well. Gearing up to go back to work, and mostly excited about it. I know leaving him is going to be hard, though, so I'm trying to prepare myself for that. Weight and health-wise, I'm not doing too much better, but I'm also not doing too much worse. Getting into meal-planning and grocery shopping to assist my eating habits and hoping to get to do some exercise a couple times a week once we establish good bedtime routines with the new school schedule.
My, How We've Grown
Coming soon, an update on Will at four-months, which he turned the same day as his Great-Grandpa Bob turned 97. For now, a quick visual on how he's grown!
Here's my little man (as confirmed by his shirt) sometime in April. Didn't capture his feet, but they were right at the edge of this picture.
And here he is a couple of weeks ago, in early July. Check out those long legs dangling off the Boppy! Regardless of his size, it's still one of his favorite places to chill out.
A hint of what's to come in his four-month update: He's grown 5 inches since birth and is now 24 inches long - that's right - he's two feet tall! (In case you were wondering, which you probably weren't, Charles Stratton, aka "General Tom Thumb," only grew to be 25 inches tall and stayed that way his entire life.)
He's also started to do a few more fun things than before, like reach out for toys and talk talk talk.
I'll tell you about sleeping and what I'm thinking about going back to work (which I do next Monday). Tomorrow I have my first experience with leaving him with someone other than Dad or Nonna, as I have Jury Duty.... it makes me cry just thinking about it! I'm hoping that "nursing mother" gets me sent home right away.
Anyway, stay tuned for the update within the next few days!
Thursday, April 19, 2012
12 Hours That Changed My Life: Part 2
If you missed part 1 of the story (or you want to read the whole thing at once), go here first.
Finally. "One or two more like that and I can call the doctor in," encouraged Jessica. Push, push, push. The doctor, a new one I'd never met before, came in. Push, push, push. The same words. "Like that first one. Again." The minutes ticked by. "I can't tell what direction the baby is facing," said the nurse. "His heart rate dropped for a few minutes a while ago, but it went back up." Push more, Beth. Did you hear that? The Peanut needs you.
He was about to come, the doctor said, and she needed to do an episiotomy. Fine, I nodded. We just need to do this. Push, push, push, and there he was. "Oh, that explains it. He's sunny side up." Such a simple statement to explain such a long, stressful experience. The excruciating pain earlier in the morning? Back labor, thank you very much. My furious five hours of pushing? He was face up, of course. "If we'd known that, we might have done something else hours ago." Oh, thank you for telling me.
A flurry of activity. The Peanut wrapped up and on my chest, Husband standing right next to us, a huge, purple bruise covering Peanut's whole forehead. The doctor examining me, the placenta being delivered.
I cried partly because he was here and I was happy, and partly because it was over. At 10:00 am exactly, it was over. And I was so relieved. Pictures of our new family.
Baby and Husband went to the little "baby station" with the nurse while the doctor still worked on me. "Do you know what a tear is?" she asked? "You have about a 3 and half degree one. That means it didn't go all the way from the vagina to the rectum, but close. I'm going to have to stitch you up. Then, "Is she on medication?" to the nurse. "No, she's off right now." "Beth, push that button right next to you. Push it again," said the doctor, telling me to dose myself with a little medication through the epidural. (Educational moment for me - I didn't realize exactly how it worked before then. The catheter was in the epidural area of my spine, but the pump with the meds had been turned off so I could feel to push. The button worked just like you see in the movies.)
I was paying attention to the doctor and the nurse as they worked on me and trying to pay attention to what was going on with Husband and the baby over in the other part of the room. Wincing as she sewed, trying not to cry, asking Husband questions about the baby. "He's 19 inches long, and 6 lbs, 15 oz."
The doctor was showing the nurse a different technique for some certain type of stitch. "I appreciate a teaching and learning environment," I thought. Then my two men were both back at my side as the doctor finished up. "He's just fine," said the pediatric nurse about the baby. "There doesn't appear to be any damage, despite the bruising on his forehead." Relief. Then nausea and light-headedness. "I think I'm going to be pass out or be sick," I told Jessica. "I feel faint." Juice and some trail mix. My color returned a little, and I felt less light-headed. We hadn't eaten since 5:30 the night before.
Cleaning up, putting things away, and eventually the doctor was gone. Still sipping on juice, holding my baby. Husband's parents and sister came in, along with my sister. I held in the tears. I probably would have bawled had it just been Sister, truthfully. They oohed and ahed over the Peanut, over Will. Sister asked how I was doing. "I'll tell you about it later. It was hard."
They left, Husband going to find something to eat as Jessica helped me try to nurse for the first time. Quiet. Blessed quiet, with this small, tiny baby at my breast. Unbelievable, beautiful.
Eventually Husband took the Peanut to the nursery for some tests, shots, and his first bath. More juice and food for me as I tried to rest. My parents arrived with lunch in hand, my mom's first concern for me and me alone. The Mama Bear in her re-surfaced big time, her first priority to protect and take care of me. Jessica came with the wheel chair to take me to my post-partum room, and Husband followed behind with our baby - our baby!- in the bassinet.
Finally, settled into our room, the room where we'd spend the next couple of days, learning how to feed my son, trying to get some rest, healing, seeing family. Nurses in and nurses out. Tanya, my favorite and most helpful post-partum nurse. Bridget, our overly talkative night nurse who treated me like a celebrity. Comments from everyone I met. "We were here when you were in labor. We kept waiting to hear you were going in for the C-Section. We can't believe how much of that you did without medication. You're such a rock star." It was therapeutic, my "I failed" mentality slowly being replaced with the affirmation that I had not, in fact, failed, and that instead, I had done well.
The Peanut was here, our William John, after a long night of hard work, and after many months of praying. We were tired - no, exhausted -, and we were in awe. Our teeny tiny baby was with us, snuggled in our arms, relying completely on us.
Resposibility, and Joy. Still the two overwhelming emotions, but beautiful, amazing emotions.
Welcome, Peanut, baby Will.
Finally. "One or two more like that and I can call the doctor in," encouraged Jessica. Push, push, push. The doctor, a new one I'd never met before, came in. Push, push, push. The same words. "Like that first one. Again." The minutes ticked by. "I can't tell what direction the baby is facing," said the nurse. "His heart rate dropped for a few minutes a while ago, but it went back up." Push more, Beth. Did you hear that? The Peanut needs you.
He was about to come, the doctor said, and she needed to do an episiotomy. Fine, I nodded. We just need to do this. Push, push, push, and there he was. "Oh, that explains it. He's sunny side up." Such a simple statement to explain such a long, stressful experience. The excruciating pain earlier in the morning? Back labor, thank you very much. My furious five hours of pushing? He was face up, of course. "If we'd known that, we might have done something else hours ago." Oh, thank you for telling me.
A flurry of activity. The Peanut wrapped up and on my chest, Husband standing right next to us, a huge, purple bruise covering Peanut's whole forehead. The doctor examining me, the placenta being delivered.
I cried partly because he was here and I was happy, and partly because it was over. At 10:00 am exactly, it was over. And I was so relieved. Pictures of our new family.
Baby and Husband went to the little "baby station" with the nurse while the doctor still worked on me. "Do you know what a tear is?" she asked? "You have about a 3 and half degree one. That means it didn't go all the way from the vagina to the rectum, but close. I'm going to have to stitch you up. Then, "Is she on medication?" to the nurse. "No, she's off right now." "Beth, push that button right next to you. Push it again," said the doctor, telling me to dose myself with a little medication through the epidural. (Educational moment for me - I didn't realize exactly how it worked before then. The catheter was in the epidural area of my spine, but the pump with the meds had been turned off so I could feel to push. The button worked just like you see in the movies.)
I was paying attention to the doctor and the nurse as they worked on me and trying to pay attention to what was going on with Husband and the baby over in the other part of the room. Wincing as she sewed, trying not to cry, asking Husband questions about the baby. "He's 19 inches long, and 6 lbs, 15 oz."
The doctor was showing the nurse a different technique for some certain type of stitch. "I appreciate a teaching and learning environment," I thought. Then my two men were both back at my side as the doctor finished up. "He's just fine," said the pediatric nurse about the baby. "There doesn't appear to be any damage, despite the bruising on his forehead." Relief. Then nausea and light-headedness. "I think I'm going to be pass out or be sick," I told Jessica. "I feel faint." Juice and some trail mix. My color returned a little, and I felt less light-headed. We hadn't eaten since 5:30 the night before.
Cleaning up, putting things away, and eventually the doctor was gone. Still sipping on juice, holding my baby. Husband's parents and sister came in, along with my sister. I held in the tears. I probably would have bawled had it just been Sister, truthfully. They oohed and ahed over the Peanut, over Will. Sister asked how I was doing. "I'll tell you about it later. It was hard."
They left, Husband going to find something to eat as Jessica helped me try to nurse for the first time. Quiet. Blessed quiet, with this small, tiny baby at my breast. Unbelievable, beautiful.
Eventually Husband took the Peanut to the nursery for some tests, shots, and his first bath. More juice and food for me as I tried to rest. My parents arrived with lunch in hand, my mom's first concern for me and me alone. The Mama Bear in her re-surfaced big time, her first priority to protect and take care of me. Jessica came with the wheel chair to take me to my post-partum room, and Husband followed behind with our baby - our baby!- in the bassinet.
Finally, settled into our room, the room where we'd spend the next couple of days, learning how to feed my son, trying to get some rest, healing, seeing family. Nurses in and nurses out. Tanya, my favorite and most helpful post-partum nurse. Bridget, our overly talkative night nurse who treated me like a celebrity. Comments from everyone I met. "We were here when you were in labor. We kept waiting to hear you were going in for the C-Section. We can't believe how much of that you did without medication. You're such a rock star." It was therapeutic, my "I failed" mentality slowly being replaced with the affirmation that I had not, in fact, failed, and that instead, I had done well.
The Peanut was here, our William John, after a long night of hard work, and after many months of praying. We were tired - no, exhausted -, and we were in awe. Our teeny tiny baby was with us, snuggled in our arms, relying completely on us.
Resposibility, and Joy. Still the two overwhelming emotions, but beautiful, amazing emotions.
Welcome, Peanut, baby Will.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
12 Hours That Changed My Life: Part 1
Wednesday night and Thursday night were Parent-Teacher Conferences. I sat, 38 nearly 39 weeks pregnant, in the gymnasium with all my colleagues, talking with parents about their students and what they could do to either stay strong or to improve during 4th quarter. Of course, I wasn't going to be there for 4th quarter, but I still gave the advice anyway. And, of course, there were many conversations about parenting and having babies. "Are you ready?" they always asked. "Well, I'd really like a few days of Spring Break, you know, to have a transition between school and mommy-hood." Heads nodded in understanding.
It was a small group evening, so husband and I headed over to our friends' house and spent the evening there. We broke into guys and girls groups to hear prayer requests. Mine, of course, was primarily for a healthy and safe delivery. We meet every two weeks as a group, and, with my due date a week away, we were all hoping that by the next small group, I'd have the Peanut. I joked about wondering if I'd even know when I was in labor. How are you supposed to know what it feels like when you've never done it? "Oh, you'll know," was always the response. They prayed for me and for the Peanut right then and there, and then later the guys and the girls were back together for some Bible study. Later we all headed home, with well wishes for our delivery and a question on how they would know it was time. "Oh, Husband will text you - if it says "Autobots, Let's Roll," that means it's time." (Followed by an explanation of the Transformers.)
It was about 10:45, and Husband and I were sitting on our bed as we unwound for the evening, sharing our thoughts about small group, with him rubbing my back. Suddenly a sensation I'd never experienced before.
"I'm peeing my pants!" I screeched as I leapt off the bed and raced to the bathroom. "I think maybe my water just broke..." I announced to Husband as I sat on the toilet, trying to figure out if that was what had happened or not. Certainly I didn't actually pee my pants, right? Surely I had more control than that? But it was so weird, and not what I expected, so could it actually be my water breaking? And I had expected contractions first. This wasn't labor, was it? I felt perfectly normal, except for the whole peeing-of-the-pants thing.
At the mention of the words "water breaking," Husband was up and throwing things into bags right and left. We'd talked about what we'd take to the hospital, but we hadn't actually packed yet. "I'm not even sure this it," I protested. It didn't matter, he thought. We needed to go to the hospital to check it out, just in case. So I changed clothes (obviously) and helped pack the bags for the hospital, "just in case."
Poor confused Ginny went to her room (her crate), and we got in the truck and drove the less-than-ten minutes to the hospital, it now being about 11:30. Entering through the ER doors due to the late hour, we told the person at the desk we thought I might be in labor and she pointed us in the direction of the elevators. When you get to the right floor, you have to ring this little doorbell and wait for admission, since the whole maternity floor is secure. Once we'd gotten buzzed in, I told the nurse at the station the same thing. "I think my water may have broken, but I'm not really sure."
We stood there for several minutes, starting to fill out paperwork I thought I'd already filled out at our pre-admit session, just to be told that yes, I had filled that out already, so I could stop. They took us back to the triage session, told me to urinate in the cup and put the gown on, and then we'd take a look and see what was going on. "Don't text people yet," I told Husband. "We're not even sure what's happening."
Once changed and on the table, the nurse, named Cassie, checked me out. "Yes, you've ruptured. You're at about 4 cm dilated," she told us. "We'll get you checked into your birthing room." I looked at Husband. "Okay, now you can send the message." I called my parents, it now being about midnight. Both my mom and sister answered, groggy with sleep. "My water broke and we're at the hospital. Go back to bed, we'll call when something is really happening." (As if they could go to sleep, Mom later told me. But they tried.)
We moved over to my birthing room and decided to try to get some rest. After all, I hadn't even had one contraction yet. It took a while to get settled, with Cassie getting me hooked up to all the machines and going over what the process would/could look like for me. Patiently, calmly, she answered all my questions, and then said she'd be back to check on me in a bit, but to call if I needed anything.
It helped. I was able to get some good rest... for maybe 45 minutes. And then the edge was no longer off, despite the fact that the medication should be working. I was miserable. We tried everything, all sorts of positions, breathing. I could still have an epidural, Cassie thought, although she'd have to see how dilated I was. Torturous, this thought. My mom and best friend were pretty anti-epidural, and I really wanted to do this without one. I didn't want to disappoint them, or myself. Getting an epidural would be like failing.
But it was excruciating. "I can't do this," I kept crying to Husband, even as we were "dancing" trying to ease the pain. I gave in. I was 8 cm dilated, so it was now or never. It was unbearable waiting for the anaesthesologist. Couldn't he hurry up, I kept thinking. After an eternity, relief. It was just nearing 4 in the morning.
I slept. The blissful, comatose sleep of a woman on drugs. And at 5, Cassie checked and said we were ready. So the pushing began. I couldn't feel my contractions, so I relied on her to tell me when to push. It wasn't working. He wasn't progressing. "Let's take a break and let you labor down for a while," Cassie suggested. We'd called our family to say we were pushing, because my sister and Husand's family wanted to be in the waiting room when Peanut was born. My sister came in and fixed my pony tail for me and we chatted. Everything was just fine, although I told her I was afraid to tell Mom I'd had an epidural. I didn't want her to be disappointed. Sister understood, although we both knew Mom would never be disappointed over something like that. It was more me. Half an hour later. Time to try again. They turned off the epidural, because I needed to be able to feel what was going on.
But I couldn't push right, it seemed. My first attempt would be great - "yes do that again," Cassie would say. And I would try, but apparently I wasn't getting it. All sorts of coaching on what to do, where to push, how to push. Yet it wasn't working. Failure again. Perhaps it was because I'd had the epidural that I was having so much trouble, I thought. I was ashamed of my weakness.
7 am. Shift change. We'd thought, when we were ready to push at 5, that we'd make it with the same nurse. But no. Cassie said goodbye, and Jessica came in. Jessica had me try all sorts of different pushing positions. Husband was still standing right by me, holding me, helping me, being involved. He was freezing, had had no sleep either, and nothing to eat. We were just disaster areas. The same comments. "Do it that way again." A sigh that seemed disappointed when my next push wasn't the same. Absolute failure, I thought. I told Jessica so. "I'm a bit type A here, so this feels like I'm totally failing."
9 am. Still pushing. Progress had been made. They could see his head occasionally. Apparently he looked like he had no hair... but of course, it could have all just rubbed off by then. It was the longest hour of my life. The clock, right in front of me. Minutes ticked by so slowly. Had it really only been five minutes? It felt like an eternity. Exhausted. Freezing. Hot. Push, push, push. I can do another. I have to keep going. "Don't fall asleep," said Husband between sets. "I'm not.... okay, I am totally falling asleep." The longest hour of my life. Minutes ticked by so slowly, the clock staring me in the face. 9:05. 9:07. 9:11. What felt like hours between each minute. And still, "try it like that again. No, like you did before. I need you to push like you just did." Failure, failure, failure. "Maybe it's the epidural," I thought. "I shouldn't have had it, I knew it. I did this."
Read the rest of the story here.
Me about a month before Will's arrival. Turns out I have no pictures of me after this.
Friday was my day off. The kick off to Spring Break, there was no school since we'd worked the two previous evenings. I had two items on my agenda - coffee with a friend who was in town, and a trip to the library. I knew I probably should do some work for my online class, but I was going to give myself a day off from thinking about school. After my trip to the library, I considered a stop at Target to buy some baby-is-coming-soon essentials, like a nursing bra, but thought, "no, I'll go tomorrow. I'm worn out from the week, from getting ready to leave school for the rest of the semester, from being huge. I'm going to go home and read." So home I went, and I read. It was a small group evening, so husband and I headed over to our friends' house and spent the evening there. We broke into guys and girls groups to hear prayer requests. Mine, of course, was primarily for a healthy and safe delivery. We meet every two weeks as a group, and, with my due date a week away, we were all hoping that by the next small group, I'd have the Peanut. I joked about wondering if I'd even know when I was in labor. How are you supposed to know what it feels like when you've never done it? "Oh, you'll know," was always the response. They prayed for me and for the Peanut right then and there, and then later the guys and the girls were back together for some Bible study. Later we all headed home, with well wishes for our delivery and a question on how they would know it was time. "Oh, Husband will text you - if it says "Autobots, Let's Roll," that means it's time." (Followed by an explanation of the Transformers.)
It was about 10:45, and Husband and I were sitting on our bed as we unwound for the evening, sharing our thoughts about small group, with him rubbing my back. Suddenly a sensation I'd never experienced before.
"I'm peeing my pants!" I screeched as I leapt off the bed and raced to the bathroom. "I think maybe my water just broke..." I announced to Husband as I sat on the toilet, trying to figure out if that was what had happened or not. Certainly I didn't actually pee my pants, right? Surely I had more control than that? But it was so weird, and not what I expected, so could it actually be my water breaking? And I had expected contractions first. This wasn't labor, was it? I felt perfectly normal, except for the whole peeing-of-the-pants thing.
At the mention of the words "water breaking," Husband was up and throwing things into bags right and left. We'd talked about what we'd take to the hospital, but we hadn't actually packed yet. "I'm not even sure this it," I protested. It didn't matter, he thought. We needed to go to the hospital to check it out, just in case. So I changed clothes (obviously) and helped pack the bags for the hospital, "just in case."
Poor confused Ginny went to her room (her crate), and we got in the truck and drove the less-than-ten minutes to the hospital, it now being about 11:30. Entering through the ER doors due to the late hour, we told the person at the desk we thought I might be in labor and she pointed us in the direction of the elevators. When you get to the right floor, you have to ring this little doorbell and wait for admission, since the whole maternity floor is secure. Once we'd gotten buzzed in, I told the nurse at the station the same thing. "I think my water may have broken, but I'm not really sure."
We stood there for several minutes, starting to fill out paperwork I thought I'd already filled out at our pre-admit session, just to be told that yes, I had filled that out already, so I could stop. They took us back to the triage session, told me to urinate in the cup and put the gown on, and then we'd take a look and see what was going on. "Don't text people yet," I told Husband. "We're not even sure what's happening."
Once changed and on the table, the nurse, named Cassie, checked me out. "Yes, you've ruptured. You're at about 4 cm dilated," she told us. "We'll get you checked into your birthing room." I looked at Husband. "Okay, now you can send the message." I called my parents, it now being about midnight. Both my mom and sister answered, groggy with sleep. "My water broke and we're at the hospital. Go back to bed, we'll call when something is really happening." (As if they could go to sleep, Mom later told me. But they tried.)
We moved over to my birthing room and decided to try to get some rest. After all, I hadn't even had one contraction yet. It took a while to get settled, with Cassie getting me hooked up to all the machines and going over what the process would/could look like for me. Patiently, calmly, she answered all my questions, and then said she'd be back to check on me in a bit, but to call if I needed anything.
The sign in our birth room. We got a kick out of the room number and the date nearly matching.
I think we rested (and I use that term lightly) for about half an hour before the contractions hit, and hit in full force. Forget easing your way into them, I don't apparently roll that way. Husband was the man, holding my hand, standing beside me, helping me breathe and trying different positions with me. After a while, though, I started to panic. I was exhausted. I had lost the night's sleep, and I become an emotional disaster area on a normal day when I'm over-tired. So to be in labor and that tired, well I knew I was in trouble, and though a normally calm-in-stressful-situations person, I was in a panic. We decided to try an IV medication to take the edge off. I wouldn't normally, I said. But it was just that I was so tired, justifying why I was breaking my "no meds" rule.It helped. I was able to get some good rest... for maybe 45 minutes. And then the edge was no longer off, despite the fact that the medication should be working. I was miserable. We tried everything, all sorts of positions, breathing. I could still have an epidural, Cassie thought, although she'd have to see how dilated I was. Torturous, this thought. My mom and best friend were pretty anti-epidural, and I really wanted to do this without one. I didn't want to disappoint them, or myself. Getting an epidural would be like failing.
But it was excruciating. "I can't do this," I kept crying to Husband, even as we were "dancing" trying to ease the pain. I gave in. I was 8 cm dilated, so it was now or never. It was unbearable waiting for the anaesthesologist. Couldn't he hurry up, I kept thinking. After an eternity, relief. It was just nearing 4 in the morning.
I slept. The blissful, comatose sleep of a woman on drugs. And at 5, Cassie checked and said we were ready. So the pushing began. I couldn't feel my contractions, so I relied on her to tell me when to push. It wasn't working. He wasn't progressing. "Let's take a break and let you labor down for a while," Cassie suggested. We'd called our family to say we were pushing, because my sister and Husand's family wanted to be in the waiting room when Peanut was born. My sister came in and fixed my pony tail for me and we chatted. Everything was just fine, although I told her I was afraid to tell Mom I'd had an epidural. I didn't want her to be disappointed. Sister understood, although we both knew Mom would never be disappointed over something like that. It was more me. Half an hour later. Time to try again. They turned off the epidural, because I needed to be able to feel what was going on.
But I couldn't push right, it seemed. My first attempt would be great - "yes do that again," Cassie would say. And I would try, but apparently I wasn't getting it. All sorts of coaching on what to do, where to push, how to push. Yet it wasn't working. Failure again. Perhaps it was because I'd had the epidural that I was having so much trouble, I thought. I was ashamed of my weakness.
7 am. Shift change. We'd thought, when we were ready to push at 5, that we'd make it with the same nurse. But no. Cassie said goodbye, and Jessica came in. Jessica had me try all sorts of different pushing positions. Husband was still standing right by me, holding me, helping me, being involved. He was freezing, had had no sleep either, and nothing to eat. We were just disaster areas. The same comments. "Do it that way again." A sigh that seemed disappointed when my next push wasn't the same. Absolute failure, I thought. I told Jessica so. "I'm a bit type A here, so this feels like I'm totally failing."
9 am. Still pushing. Progress had been made. They could see his head occasionally. Apparently he looked like he had no hair... but of course, it could have all just rubbed off by then. It was the longest hour of my life. The clock, right in front of me. Minutes ticked by so slowly. Had it really only been five minutes? It felt like an eternity. Exhausted. Freezing. Hot. Push, push, push. I can do another. I have to keep going. "Don't fall asleep," said Husband between sets. "I'm not.... okay, I am totally falling asleep." The longest hour of my life. Minutes ticked by so slowly, the clock staring me in the face. 9:05. 9:07. 9:11. What felt like hours between each minute. And still, "try it like that again. No, like you did before. I need you to push like you just did." Failure, failure, failure. "Maybe it's the epidural," I thought. "I shouldn't have had it, I knew it. I did this."
Read the rest of the story here.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Midweek Confessions: On Being a Mom for the First Week
This is THE perfect Wednesday for me to join in with Midweek Confessions again. I mean, it, perfect. For I have lots to confess, what with being a mom for a grand total of less than two weeks. Those of you more experienced moms who might stumble upon this, well, advice given with good intention is welcome, I think.
- I just let my 11 day old son sit in his car seat on the kitchen counter and scream for minutes before going and picking him up. I'd put him in there because I don't have a sling or any other place to put him on our main floor yet and I needed to fix myself something to eat. I left him there because he started to fall asleep, and we're struggling with sleeping anywhere but in someone's arms. Rather than take him to his crib, which would totally disturb him and the screaming would begin, I left him there. It worked for about 5 minutes. Then the whimper. "Maybe he'll self-soothe. We need to not pick him up at the first sign of a cry," I thought. Then the slightly more persistent cry. "No, he still might go back to sleep. Just wait. Get the computer out, I want to blog." The soft wail. "I'm ignoring you - I think you might still make it, although probably not." Finally, the scream. "Well, maybe he'll get tired of that and go back to sleep." Ummm. Nope. Pick him up - and the crying instantly stops. He must have tired himself out, though, because I have him sitting in the boppy on the couch next to me, and he's sleeping there.
- I may have let him sleep in the boppy in the bed last night with us. All night. Yup, I might have. See, we have a pack and play in our room that has this nice little newborn bassinet attachment. Up until two nights ago, this was working out great. We would get up, eat, walk or rock for a minute, and go back to sleep. He went from waking up once between feedings to sleeping from one to the next. He went from needing a 10 minute rock and walk to a 3 or 4 minute one, and sometimes less. Sunday night, though, it started to change. He slept great between feedings, but he took a long time to fall alseep again. Monday night, the same thing, but worse. Lay him down, a whimper, a cry, a wail, a scream. I took to sleeping with my head at the end of the bed so I could try rubbing his belly and shushing without picking him up. Failure. Last night, Husband had him asleep in his arms for an hour so I could get some rest, and the moment he put him down, straight to the scream. I tried for another hour. And then I quit. I put the boppy in the middle of the bed, and slept with my arm under him as if I were still holding him. And we stayed that way the rest of the night. I didn't even bother trying again.
- I put him in the bouncer outside the shower this morning so I could take one. It gave him hiccups and he couldn't get rid of them the entire time he was in there.
- I've cried nearly every day at least a little. Sometimes out of tiredness (that was big at the beginning of the experience), sometimes out of frustration (not usually at him, but at others), sometimes out of sadness when he's crying so hard, sometimes from being overwhelmed as I look at his sweet face and feel the heaviness and joy of responsibility for his life.
- Poor little baby has gas a lot and I can't figure out if it's something I'm eating or if it's a phase he's going through. I hate to use the word "colic," because I think we jump there too fast with babies. But he definitely has gas and it definitely bothers him. And I want to make it all better and haven't the foggiest how, but am working on it.
- On a more positive note, I just want to kiss his sweet little cheeks all the time. I love it when he looks up at me with his big currently-dark blue eyes and his mouth forms a perfect little "o," as he takes it all in. I love snuggling and rocking and cuddling with him, and could stare at him for hours. I climbed in the backseat the other day while Husband ran into the store for something and just put my head on his carseat, watching him sleep. I'm in awe of how powerful his tiny little grip is and how forcefully his little legs can kick. I want him to be healthy and happy and safe, and I've never felt more strongly about making that happen for anyone than I do for him. I've said all along, I'm not a mushy person, and I mean it, but this little man, the Peanut, is about as close as I can get. But it's not just mushy love and adoration of him. There's a fierceness I feel, a protectiveness.
Welcome to motherhood, you might say. A plethora of emotions, roles, and experiences.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Announcing.....
William John C
little Will
Born: Saturday, May 24, 2012 at 10 am
Weight: 6 lbs, 15 ounces
Length: 19 inches
More to come soon. Can't wait to share Will's Birth Story and the tales of surviving the first week of Mommy-hood. But right now, I need to hang out with the Peanut, because he's finally here!
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