Sometimes I feel like I missed Davy's first few weeks of life. Between combatting the initial pain from the C-section with the fever then going back to the hospital (we got out the day he was two weeks old) and dealing with the second surgery/Wound VAC, those first few weeks were nothing like I had ever planned or dreamed. I had pictured our little family snuggled up in bed, Robby and I just gazing at our beautiful little baby for long stretches of time. I imagined really being good about tummy time from the beginning...which is not really a huge loss, but still. I wanted to be able to focus on us, instead I was distracted by all the junk. Don't get me wrong, we still got to spend lots of time together, but we were separated for a lot of it. I couldn't get down on the floor or lay down flat in a bed. Robby couldn't get into the hospital bed if I had Davy with me there. I didn't get to give Davy his bath. With the Wound VAC acting as a sort of external umbilical cord, it was difficult for me to rock or walk with Davy when he needed soothing. I'm glad and grateful for what we had, but I miss those stolen moments and dreams.

Busy Boy

Davy has had an eventful weekend and Monday! First, on Friday he took his first trip to the library for the annual Friends of the Library book sale! I spent $32 on bargain-priced children's books. Yeah. That equals more than 32 books- yay Mommy! They had a boy carry them out to the car for me. Also, our Moby Wrap came on Friday, so I took the opportunity to try it out at the book sale and both it and Davy were a major hit with all the women working the sale. Then, on Saturday my dad and his wife and their kids all came over for a visit. They hadn't seen Davy since he was about a week old and couldn't believe how he's grown. We went back to the book sale, too. On Sunday Davy attended his first Mass. We sat in the choir loft with the choir since that is where we'll be once I start singing on Sundays again. He did pretty well until after communion. The eleven o'clock Mass is a bit long, though, so I expected he might get antsy at some point. Otherwise, he loved the music (he started hearing it about 5 months before he was born) and he examined one of the stained-glass windows for quite a while. Finally, he had his two month well-baby check-up today. He weighs 12lbs 10oz (75th percentile) and is 22.5 inches long (50th percentile). Also, his head circumference measured 75th percentile. Maybe that's why we have so much trouble keeping a hat on that round noggin! The doctor said he looked great, then it was time for his vaccinations. I was more nervous about this part than I thought I would be, but I think I did a pretty good job hiding it from Davy. I think the first shot is the worst. The nurse jabs that huge (well, it seems huge for a little baby) needle so deep into his little thigh. For a few seconds it doesn't register, then he finally realizes how much it hurts. :'( Ugh. It's awful. It's important, but it's awful. Heartbreaking. I held his hand while he cried and cried. The second shot wasn't as bad as the first because he was already crying, but in between legs (yes! two in each leg!) he calmed down a bit and it was almost like the first time again when she jabbed him again in the other leg. After all four shots were over Robby popped the Soothie in Davy's mouth and the poor little guy was almost immediately calm. I could tell he was still hurt and even a bit traumatized, but he was quiet. So brave for such a little guy. (I know it isn't really bravery at this stage, but allow me to romanticize my baby's emotions.) He did very well on the ride home- no crying at all. He slept for a good bit of today, either on top of me or in his Moby wrap. I think he earned it. He would be a little fussy whenever he started to wake up, but otherwise I got several glimpses of my happy man. So wonderfully sweet!

Brighter Morning

I don't know if it's the fact that Davy and I snuggled and slept until 8:45 this morning (and he woke up as my Mr. Happy Morning Man) or that yesterday afternoon I turned on some Sufjan Stevens and while Davy cried in his sling through the first song I had a really good hard cry with him or that I have plans to go to a movie with a girlfriend tonight or that yesterday I wrote down how I was feeling without holding back, but I feel SO much better today. I think it is a combination of all those things. More later!

Untitled

Be still my sweet boy

With your head against my heart

again we are one.

Drifting in Limbo

Why am I still feeling this way sometimes? I've turned into a pseudo-insomniac for thinking about it. For much of the day I can completely immerse myself in Davy- caring for him, smiling at him, et cetera. Other times I can get lost in a favorite television show or talking to Robby. But then there are times when I feel completely helpless and useless. Times when I feel like a boat that has come untethered, just drifting. During these times I wish I could just feel something...strongly? I wish I could feel something when my husband tells me he thinks I am beautiful. I wish I could feel some sort of sense of accomplishment. I wish I didn't still feel bad about the way things happened, because they could have been so much worse- I could have had a hysterectomy, or the worst possible scenario could have occurred and Davy might have suffered from the risks of C-section instead of me. And because I still feel bad about it, I feel weak. Like....like a loser. There is no sense in feeling this way, but I do. It just hits me and I have no control over it. Maybe that's what is the worst part- not having control. I think because of the way I grew up I have been a little bit of a control freak over my own life for a while now and it either ticks me off or gets me down when I lose that. I start to feel powerless. **And if my parents are reading this, don't feel bad about the way we grew up. I am not dissatisfied with the person that I am, just the way that person seems to feel at the moment! I wish I could go to some alternate universe where there wasn't a divorce and see how that Kaleigh turned out. I bet there is no Davy in that universe, which is sad.** I almost wish I just wanted to sleep through all this, so at least it would have a name, but I don't. I can't sleep. When I try to fall asleep there is nothing else to occupy me and all I can do is think about how rotten I feel...and then feel rotten for feeling rotten still...and I end up staying awake. I hate this limbo world. I wish there wasn't this in-between where it isn't terrible but it isn't good. I wish I would stop being such a whiner and get over it already. I wish I could take back control.

Brilliant

I spilled Davy's TriViSol all over him today. Ugh. I was giving it to him and in between drops my phone rang. I picked it up then went back to give Davy the rest of the vitamins. Not thinking about the open bottle of vitamins now in the same hand as the dropper I leaned my hand down and WHOOSH, there goes half of what is left in the bottle. BRILLIANT!! It was all over his face and all over his shirt and the onesie underneath. TriViSol is colored with caramel. We have several burp clothes with stains from it, so very quickly I undressed him and set the clothes to soak in some Woolite. I wiped his face and neck (after I found it, haha- it's tough with all that chubbiness in the way) and redressed him. He had this look on his face like "Gee mom, what's the big deal?" Anyway, yes, very nice. It was bound to happen sooner or later, though.



Saturday and Sunday night Davy slept for a six hour stretch! He also went about seven to eight hours without eating both those nights (a little painful for me! but it was great to get a decent stretch of uninterrupted sleep). Then Monday night, out the window! I don't know what happened! We did everything exactly the same, but that's just the nature of babies I suppose. I don't think I had a single unitterupted hour on Monday night. It wasn't necessarily that he was awake, but he did eat every three to four hours and then was sort of restless in between. Last night was better. He slept for a somewhat longer stretch again, but was restless after his 4am feeding. We recently started a bedtime routine, but he is still wanting to sleep in someone's arms or close to someone's arms. I have no problem rocking him to sleep, but it is hit and miss if he will stay down when I put him down. I guess he is- temporarily- a little ruined from the first few weeks of his life. After he was born, we just held him all the time (which I actually believe is important for newborn babies and bonding and all of that) in the hospital- even while he was sleeping. Then it continued at home because of my limited mobility. Then we were back in the hospital for another week- so another week of holding him while he slept. Don't get me wrong, I really truly enjoy the closeness. It is wonderful. The only problem is his flailing! He is such a mover and a shaker that it continues into his sleep. I do wonder if he would do better sleeping on his own at night....well, actually I wonder if I would sleep better. Ok, enough of this rambling. We're just going to keep doing what is best for us. Keep working on a routine/schedule. Who cares where he sleeps as long as he is safe and he is sleeping!

Session 4: Back to the Hospital or Gosh I'm a Gripy Lady

I'm not really sure where to start with this. I think I have probably already discussed how I thought that because my pregnancy was so incredibly perfect that I had this feeling like something would eventually go wrong. Maybe I messed myself up- walked right into a self-fulfilling prophecy. It started with the C-section and then escalated from there. Let us please note, though, that since it seems that something just had to go wrong I am SO eternally grateful that it was me and not Davy. I hope that it can always be that way.

**For anyone reading this blog- I do apologize for the lengthy and overly-detailed posts. Bear with me, though. I am trying to work through this stuff so I can be a more pleasant person in all other aspects of life.

Maybe the best way to do this is with a sort of timeline:

Friday, December 26, 2008: All three of us go home from the hospital for the first time. My mother and my sister, her husband, and his daughter are all in Birmingham. I'm still in a lot of pain from the C-section so my mom picks up my prescription for Percocet from Target as well as supper for her, Robby, and me. In the meantime Robby, Davy, and I get settled into home. We decide to camp out in the living room since I can't quite lay flat on my back to sleep in the bed just yet. The evening and night go great. We are so happy to be home. I swear, the heaviest thing I lifted was Davy- all 6.5 lbs of him.

Saturday, December 27, 2008: I wake up and even after being awake for a good part of the night, I don't really feel tired (oxytocin still at work I think). But something is definitely wrong. My eyes feel hot. I normally run around 97.7, temperature-wise, so I can almost always tell when I have a fever, even low-grade. I check it and it is high enough to call the doctor (the on-call doc). She asks how my incision looks- just the same, no redness, it's just fine. I have no other symptoms so the doctor posits that it could be my milk coming in and that the situation doesn't seem dire enough for me to go to the ER unless I just want to (who the heck wants that if they don't have to do it?!). I ask if I should take Tylenol to help keep the fever down and she says yes. We monitor the fever throughout the day. It goes as high as 101 at one point, and only a little while after taking the fever-reducer. My mom and Robby encourage me to take a cold shower. Ugh. I start to cry because I am chilled from the fever and in a bit of pain from the whole milk-coming-in inevitability. I do it anyway because I don't want to end up in the hospital. I cry through the whole thing, but Robby helps me through it. Finally the fever starts to hover around 99- still high for me, but low enough that it isn't an issue from a medical standpoint.

Sunday, December 28, 2008: My fever is still down for the most part. I check in with the on-call doctor. She says I seem to be doing well, just to check in with my regular OB on Monday. My mother goes home since my fever seems to be doing better.

Monday, December 29, 2008: The fever is low in the morning. I don't feel fantastic. I am starting to notice puffiness in the area of my incision, but no redness. We take Davy to his first pediatrician's visit. Poor guy gets a heel-stick, but handles it like a champ. After his visit we go see my doctor. My fever is up in the 100 degree range again in the office. The doctor looks at my incision and says he thinks there is a hematoma beneath the muscular fascia (a thin layer of connective tissue covering the muscles). He says that he is worried about me, prescribes antibiotics, and says he wants to see me on Wednesday if my fever will stay down. If my fever doesn't stay down, I will have to be admitted to the hospital for at least three days for IV antibiotics. I also need to stop taking Tylenol because Percocet has acetomenophin in it already, so I switch to Motrin. When I left the office, I was in tears...again. At this point I am terrified of having to go into the hospital and not having Davy with me. The idea of three days without your one week old baby is excruciating. [Even now, I don't think I could handle it very well, but certainly better than I could have then.]

Tuesday, December 30, 2008: I don't remember the events of this day. I think my fever stayed down for the most part. We must have taken it easy. It might have gone up again in the evening, now that I think about it. I remember looking down at Davy and crying, thinking that I was going to have to leave him. It could have been any one of these nights, though. I'm pretty sure that was a nightly routine for me during this time.

Wednesday, December 31, 2008: Back to the doctor. I'm doing ok. My fever is has been down in the morning for the past two days- even as low as 98.3- but as the day progresses and I start to move around it goes up, though not as high as 101 again. The doctor seems pleased, but says we aren't out of the woods yet. He is going to tell the on-call doctor about my situation so that she is knowledgeable if I have to call. But, praise the Lord we find out that if I have to go to the hospital then Davy can come too as long as there is always another person present to look after him, since he is no longer a patient. My father and his wife and their children come over for New Year's and to see Davy. It is nice to see them, but I am not feeling well and I know that it puts a damper on everyone's holiday. Sorry.

Thursday, Janurary 1, 2009: My dad and family go back home. Fever is mostly down. I spend most of the day on the sofa. A friend of ours has a birthday today and stops by since we can't join her and other friends for dinner. Around 9 or 9:30 I start to feel the tell-tale chills. I try to take my temperature discreetly. It reads 102-point-something. OH crap- sorry, there is no other more polite way to say it. I take it again. Same thing. I have to tell Robby. He says we have to call the doctor. The doctor says I have to be admitted through the ER and I should pack a bag. We hurriedly pack and bundle Davy up and leave. Thankfully, there are only a few people in the ER and we sit as far away from them as possible in attempt to keep Davy from catching any germs that might be floating around (he didn't thank goodness!). After 20-30 minutes they take us back. It is probably close to 11pm at this point. The nurse takes my vitals, we go to a private ER room. The ER doctor comes to look at me. He assumes that I have an infection as my fever is now 103.7. He tells us that the on-call doctor wants to start me on two or three different antibiotics. He asks if I am breastfeeding. I say yes. "You probably won't be, " he says. This statement is devastating. He leaves. I cry. A lot. I don't care what I have to do- I am going to feed that baby when all this is over. The doctor comes back- my doctor says I can breastfeed on these antibiotics. Despite everything, I am elated. So is Robby. Poor guy was convinced Davy wouldn't eat for him. Doctor leaves, comes back. I am going to have surgery. My doctor thought it over and with my fever as high as it is, she wants to open up the C-section to see if there is any pus in it (I secretly think the ER doc called and told her to do this. He didn't seem satisfied with the hematoma theory.). Sigh. Ok. I think I'll start using past-tense now...

The whole surgery bit was quite unexpected. During pregnancy I didn't do very much research on C-sections, so I had no idea that they sometimes were opened up again. The doctor on call arrived to tell me what was going on and what to expect. She said that she had thought it over and called my personal doctor- who was going to come up and help- and together they decided it was best to do the surgery. She said they would have to leave the wound open and that I would have to have a Wound VAC to help close it up. I think Robby and I might have chuckled at this point. Our choir director has had a Wound VAC for the past...geez, at least four months, maybe even five. He lovingly calls it "Etheldrita." She also said I would still be on the antibiotics, through which I could breastfeed but they were going to use general anesthesia for my surgery and I likely wouldn't be able to nurse for several hours following that. The anesthesist came in to discuss what we were going to do. He said that generally it was best to wait until I was well awake from the anesthesia to breastfeed, but that they were ordering me a lactation consultation and lactation would know what was best. **An aside: The lactation department at Brookwood is absolutely fabulous. They are nice, knowledgeable, and always follow up to see how you are doing.** He also said that they usually give patients a preliminary injection that helps them relax before the general anesthesia and surgery and it could stay in my system longer, causing problems for nursing, BUT since I seemed fairly relaxed that he thought we could go without it. The ER nurse came (lots of people coming in and out as you can see) to start my IV and to draw blood for a CBC (complete blood count). I think she stuck me twice for the CBC and twice for the IV- again, lots of bruising. At this point I think my bruises had bruises, haha. She put the IV in a terribly awkward place- right in the crook of my right arm. I could barely bend it. After all this...or maybe even through it, I can't remember...I nursed Davy one last time, taking in as much of him as I could. **A note on Davy: He was the absolute best baby through all of this mayhem. I can't even think of a time that he cried except when we gave him a sponge bath a few days later.** Also during all this, we were very concerned about what was going to happen with Robby and Davy. We had all our bags, plus Davy, and Robby was going to have to somehow transport all this somewhere on his own. If he was going to be in a waiting room somewhere, he might have needed help and we had no idea who to call who could get there in time. I had already been admitted, so we kept asking if our room was ready. Finally, after I changed into my gown and the OR nurses had come to transport me to surgery, we found out where our room was. Someone brought a large-person wheelchair for Robby to put all our baggage on and we all started off down the hall.

I had elevated the back of the hospital bed so that I could get better support while Davy was nursing in the ER; however, this was not a pleasant position as they were rolling me down the hall. I was starting to get anxious. I couldn't see Robby and Davy. I knew they were behind me, but I had no idea how they were faring. All I could think about was that if they needed me then I couldn't help them. I really can't even explain what I felt as they wheeled me through the dark halls. I guess it was anxiety- it's not something I feel often so I'm not sure I recognize it when it pops up. Maybe it was a combination of things- anxiety, frustration, disappointment, maybe even a little bit of fear. Something that had crossed my mind in the ER was "what if my uterus is infected and they have to give me a hysterectomy?" So much for being calm, but I tried to keep my brave face on. Robby and Davy parted ways with us at the elevator in the women's hospital. It was so surreal rolling through the hospital in the dark. All I could think about was whether Robby and Davy would be ok. I felt alone. My breaths started to catch in my chest a little bit. Rock music was playing as we arrived in the ER. They helped me onto the operating table, then went through the same routine of applying O2 and strapping my arms down. Ha, I'm not sure how I might react if I ever have to have my arms strapped down again. I might put up a fight next time. It's horrible. You feel utterly powerless during a time when you are already feeling vulnerable. The anesthesist and one of the doctors arrived. I remember the anesthesist saying that I would go to sleep and then what felt like several minutes passing before I lost consciousness. I don't think I dreamed. When I had my wisdom teeth taken out I had a dream that I was in my own mouth jumping from tooth to tooth, but I guess that anesthesia is a completely different beast.

I woke up in pain. I didn't expect that, either. With the C-section I didn't feel anything in recovery because, of course, I was totally numbed. I can't remember exactly the nature of the pain I had upon awakening, just that it was present and urgent. I don't think I made a lot of noise, but I had to do something so I started to moan softly. I think I remember the nurse saying, "She's awake and she's in pain." Then there was talk about starting my PCA pump. Haha, I started to try to breath through the hurting like I breathed through my contractions. I think the nurses got a little bit of a kick out of that. I guess an hour passed and they finally brought me upstairs to my room. I think it was around two or three a.m. Evidently the room was difficult to find because they had to stop once to ask for directions. It was on the same floor as post-partum, but on a different hall. I was pretty much lucidly awake by the time we arrived. I had to push myself over onto the bed in the room. Robby was feeding Davy. They had already gone through the expressed breastmilk and had had to start using the pre-mixed formula the hospital had given us when we went home the first time. I remember aching to be close to them. We had a wonderful nurse that night. She helped me with the pump that was sent up from lactation and brought me water. I had O2 on well into the next day and it severely dries out your throat and mouth.

Later in the morning...I guess it was around 5am because there was a shift change-our new nurse was Shelby, who was very nice but a little bit airheaded...lactation came and told me I could breastfeed as long as I didn't take the sleeping pill that was ordered for me. Apparently my blood count was low because the doctor ordered for me to be transfused with two units of blood. I've never had a blood transfusion before. It was strange. I think the transfusion was finished by the time my mom arrived and I only had the O2 on. Oh, right. Also early in the morning the ostomy nurses (wound care nurses) came to outfit me with my Wound VAC. First they had to remove all the dressing from my wound. Ow. Robby was very good about reminding me to press my PCA pump every six minutes during this time. It still hurt like...I don't know what. It's so hard to describe this pain. They always ask you to rate your pain on a scale of 1-10, 1 the lowest and 10 the highest, but what is the point of reference. The most intense pain I have ever felt was the pain of labor, but that is so different from the pain I experienced with the wound. I think you have to categorize. Anyway, they kept pulling piece after piece of gauze out of the wound. Then they measured it. I think it started out on that day at 14cm long, 2-3cm wide, and 1-2cm deep. Then they "installed" the Wound VAC. Here's how that works:

1. Cut a piece of this special foam to fit the shape an size of the wound.


2. Drape this special tape around the edges of the wound so that the foam doesn't come into contact with the skin after they...


3. ...jam the piece of foam into the wound.


4. Put more special tape over the piece of foam, then cut a hole in it.


5. Put another piece of foam on top of the hole in the tape and cut a hole in that. (This is called "the bridge.")


6. Fix a long tube over the top of the hole over the second piece of foam.


7. Attach the long tube to the the tube coming out of the Wound VAC.


8. Start suction.

The way the Wound VAC works- and I probably am not explaining it exactly right- is that it creates a negative pressure inside the wound so that the body wants to send cells there to repair a perceived trauma. This way it helps the wound to close without leaving an incredibly deep scar. Plus (I looked at the wound about a week later) there is all kinds of stuff just hanging there (I saw my fat layer and everything) so it covers that and all the layers can heal together rather than just being healed over. If that makes sense. The piece of foam they put in gets progressively smaller until you no longer need the VAC and everything heals over. Initially, the worst part of the VAC is having it changed. The first changing was....well, it was excruciating. They gave me a shot of Nubain beforehand....Nubain doesn't do anything for me. It doesn't even make me dizzy. No help there at all, kind of like Loritab for me- nada. During the first changing the nurse got most of the tape off (this tape is like...devil tape- after it was all finished my skin looked like it was made of plastic then peeled like a really bad sunburn) then just ripped it and the foam the rest of the way. It burned like crazy. Also after that first changing, my doctor came to remove a drain that had been put in during the surgery (This little thing was a major pest whenever I got out of bed to go to the bathroom. It would fall and jerk when I stood up, so I had to make sure I held it and lowered it gently when I did so.). It was stitched in place, so I thought it couldn't be terribly deep. Wrong! He pulled about five inches out. Stopped for a beat. Then kept pulling! All I can say is that I didn't scream, though I wanted to. Ah, I wish I could remember the name of that little thing so that this can be a warning to anyone of you who may have one of those some day.

Well, this has gotten out of hand. I'll end this Session here with the basic experience and get into the emotional aspects of that hospital stay and living with a Wound VAC in a separate Session.

This is the kind I had in the hospital. Luckily they have much smaller ones for toting around!

You can see the track here. That black thing in the pink bag is the VAC.
A side view.
The red dot is from the surgical drain.

It looks like a mouth

Milestone!

I was having a bit of a rough emotional day, but Davy cheered me up! He flipped over from his tummy to his back today!! Hooray Davy! I think he probably would have done it sooner, but I am constantly forgetting to do strict tummy time. I will definitely be sure to be better about it now.

A Few of My Favorite Things

The experience of meeting your baby for the first time is incomparable. They are so tiny and fragile (seeming). How can a bone be as tiny as the one in the tip of a baby's pinkie and still be functional?! The process of getting to know them starts with utter awe at everything they do. Then, you get to see the looks on your family's faces when they see the new addition for the first time, and that is a wonderful experience in and of itself. I hope I never forget the first time I met Davy and saw everyone else meet Davy. Since then, though, I have discovered so many different things that I love about him. Here are a few of my favorites:

• I love the way he smells. It's not the smell of baby products (the only thing we use on his is baby soap anyway). It is a truly unique smell. Kind of like baby kittens have a unique smell. Haha, I've often wondered if someone else's baby would smell differently to me.


• It sounds cliche, but I love watching him sleep. In that moment I know he is content and I don't worry about all the things that I should be or should not be doing for him. I love the smoothness of his face while he is sleeping- perfection.


• I love how alert he is...apparently even in comparison with other babies. The nurses in the hospital just raved about how alert and bright-eyed he was. That hasn't really changed a bit. He seems to take in the world around him with great curiosity and that gives me high hopes for his future (like I didn't already have them!).


• I love it when he smiles at me! Yesterday when I was feeding him he looked up and me and started to grin. I smiled back and he smiled bigger. Finally he had to break away from his lunch so he could give me a big smile and coo. It was heaven.


• Speaking of feeding, I love that no one else in the world will see him in exactly the same way that I do when he is nursing.
• I love his "burp face." Haha. Since he was born, he makes this funny face when Robby and I burp him. You just have to see it.

Quick Note about Sleeping

Davy has been sleeping for almost and hour and a half all by himself! He's laying on his side on top of the Boppy inside the play-yard. He even woke up a few times and went back to sleep on his own! One time he started to get a little frantic, so I put the paci in his mouth thinking, "you're not going to go for this, are you?" but he went back to sleep. Unbelievable! Especially after a rougher-than-usual night and so-so morning.

Session 3? Searching for Something Like Feeling Normal

Post-partum was full of surprises. First of all, I somehow skipped over the whole night sweats thing in all my reading about pregnancy and PP. I should have made some pajamas out of some old towels. Much more surprising were the emotions and thoughts I didn't expect to feel or have. In all the preparation and talk about going unmedicated/natural with the delivery I wanted to make sure I kept an open mind. Situations arise and plans have to change. That's the nature of childbirth and trying to do what is best for mom and baby. So, I never thought that I would feel so...wrong about it afterward. It didn't even hit me right away. The entire time I was in the hospital, I was perfectly fine. We went home on a Friday and on Sunday evening I looked at myself in the mirror and the thoughts hit me like a tidal wave. I didn't get to have my baby the way a woman should get to have her baby. I felt like some part of my femininity had been ripped away from me. I started to think about how the doctor said, "Well your next baby will be a planned C-section..." The full implication of those words were like an anvil. I might never get to have my baby that way = I might never fully feel like a woman. [At least those have been my thoughts.] Then I started to think about labor- how if I have a planned C-section there is a good chance I will never get to feel the pain of labor again. I am probably romanticizing it now because of that possibility, but I feel like that pain is a privilege. The pain is almost sweet. I was so excited to feel it because that meant that after all the waiting and planning I was finally going to meet Davy. It is a pain specially prescribed to women. It is trusted to us and belongs to us. I don't want to lose that. It lets us know that all our 10 months of hard work have not been in vain. On a lesser note, I don't want my child's birthday to just be selected for him or her. I want them to come in their own time (unless of course after 41 weeks they don't show signs of appearing on their own).
In recent days, I have been really dealing with having already had the C-section and I think I have made some break-throughs. First, though I have repeatedly told myself I don't feel this way, I think I am experiencing something like a feeling of failure. All my life, I have pretty much accomplished everything I have set myself to do. I'm just not accustomed to major things like this not working out for me. It's hard to keep in mind that it was really beyond my control to a certain extent. I keep thinking that maybe there was something I could have done differently- maybe if I had stood up longer, or been able (you can't really when you are attached to the monitors) walk around just a little bit more. But, truly, I did a good deal of that. I probably was standing for at least 5-7 hours of the labor. Then I think, well, we were SO close, maybe if I had just held on a little longer. The issue with that is exactly how long does one wait? Do you wait until you can't handle the contractions any longer, until you are too exhausted to push the baby out on your and you end up having the baby delivered by vacuum or forceps or C-section anyway? I was starting to fall asleep in between contractions, after all. But really, how long do you let it drag on? Until the risk of continuing is greater to the baby than the risk of C-section? I don't know.
I also never thought I would be the type of woman who would miss being pregnant, but I do...in a way. Like I mentioned in a previous post, I felt a sort of empowerment through my pregnant body. Towards the end of the pregnancy I did start to miss my small waist and my old clothes, but you don't get those back right away. I think the feeling of "missing" that body is really more a feeling of...shock or confusion. We go through 40 weeks of progressive change, which can be jarring when you really think about it at the time but it isn't quite so shocking because it is gradual. Then once the baby is delivered- BAM, rapid change. The problem is that rapid change is to a body that you have never seen before (if it's your first baby, I guess, I don't know how it is with subsequent ones...). It is a startling thing! The last body you were familiar with was your pregnant body so naturally that is something you would long for- because nothing is familiar anymore. There's nothing wrong with the unfamiliarity because it is the expansion of your family, your heart, but so much change is overwhelming at the very least.
On a lighter note- breastfeeding surprises! Again, we were very fortunate that Davy was a natural at the whole breastfeeding thing. I had expected it to be more difficult than it was. The only trouble we really had was that in the early days it was difficult to keep him awake during feedings (maybe something to do with the Percocet?). What I didn't expect was that breastfeeding could be so....messy. I think that virtually every surface in our house must have a little bit of milk on it from those first few weeks. Wow! Versailles had nothing on me!

Session 2: Be Careful What You Joke About

There are things I miss about being pregnant. I miss nesting, haha. I really did like the whole nesting thing. I love losing myself in a project and seeing the finished product when I'm finished. That's why I love knitting, I suppose. I miss the anticipation. Most of all, though, I guess I miss the fact that I'll never get another first time. I have heard that every pregnancy is different, and certainly every baby is different, but I'm just not sure anything is going to be able to match the magic of going through it all with completely fresh eyes, not knowing quite what to expect. I hate that I'm never going to get another first chance at labor and delivery again.... of course that's what really has me down; why I first considered writing this blog. I may never get another chance at going through labor at all. I suppose I may be more fortunate than those women who never get to experience labor at all, who have a scheduled C-section early on. I wonder, though, is it better to have labored and "lost" than to never have labored at all?

Childbirth is sort of funny....sort of cruelly funny. You spend 37 weeks praying that you don't go into early labor, then the next couple of weeks you do everything you can to encourage that baby to make his appearance, then about a week or so after he arrives you just wish you could rewind to being pregnant because that was the last time you felt the most normal (and also protect the baby from the sick children whose crazy parents bring them into the WELL CHILD waiting room at the pediatrician's office!! Seriously, what is going on with that?! Have I just not been a parent long enough to understand it?).

The day before Davy was born (a day which I have been replaying minute for minute in my head for the past six weeks) was my actual due date, Monday, December 22nd. We went to the doctor that morning, not expecting any change from the time before (and there wasn't), to check on things and schedule an induction for the following week. I was positive that we would be there for that induction, haha. I said to several people, "We're going to have to drag him out kicking and screaming." Then to my surprise, I woke up with period-like cramps around five o'clock the next morning. After waiting to see if the contractions were somewhat consistent, I finally told Robby I thought I needed to get out of bed and take a warm bath around 5:30. The bath was great, but the material our tub is made of feels like ice even with hot water in it so it was a little hard to relax. We waited some more and started timing the contractions. I got in our glider and it seemed like they slowed down, but then picked back up. By 8 or 9 the contractions were coming much more intensely- mostly in my back, and that was throughout the entire labor (I made a lot of use out of hot blankets and applied pressure for some relief)- and much closer together. We called the doctor, who said to go on tp labor and delivery. However, I was pretty hungry at this point so we walked over to the neighborhood grocery store (stopping a few times along the way and in the store for contractions because I couldn't walk through them anymore) for some popsicles. We got those Whole Fruit kind, lemon flavored. I think we still have a few left. Oh, I forgot until just now, we also got some rice to put in a tube sock for my back. Ok, continuing- we stayed home for about an hour after that then went on to the hospital. We would have stayed longer because I was handling the pain just fine and didn't intend to get medication of any kind anyway, but I tested positive for Group B Strep when I was 36 weeks, meaning that I needed IV antibiotics during labor to prevent the baby from being infected (it doesn't happen often, but when it does it is very serious so why risk it? I would much rather I be uncomfortable for a few hours than him be sick).

The drive to the hospital was....haha, fun and not fun. The weather was nasty and we took the back way to the hospital, which is kind of bumpy, so that we could turn right into the parking lot and the contractions don't stop for transportation, but we were so thrilled and excited and disbelieving that we were going to finally meet Davy that day! Anyways, we get to labor and delivery and it seems that the doctor's office has not actually called to tell them that we were coming, but they got right into a room anyway. I changed and got my IVs- it took three tries to get one in, I still had bruises from those when I went back into the hospital a week later- and monitors started while Robby finished up our admission paperwork. We were sort of convinced that we might have come prematurely or it might be false labor, but I was already dilated to five centimeters when we were admitted. "We're off to a good start!" the doctor said. Then, we found out that I had to be hooked up to the monitors the entire time :/ (the nurse in our unmedicated delivery class said that it is sometimes an option to only be monitored 15 minutes out of every hour, but I guess that depends on you doctor) so my mobility became severely restricted. I was still able to get out of the bed and stand- which is mostly what we did, I leaned against Robby and breathed through the contractions while he pressed on my back to help with that pain- or use the birthing ball (which was ok, but not all that impressive for me). They had a little bit of trouble keeping the monitors in the right spot because of my small size. Around 7cm, the doctor asked if I was ready to have my water broken, BUT HE ASKED IN THE MIDDLE OF A CONTRACTION AND THEN LEFT!!! Did he really think he got an accurate answer? Well, he probably wasn't thinking about that. I continued to breath through the contractions, though as time went on my breaths got much shorter. Another of my tactics was thinking of yoga stretches or choir songs during contractions, sometimes both- it worked pretty well actually! I really, really think that I could have made it if things hadn't stalled out. I managed to stay upright the entire time, even when I was in the bed, but around six pm Davy's head still wasn't moving down. I was 9cm and maybe a little less at this point so the doctor broke my water and inserted an internal monitor to see how strong my contractions really were. He gave me another hour to progress, but then we would have to start Pitocin and talk about a C-section if that didn't work. An hour later, no change- the doctor seemed to think maybe the contractions either weren't strong enough or weren't close enough together to move things along. He told the nurse to start Pitocin and suggested that an epidural might be a good idea since I would have to have one anyway to have a C-section. I agreed to the epidural with hopes that it actually might help my progression. I think the anesthesiologist was a little surprised to be giving an epidural to someone already at 9cm, but was very nice and very quick. After they started the Pitocin, it seemed like Davy's heart dropped. All of sudden there were about five nurses surrounding me, flipping me from one side to the other, tapping on Davy's head (yes, from the inside, thank goodness I was pretty numb at this point....though I have often, jokingly, considered "well if they were in there tapping on his head, why didn' they just go ahead and pull him out?!" ha, if only), shoving an oxygen mask on my face. Finally things seemed to normalize. I sort of wonder if it was an actual drop in his heart rate in response to the Pitocin or if maybe the monitors slipped again. Probably the former, I think. So glad it was resolved. Ok, the doctor came back in and checked me. I have no idea if I had progressed or not. They had me push twice, I guess to see if Davy would move down a little. He must not have, because the doctor started apologizing that we would have to do the C-section after all our planning and hard work. Sigh.

At the time Robby was more upset by the C-section than I was. I think all that oxytocin from labor enables moms to make decisions to just do what seems best for our babies without regard really to what it means to mom at the time or what it will mean later. Looking back, it's amazing how relaxed I was about it. I'm not a panicker by nature, but I thought that I would at least be a little more regretful (I guess I saved it all for now!). Let's see, I remember Robby putting his OR garb on, but I don't really remember them rolling me to the OR. They rolled me on to the operating table, then strapped my arms down (apparently people have the tendency to reach forward when they feel the pressure of the doctors taking the baby and placenta out). My shoulders were very tensed up and no matter how I tried I could not relax them. It was a strange sensation. They put the curtain up and said they were about to start. Whoa! Where is my husband?! I was afraid they had forgotten him, silly me. Robby arrived and they started. I don't know if the OR teams know this, but you can totally see the entire surgery in the reflection of the special overhead lights- I watched the whole thing. The nurse anesthetist kept us apprised of what was going on (like I couldn't see it for myself ;) ). She warned me that there was about to be pressure when they took the baby out. "This is your labor" she said. HAHAHA! Right. Then we heard him. That first cry is amazing. It's frustrating not being able to hold him right away. I was able to watch them clean him up on a little tv screen. They called Robby over and let him carry Davy out to recovery while the doctors closed me back up. The closing was interminable. I kept watching and waiting, listening to the doctors mutter something about "I've never seen that before..." Still don't know what that was. I guess it wasn't important enough for them to tell me about it and I forgot to ask the next day. In the midst of this, the upper half of my body started shaking uncontrollably. I was prepared to be cold, but this wasn't from cold. It was a bit of a surprise. I was still shaking when they FINALLY rolled me to recovery 30 minutes after Davy was delivered.

I finally got to hold my baby! Much later than I would have liked, but I wouldn't trade that first moment for anything. He wasn't crying. The nurse gave him to me skin-to-skin. We decided to try breastfeeding and in two seconds he had an absolutely perfect latch. So lucky after everything we had been through!!

Well, that's pretty much it. We had the typical 72 hour stay in the hospital after the C-section. Celebrated Christmas and everything. Davy was wonderful. We were wonderful. No troubles. Sorry for the epic post! I'll cover post-partum next time.

Week Six

Davy was six weeks old this past Tuesday! It's absolutely unbelievable how quickly those six weeks have passed. And I thought pregnancy flew by! I guess the next 18 or so years are going to be a blur. Here's a brief run-down of the past week until now:

Monday: My first day alone with Davy during the day. I must admit I was a little nervous. However, aside from our continuing issue with naps, the day went well. I was even able to take a shower! I settled him in his bouncy chair right there in the bathroom, turned on some classical music (Handel's Water Music, actually, which is kind of funny now that I think about it) and he was wonderfully content. I think the key to this was that I did it right after a feeding when he was most likely to be happy- success!

Tuesday: This was a great day for Davy. He woke up happy, took long (well, for him maybe) naps in his bassinet, and clocked in about 10 minutes of tummy-time! We are having to work on the tummy-time thing because he didn't get as much as I would have liked for him to during his first three weeks because of me being either in the hospital or in too much discomfort to get on the floor with him. He was in a very jolly mood all day- cooing and "giggling" and all kinds of things. I got a great picture of him smiling at the mobile that I "doctored" for him (the bears were plain white! not interesting at all, so I got a fabric marker and drew bullseyes and zig-zags on them; he likes it much better now). Also, I went to the doctor on this day (again, I've been at least once a week since the second week of November). He looked at my wound and then called the wound care nurses to come see what they thought. I don't actually think that he knows too much about what was going on with my wound and everything. I mean, he is an older doctor so he has probably seen a lot- he just hasn't really been acting like it. Anyway, the nurses said it looked like it was time to let the wound dry out and scab over- so no more bandages at all! Which is really a relief. Even without the Wound VAC, changing a bandage with gel and vaseline gauze and dry gauze and the whole nine yards takes up a lot of time when you are also trying to meet the needs of a newborn. Oh! I don't have to go back for another four weeks! Unbelievable! I won't know what's going on when I'm not driving to Brookwood Hospital any day next week! Overall, Tuesday= Good day.

Wednesday: Not as good a day. Davy was a little fussy and did not want to take naps longer than 20 minutes. His good moods were occasional. Oh well.

Thursday (today): So far, not so bad. He woke up on the wrong side of the bed. He's never been that fussy first thing in the morning before. I knew he wasn't hungry. I changed his diaper. I gave him some Gripe Water (by the way- that stuff is a miracle for stopping the hiccups 9/10 times). Finally, I put him skin-to-skin on my chest and after a few minutes he relaxed. I think he might have been cold. It has been WAY too chilly lately. I can't wait for it to warm up so that we can perhaps start a daily walk. He's sleeping now; we'll see how long it lasts...

Session 1- Pregnancy and Before, or Beyond

Robby and I are very lucky. For lots of reasons! One, and this is particularly mushy, but we "found" each other. Really, we more noticed each other in a new way after having spent several months a year for about eight years in close proximity at Playhouse in the Park. I remember conversations we used to have. During a production of Scrooge in which Robby was Scrooge and I was the Ghost of Christmas Past, Robby told me that he liked doing our scenes much better with me than with the other girl cast in my role. I don't think either of us would ever have dreamed then that we would someday get married and have a family together, but here we are! Oh, that's also where we are lucky. In March we decided to have a baby and I think as soon as we spoke those words it must have happened.

Our original plan, developed in the first few months after our marriage in June 2006, was to wait five years before we started trying to have children. At the time I had one year of undergraduate study left and was already planning to attend graduate school- a total of at least 3 years, possibly four. Also, I was- and am- quite young when we got married, a currently-out-of-style 20 years of age (though several ladies in my cohort got married within months of me). However, being 30 when we were married, Robby changed his mind about a year later, maybe less, stating that he was ready when I was but that he didn't want to be 35 having his first child. I don't remember saying much at the time, but about six months later, in December, we started having our first....discussions- they were sometimes much closer to arguments- about starting a family. I was at the point that during "a certain time of the month" I would feel a sort of loss, like something potentially wonderful but yet intangible was slipping through my fingers. I would think, "Well, maybe...." and bring this up to Robby (Yes, a mistake- don't say something like that if you aren't really and truly prepared to follow through quickly. I have learned my lesson for next time.) but as soon as my hormones re-regulated I would let my more rational mind take back over and decided to put it off some more. Then, in March, Robby's father passed away. He was the fourth person we had lost from our collective families within a year's time (starting with my niece in March 2007, then Robby's Aunt Chrissy in August 2007, followed by his grandmother in early November, and finally that last, harsh blow). I started to think about how the people important to us make up little pieces of us. I really don't want my children to miss any more pieces than they have to. If that makes any sense. Furthermore, though I don't think I've actually said this to Robby, I want our children to have as much time with their father and he with them as possible. I'm so afraid of that premature loss. Well, all of that to say that plans change. Ours certainly did, and I don't regret it for a second.

Pregnancy was unbelievably easy for me. No morning sickness and only slight fatigue in the first trimester and in the last five or so weeks. I did have some major leg cramps in the last few weeks, but Robby was a terrific leg-masseur. Overall, though, it was a wonderful time. Since puberty I have been overly conscious and critical of my body, but I felt truly confident in my physique for the first time while I was pregnant. Not to say I wasn't abundantly annoyed by my severely diminished wardrobe, but with that aside I felt pretty. I felt...purposeful in my physicality. It's hard to describe exactly the difference in the way I viewed myself before and the way I viewed myself during. I wish I could go back to that feeling! I know a lot of women who have expressed a feeling of emptiness in the weeks following their deliveries. I loved the feeling of Davy's kicks and twists, but I don't miss them because he kicks me plenty still ;). However, I do feel...deflated, even though I was never a very large pregnant woman (in comparison to others I saw around the waiting room, that is. I was pretty large for me). It's amazing how quickly those 40 weeks pass. I wonder how it will feel next time, if I am fortunate enough to experience it all again.

From left to right: About 15 weeks, right before we found out we were having a boy; October 11th, so about 29 weeks, I think?; I think this was either the Sunday before Davy was born or the previous Sunday- I know it was a Sunday because that was my choir shirt and I did sing all the way up to the Sunday before, woohoo! I must have better breath capacity than I thought!

First Attempt

Let's see how long this thing lasts. Today is February 3rd. I'll start with a small goal of four weeks- that's the next time I go to the doctor (to whom I have gone at least once a week for the past three months!). So March 3rd. If I make it that long, I'll set a higher goal. We'll just have to see.



Anyway, my purpose for this whole blogging attempt is varied. Since Davy was born- and even before- much has occurred in my life (and Davy's of course- I'm not sure anyone in the entire world changes more from my perspective at this moment!), both physically and mentally/emotionally. So one morning, after Davy finished his six a.m. breakfast and my mind was racing through the past months, I finally decided that the best way for me to sort through these occurrences is to write about them and also document my and Davy's days together in the process. In other words, this is a journaling process- or at least an attempt at one (as the first paragraph of this entry should indicate, I'm not really one for maintaining a journal). I intend to be [mostly] honest, and even somewhat explicit (not in an R-rated sort of way, but let this be a warning to anyone reading who may be squeamish about things like breastfeeding and childbirth and potentially other decidedly feminine experiences) about my emotions and experiences. I'm counting on this blog to be somewhat therapeutic and I am completely open to and expectant of commentary.


And to conclude this introductory entry, here's a special treat! This was taken on his one month birthday!