Week 42: Birth Day!

Welcome Baby Miles! Our son was born on June 8, 2006, at 12:40 p.m. I went into labor the day before I was scheduled to be induced. (I’m sensing Miles will be a bit of a procrastinator like his dad.) I soon learned that despite months of preparation, classes, books, and advice from friends and family, childbirth rarely goes as planned.

I will spare my readers most of the gory details. I’d hate to be one of those women who regales others with her labor horror stories. Anyway, it wasn’t exactly horrible. Just long. Really, really long. I intended to labor at home as long as possible before going to the hospital. So when I started getting contractions on Tuesday night, I tried to remain as calm as possible and went to bed. The next morning I was still having them, now about 30 minutes apart, so C. stayed home from work.

We took a long walk with the dog, I did some yoga, we ate lunch, I finished “The Nanny Diaries,” and we generally just tried to keep busy. By 6 p.m., my contractions were about 4 minutes apart, so we decided to head to the hospital. Imagine my disbelief when the doctor on duty informed me I was only 1 ½ cm dilated. Are you kidding me?! She also told me that active labor is technically defined as contractions plus dilation, and I appeared to only be experiencing the first part.

The doctor invited us to stroll the halls for a few hours, or go back home. I felt like crying. If the hundreds of miles I’d logged in my last month of pregnancy – not to mention several evenings of marching up and down the stairs in desperation – hadn’t done the trick, I doubted a leisurely stroll around the waiting room would do it. Besides, I was scheduled for induction at 6 a.m. the next morning, so what was the point of going home?

My doula arrived with homemade cookies. (My original doula, that is.) By this time, they had a room ready for us. Margo massaged my back during contractions and fetched me water. She and C. slept uncomfortably on hospital chairs while I lay on the bed wishing the baby would hurry up already. At some point, the doctors decided to give me Pitocin. Sometime during the night I requested an epidural. Margo went home to send her kids off to school. Time passed ever so slowly. Then I started feeling the urge to push. I was 10 cm at last! We called Margo and told her to come back to the hospital. Here’s the Reader’s Digest version of the rest.

Low points:
- What felt like the longest labor in history.
- An epidural that never quite worked on my left side.
- A pair of midwives (invited by whom?) barking at me to stop whining and frowning – 3 hours after I’d started pushing. No, I’m not kidding.
- The doctors having to use a suction cup to get the baby’s head out.
- The pediatricians whisking away the baby before we’d even seen him due to the meconium situation. (Translation: He pooped in the womb and needed help breathing. Gross, but not that uncommon.)

High points:
- The popsicles we’d brought with us. The best thing I ever tasted!
- C. staying by my side the whole time, and his reaction when he first saw the baby coming out.
- Margo’s constant calm, soothing presence.
- Most of the nurses and the doctor who delivered the baby were super-friendly and supportive.
- Seeing our gorgeous baby boy for the first time! He had these huge, dark eyes that just stared and stared at us.

It’s been three weeks now since Miles was born. Of course we think he’s the best and most adorable baby ever. In some ways, our pre-baby life feels like forever ago. In other ways, we’re still adjusting. The other night I came home after running a few errands by myself and was startled to hear a baby crying when I walked in the door. Then I remembered, “Oh, yeah, I’m a mom now!”

I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep up the weekly installments of this journal, but I plan to try. Life with a baby is nothing if not interesting. And I definitely can’t rely on my overtaxed brain to remember everything if I don’t write it down!

Week 41: The Best Laid Plans

I’m a week overdue, my OB/GYN just quit, and my doula has gone out of town. No, I’m not kidding. Actually, losing my doctor is not that big a deal. She’s one of five female OBs in a group practice, all of whom see every patient several times, so she’s “my” doctor only in the sense that her name is on all the forms. I’ve known all along that any one of the doctors could be on call when I deliver my baby.

As for the doula, well, I can hardly expect her to put her life on hold till this baby decides to show up. She postponed a family trip last weekend since that’s when I was due. I could tell she felt bad. She found me a back-up, but I’ve decided it’s not worth the hassle.

See, like my original doula, the back-up doula is an Orthodox Jew, which means that she can’t drive a car, handle money, or answer the phone on the Sabbath or any Jewish holiday. Just my luck, one happens to fall on this weekend. What that means is, if I go into labor, we will have to call her cell phone and let it ring twice. That’s the signal to tell her we’re coming to pick her up on our way to the hospital. Can you picture C. and me – who don’t do so well with directions under the best of circumstances – driving around a strange neighborhood at 3 a.m. while I’m bent in half with contractions, looking for the third white house on the left after the drycleaners?

I’m trying not to give the baby the impression that he or she is inconveniencing everybody, even though it’s sort of true. My dad just got bilked out of a party to celebrate his 65th birthday and retirement because my mom figured they’d be here visiting the baby and didn’t plan anything. Plus, he hoped his first grandchild might be born on his birthday, June 1, but that day’s come and gone.

I’ve continued to try all the tricks to bring on labor (the latest is eating lots of pineapple) to no avail. My (back-up) doctor has scheduled me to be induced next Thursday if the baby doesn’t arrive before that. Today, C. and I went to the hospital for a fetal non-stress test and a sonogram to check the level of amniotic fluid. Everything looks fine.

We even got to see the baby for the first time since my last sonogram four months ago. It’s got fat cheeks and big feet! The nurse actually laughed out loud and said, “The baby looks mad. Look at that scrunched-up face and those chubby cheeks! It looks like it’s storing up nuts for winter!” She continued laughing way past the point that it was appropriate. It hurt my feelings a little. How dare she imply that our baby is funny-looking! Even though, I have to admit, that fat little mad face was pretty funny.

Maybe the baby will get mad enough to come out this weekend. But not till Sunday night – that’s when my doula gets back and can answer the phone again.

Week 40: Any Day Now …

Books read in the past week:
“Little Earthquakes,” by Jennifer Weiner
“Digging to America,” by Anne Tyler
“Nights of Rain and Stars,” by Maeve Binchy
Assorted chick-lit paperbacks that caught my eye in the library

Movies watched in the past week:
Rumor Has It
Junebug
Over the Hedge
The DaVinci Code

Phone calls from friends and relatives in the past week:
too many to count

My due date has come and gone. Even though my doctor says that first babies are, on average, six days late, I didn’t think it would happen to me. But here I am, still pregnant at 40 weeks. Technically, the baby is only a couple of days late. And, as I’ve been reminded infinite times during my pregnancy, predicting the due date is not an exact science. Still, I was discouraged when at my last appointment, the doctor reported that nothing was happening. At all. She prescribed evening primrose oil and sex to “get things moving.”

Now, everyone and her sister has a trick for jumpstarting labor. Some swear by spicy food, others insist that long walks, a glass of wine, or a hot bath work wonders. And, of course, there’s the sex suggestion. The theory is, that’s what got the baby in there in the first place, and it can help get the baby out. Only before the baby was in there, you probably weren’t carrying around an extra 35 lbs. and a basketball-sized belly. You probably still had ankles, could fit rings on your unswollen fingers, and didn’t grunt every time you changed position.

So it’s only natural that some of the other suggestions would seem a wee bit more appealing. In the past week I’ve tried: spicy drunken noodles from the Thai place (twice), the Victorian-sounding primrose oil capsules (which get stuck in my throat), daily walks (torture on my sore hips and pelvis), a hot bath, a few glasses of wine, yoga, bouncing on my exercise ball, visualization, massage, and having C. issue stern statements to the baby indicating that we’re ready for him or her to be born.

The amount of phone calls we get these days is comical. I haven’t been this popular since I was the first of my college roommates to get a car. My mother calls daily, and has taken to pretending she’s calling for reasons other than to find out if the baby is on its way. (Sure, Mom, whatever.) If I don’t answer the phone, people panic and start calling everyone else I know to see if THEY know if I’m off having the baby. Believe me, people, when I do YOU’LL KNOW!! I’ll broadcast it on the radio and take out a front-page ad in the newspaper.

Of course, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie beat me to it this weekend by giving birth to the most anticipated celebrity baby ever (a daughter named Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt) -- ON MY DUE DATE. Maybe my baby’s just waiting for the publicity to die down before he/she makes his/her appearance.

Week 39: Have You Had that Baby Yet?

So much for my mother’s prediction that this baby would be early. Even though I haven’t reached the 40-week mark, I’m starting to get anxious. I’ve officially started my maternity leave, the car seat’s installed, the bassinet’s set up – there’s nothing left to do but wait for the baby to decide to be born.

I’m not the only one who’s impatient to greet this little person. My phone’s ringing constantly these days – my mother, mother-in-law, sister-in-law, friends, “just calling to see how you’re doing.” (Translation: Did you have that baby yet?!) I’m tempted to joke, “Oh, yeah, thanks for the reminder. We actually DID have the baby a couple weeks ago. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you!”

My friend E.G. was visiting from the West Coast this past weekend. “Are you going to have the baby while I’m here?” she asked eagerly, eyeing my ready-to-pop belly. But it didn’t happen. My dad is attending a conference nearby and had tentatively planned to stop over afterward to meet his new grandchild. But alas, he/she didn’t make his/her debut. I know it’s disappointing for people, but what can you do? The baby will come when the baby darn well wants to come.

I’ve tried to speed things along. C. and I went out for Thai food the other night. I had been thinking the spicy drunken noodles were the golden key to jumpstarting labor. No dice. I’ve been taking long, daily walks with the dog, which only cause me to take to the couch for the rest of the day to recover. (Having an approximately 7 lb. weight with sharp knees and elbows hanging low in your pelvis is PAINFUL, people!) Last night I even bounced on my yoga ball for a good 20 minutes, hoping to jar the baby loose.

So I guess there’s nothing left to do but wait. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go record a message on our answering machine: “If you’re calling to find out if we had the baby yet, press 1. If you’re calling to ask how the mother-to-be is feeling, press 2. If you’re calling to ask when the baby will arrive, please hang up and dial the Psychic Friends Network.”

Weeks 37 & 38: Leisure Pursuits for Preggos

Somehow, I got a week behind. Quite possibly because once you’re in the final stretch, there’s not all that much to report except YES, I’m still pregnant; NO, the doctor has no idea when the baby might arrive; YES, I realize I should enjoy my peace and quiet while I can; and NO, we (still!) have not officially decided on baby names, and even if we had I wouldn’t tell you so stop asking.

So I pass my time reading (three novels in the past week), watching movies (Netflix can’t send them fast enough these days), and going to the gym when I have the energy. It’s not as ambitious as it sounds. I pretty much just plunk myself on the recumbent bike with the latest US Weekly and pedal leisurely for as long as it takes to read about Paris Hilton’s latest exploits and who wore what hideous outfit to which awards show.

Still, I’m somewhat of a spectacle amidst the mostly slim, Lycra-clad set. My maternity workout clothes do little to camouflage my gi-normous midsection. In the elevator and on the elliptical machines, women eye me up and ask, “When are you due?” Most of them nearly fall off the treadmill when I say a couple of weeks. “Wow, you’re brave,” said one lady, inching away as if she expected my water to break at any moment. Well, what else do I have to do these days? At least the gym offers a change of scenery and clean towels.

The other project that’s been helping to pass the time is my birth announcements. I decided it would be fun to make them myself. That was before I visited four craft stores in as many days searching for the perfect paper, spent hours trolling the Internet for matching envelopes, and endured countless paper cuts making several sample announcements. I began having flashbacks to my wedding, when I decided it would be fun (fun!) to personally make 300+ shell-shaped chocolates for our guests.

At least I only have to come up with 75 birth announcements, but mass production sort of takes the fun out of any creative endeavor. And, of course, there’s the issue of not knowing the baby’s sex and, therefore, name. So I’m limited to gender-neutral colors and will have to add the specifics later. In the meantime, I will busy myself with affixing 75 bows to 75 cards with 75 miniature pastel pins. How’s that for fun?

Week 36: No, *I* Have it Worse

Now I know why pregnant women waddle. It’s because we have a crick in our back from trying to get comfortable in a bed that suddenly seems the size of a Saltine. No matter how many pillows we wedge around our swollen selves, there’s still some body part that’s being pinched or smushed. Especially the bladder. Nocturnal bathroom trips have increased exponentially.

We have also developed odd hitches in our hips and pelvis. Things are shifting literally overnight, so that we might spring (OK, roll) out of bed one morning to find that we suddenly can’t lift our right leg and it hurts to bend down to put on the dog’s leash. The last trimester’s no picnic, people.

I figure I’ve earned the right to complain since the beginning of my pregnancy went so smoothly. But I suddenly have competition in the complaining department: my husband. See, he got his wisdom teeth out last week. At age 33, just days before a business trip. (Didn’t seem like a good idea to me, either.) Needless to say, he has been experiencing some discomfort. He’s popping painkillers like Tic-Tacs, and tossing and turning all night. Now, having had my own hellacious wisdom tooth experience not that long ago, I’m sympathetic – to a point.

But on the fourth consecutive day of such statements as, “It’s so hard to concentrate/sleep/be in a good mood when you’re uncomfortable all the time” and “This is the worst pain I’ve ever felt” and the topper, “Now I have some idea of what you’ll be going through – times five, of course.” Excuse me?! Childbirth vs. wisdom tooth extraction. CHILDBIRTH vs. wisdom tooth extraction. Does he really think he needs to explain what it’s like to be uncomfortable 24/7? Try dealing with that for NINE MONTHS, I want to snarl. Does he really think having a couple of teeth pulled is anywhere near equivalent to pushing an entire human being out of a part of your body that’s stretched to 10 times its normal size?

But I don’t say anything. At least not too often. I just smile sympathetically, get us both a bowl of ice cream and prop up my swollen ankles.

Week 35: Reading List

We’re backpedaling on our names. I thought we had FINALLY decided, but I’m having second thoughts, especially about our boy’s name. It’s such an enormous decision. And that one name I thought was perfect partially because it’s uncommon? I’ve come across it at least five times in the past week. So I’m back to trolling the baby name web sites.

According to one site, the name Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes chose for their baby girl, Suri, means “wealthy” in Armenian and/or “go away” in Hebrew. How unfortunate. Or, perhaps, intentional.

I’m also having second thoughts about the baby’s room. Now that all the junk we were storing in there is cleared away, it looks rather bare. And sort of mismatchy. But our decorating funds have run low, so there’s not much more I can do at this point. Damn that Pottery Barn Kids catalog that came in the mail this week!

We still have to buy some basics, such as diapers, a diaper pail, a changing pad, and some other stuff I’m sure I’ve forgotten. (Do babies need socks in May?) Despite the months of preparation, I’m feeling pretty unprepared still. It’s hard to believe they just let you take home this fragile little person after a couple of days, without even having to pass a test or anything.

In the meantime, I’ve been getting my knowledge from books. Plus, I’m trying to cram in all the reading I can while I have the time and attention span. In no particular order, here’s my pregnancy reading list:

“The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy,” by Vicki Iovine
Even though it was published 10 years ago, this book is still quite relevant and very funny. The author pulls no punches, whether she’s talking about maternity-wear mishaps or pregnancy sex. I do, however, take issue with her “why bother” perspective on exercise during pregnancy.

“Waiting for Birdy: A Year of Frantic Tedium, Neurotic Angst, and the Wild Magic of Growing a Family,” by Catherine Newman
Started as a journal on Babycenter.com, this book chronicles the author’s second pregnancy and her first son’s toddlerhood. The best parts are anecdotes about the precocious 3-year-old; the worst, often-hefty doses of the tedium and angst mentioned in the title.

“Operating Instructions,” by Anne Lamott
A quick, entertaining read about a single mom raising her unplanned son on her own. At times, Lamott’s confessional style is a little much.

“My Boys Can Swim!: The Official Guy’s Guide to Pregnancy,” by Ian Davis
I bought this for my husband, who never managed to finish it, even though it’s barely 100 pages. I thought it was a witty, if lightweight, account of a guy’s perspective on procreation. Lots of discussion about not calling your wife fat and how to avoid things you don’t want to see in the delivery room.

“Breeder: Real-Life Stories from the New Generation of Mothers,” Ariel Gore & Bee Lavender, eds.
An anthology of pregnancy-related essays, many by atypical moms, e.g. unwed, tattooed, lesbian, proponents of home birth, ones who name their kids Lizard.

“From Here to Maternity: The Education of a Rookie Mom,” by Beth Teitell
The book I wish I’d written. Real, funny anecdotes about raising two small sons. I especially liked the chapters on the “new grandparents” (off getting Botoxed and doing Pilates instead of babysitting and baking cookies) and tricking her kids out of Halloween.

“Freakonomics,” by Steven D. Levitt & Stephen J. Dubner
Solely for the chapter on baby-naming trends. You’ll see why, although it’s a lovely name, we won’t be naming our daughter Avery. Apparently, it’s the new Madison.

Week 34: April Showers

Most frequently asked questions:
Are you sick of being pregnant? (Answer: yes!)

Uncomplimentary comments people don’t think twice about voicing:
Look how funny your stomach looks! It’s like a shelf.
(From an OB nurse who should know better)

Current symptoms:
Itchy belly
General feeling of hugeness

Current number of friends who are pregnant:
3 (not including J.G., who gave birth to a baby girl last week!)

My pregnant friends are dropping like flies. Or, I should say, are popping out babies like flies … or something. Baby Oliver and Baby Lily have come into the world at last! I got to visit T. and Oliver in the hospital last weekend, where they are keeping him for a little while because he was born almost a month early. He looked so tiny in his little plastic salad bin in the NICU! He’s an adorable, non-squishy little guy with a head of blond peach fuzz.

I was shocked, though, when the nurse picked him up and his little ear was folded over and stuck flat to his head. She just said, “Oh, he was just sleeping on it. The cartilage will stiffen that right up soon,” and nonchalantly bent it back in place like a piece of Play-Doh!

You would think that being in such close proximity to a newborn would sort of drive home the message that I’m next, but oddly, it didn’t. I still can’t quite grasp that the squirmy little being inside me is going to be coming out in just a few weeks. It’s currently part of me, yet soon it will be separate from me. Mind boggling!

After the hospital, my friend L. picked up my visiting mother-in-law and me to bring us to the top-secret location of my baby shower. We pulled up to an adorable Victorian tea house I didn’t even know existed. Inside, they had set up a private room with teapots, flowers, balloons, and all things girly. It was great! Even my SIL was there, despite the fact that she had already attended the shower my college friends threw me a couple of weeks ago.

K.F. displayed her super-creative skills with the adorable shower games she devised. One was to match the guests’ baby photos to their adult photos – tougher than it sounds. Another was to identify various kinds of baby food by taste. Can you say “ewww”?! That stuff is gross, people. Fortunately, we had tea and scones and tiny little sandwiches to chase away the foul taste of the pureed spinach.

The girls went all out on the gifts – the Rolls-Royce of car seats, a stroller, a handmade baby sling, and dozens of great books. You know this kid’s got to be literate, with a writer for a mom. I feel so lucky to have such wonderful friends and family.

Week 33: Status Report

Most frequently asked questions:
When are you due? [Insert comment about how “huge” or “tiny” I am here.]
Do you know what you’re having?
Is this your first?

Uncomplimentary comments people don’t think twice about voicing:
Looks like you’re having a big baby.
I doubt you’ll make it to your due date.
Your stomach looks pointy. (From my husband.)

Current symptoms:
Itchy belly
Near-constant case of baby hiccups
Pinched nerve in my back that comes and goes

Current number of friends who are pregnant:
4 (not including T., who gave birth to a baby boy yesterday!)

My parents were visiting this past weekend, so I took the opportunity to ask them what they remember about my birth. The short answer: not much. It seems that by the time you get to the second kid, it’s old hat. Also, because my brother’s birth was so dramatic (18 hours of labor culminating in an emergency C-section), mine was sort of anticlimactic. As my father put it, “It was less traumatic the second time. It happened so fast and then there you were.”

I arrived early. My mom was scheduled for a Cesarean on a Tuesday. But when she showed up for her checkup on Friday, she was in labor. “They kept saying, ‘But you can’t be having this baby. You’re not scheduled till Tuesday,’” recalls my mom. “And there I am [huffing and puffing] saying, ‘What do you mean?!’” It soon became pretty clear that she was, in fact, having the baby.

The part of my birth story that has become part of family lore is when my dad almost got kicked out of the hospital for plugging in his Super 8 movie camera and spotlight over the hospital bed. He’s always been a big gadget guy, the first to get the very latest technology. My childhood memories are plagued with images of cameras and microphones being shoved in my face, awkward phases and non-camera-friendly gestures being forever preserved for posterity.

So, anyway, the hospital staff came in and scolded him, quite rightly concerned that his energy-sucking camera apparatus might short out the medical equipment.

As for my brother, he remembers absolutely nothing about my birth. Of course, he was only 2 ½ at the time. My parents say he did suggest once that they put me in the dryer. Apparently that seemed to him like a good way to deal with this new interloper.

Week 32: Too Much Info

Maybe we should have adopted. It’s got to be less overwhelming than sitting through seven hours of “childbirth preparation” at the hospital last Sunday. From breathing techniques to labor terminology to medical interventions, the sheer magnitude of information left C. and me reeling by the end of the day. Thank goodness for the multiple snack and bathroom breaks. There’s just so much to KNOW about having a baby!

Some of it I wish I didn’t know. Like I really didn’t need to visualize the 10 cm my cervix will dilate in order to give birth. But a helpful plastic model was passed around for all to see. And I could have done without the full-color cloth model of the placenta that the instructor demonstrated delivering. (It looked like a jellyfish, if you want the truth.) And the model of the uterus? That resembled a misshapen, striped knit sock. Not sure how anatomically correct that one was.

But it was the videos on epidurals and C-sections that scared me. I thought an epidural was a one-time deal, like an injection of Novocain at the dentist. Except the (very large) needle is inserted into your SPINE and they LEAVE IT THERE. That’s right, they attach a tube so they can adjust the level of medication throughout labor. THROUGH YOUR SPINE.

Then there’s Pitocin, a synthetic form of the so-called “cuddle chemical” oxytocin, which your body is supposed to produce naturally during labor to help facilitate contractions. Sounds innocuous enough. Except there’s nothing cuddly about the super-strong, extra-intense contractions that Pitocin brings on. Plus, it can actually prolong labor. Who knew?

I’m guessing not everyone, based on the discussion at my baby shower last weekend. Besides me, there were two other pregnant women there. They casually chatted about the pain-numbing drugs they were planning to have administered the moment they set foot in the hospital. Was I really considering a natural birth?! they asked, stunned. I hemmed and hawed.

Never having done this before, I hate to go into the delivery room with strict rules about what I definitely will and definitely won’t do. It’s not a moral or religious issue. If you want drugs, by all means bring on the drugs. I just like the idea of the kinder, gentler, more natural birth they talked about in my HypnoBirthing class. “Your body knows what to do,” was the constant refrain. I sure hope so, because thanks to the packets of handouts, stacks of books, and reams of notes I’ve accumulated, my mind has pretty much shut down at this point.

Weird Symptom of the Week: Braxton Hicks or “practice” contractions. These are sporadic uterine contractions that increase towards the end of pregnancy. They’re reportedly painless, but feeling your abdomen tighten up till it’s rock-hard isn’t the most comfortable sensation.