Ryan is almost two months old and I still feel like I'm trying to get my bearings. Some of that may be due to the fact that I had a few tiny unrealistic expectations. Miniscule, really.
Like I thought losing the baby weight would be no problem. I mean, my body was awesome during pregnancy. My blood sugar got progressively lower as my pregnancy continued. I felt good. I slept well. And until the last few weeks, my blood pressure was beautiful. Oh, and I managed a reasonable weight gain--25 lbs. (At least, that was my gain before being admitted to the hospital. I was pumped full of fluid there so I have no way of knowing what my final gain was before Ryan was born.)
So I assumed people were crazy when they told me it would take some time to lose the weight. I mean, yeah...time. Like, 3 weeks? 4? Surely by the time I returned to my classroom I would be able to button my pants again. After all, I could still slide all of them over my hips and my legs stayed the same size.
De. Lu. Sional.
I have always been a chubby girl. Rotund, even. But at my fattest, the roles on my stomach were always relatively flat. To quote Jen Lancaster, "A pretty fat." I didn't realize when people told me to take loose clothing to hospital what they were actually saying was "You may look four months pregnant for a while. Get used to it."
True to form, I look like I'm getting ready to identify the gender of my next baby. And I'm seriously struggling to keep from beating myself up over all the progress I made last summer in the exercise/weight loss department.
I mean, I wanted this. I wanted a baby more than anything in the world, and I am SO grateful for him. So why I am a little depressed over this development? Because I'm a girl. And there's something in girl code that says, "Oh things are going too well in my life. I have to find something to piss and moan about."
So before I get all look-at-my-baby's-two-month-pictures-and-how-much-he's-grown-and-why-can't-he-stay-a-baby-forever-how-does-time-go-this-fast, I thought I'd get this out of my system.
When people said, "Oh, you totally lose weight breast feeding," I heard, "You might become an international model if he nurses for longer than 10 seconds."
Epic fail, that one.
Even though nursing is supposed to filter most of the sugar out of my body, I still seem to struggle with my lady lumps (and not just the ones producing food). Weird, right? So now I'm back to really limiting sugar in my diet and I'm working toward cutting white flour completely (again).
Actually, that's the upside of this whole story: I found a wagon and I chased it down so I could get on. And that is largely due to the fact that I returned to my school about the time the faculty has logged a joint 400 lb weight loss.
It was like getting a kick in the teeth...but the kind that makes excited because now you can get veneers.
So in the footsteps of my friend, Morgan, who set a goal to walk 100 miles in 50 days, I'm pledging to walk/run 100 miles in the month of June.
Anyone else up for the challenge? Let's hashtag it in twitter: #100inJuneChallenge
What else do you do to get back on the proverbial wagon? I'll take all the advice I can get.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Ryan's Birth Story: Part 3 (The Final Frontier)
Part 1
Part 2
I specifically waited until Grandma had left the room and Daddy was sleeping to have my break down. I didn't want to add stress to an already stressful situation, but those hot tears and sobs needed to be spent before I completely imploded.
I didn't really expect crying to help; I was just fighting frustration. After an almost perfect pregnancy, I found myself without much faith that my body was capable of doing something that came naturally to many women. I could almost taste the c-section that would be required, and, to be honest, I was afraid.
I wasn't two minutes into my tear fest when my replacement nurse came in to check the monitors and had her own panic attack. She was sure something was really wrong. Unfortunately, Grandma chose that exact moment to return to the room.
The nurse was scared. Grandma thought the nurse made me cry.
And here is where you get a few notes about Grandma. Before you were born, Grandma was a social worker with the Department of Health and Human services. She regularly dealt with insurance companies and often had the privilege of dealing with people who were less than forthcoming with information.
Because of this background, Grandma developed what your uncles and I like to call Mom personality #1 and Mom personality #2.
#1=An extremely naive woman who is non-confrontational and usually in a good mood.
#2=You know how National Geographic says more people are killed every year by angry hippos than any other animal? Well, your Grandma can channel her own angry hippo. And it ain't pretty.
Typically, Angry Hippo is reserved for insurance companies and lazy people; however, in the 5 nanoseconds that passed between your Grandma coming back into the room, registering my tears and turning to my nurse, I saw that Angry Hippo had swallowed whatever part of Mom Personality #1 had been present.
For the rest of the day, your Grandma (who I learned is extremely agile and protective) hawk-eyed every.single.procedure. And while I never would've described her as a terrifying woman, I certainly wasn't going to poke the bear. My nurse must have sensed the change in atmosphere because she was pretty low-key for the rest of her shift.
Around 9 am, Dr. S came in to check the progress of our through-the-night-Pitocin-gamble. We were all frustrated to learn I had only dilated to 2.5 centimeters. Dr. S scratched her head and said, "Well, I'm inclined to suggest we break your water and see what happens from there. Though, we can take you for a c-section if you'd rather."
I explained that I really wanted to avoid a c-section, and she responded, "I really think your body can do this, and we have some time. Let's break your water and see what happens."
Now I had read three different pregnancy books in the last nine months. Not one of them indicated what would happen if the doctor broke my water. So if you are ever planning to get pregnant ever (your wife, I mean), read carefully:
As soon as the doctor breaks your water, every muscle in your body is going to relocate to your uterus and spasm like you've been running from some crazed man trying to kill you. Truthfully, though, it's just your uterus trying to kill you. No worries.
For those of you who have never experienced a contraction, imagine some invisible force has reached inside your body and gripped your uterus. Then, in order maximize your pain, the force grows tentacles and wraps them around every available muscle in the tri-state area.
Thankfully, I reacted with the strength and grace that begets my personality. In other words? I panicked. Panicking is my spiritual gift, you know...or you'll learn sometime before you turn 18.
I don't mean to blow things out of proportion here because once I got my bearings and could focus on breathing, the contractions were manageable. But that first one? I just wasn't prepared. Call it a theme in this story.
My day nurse, Megan, said the average dilation activity after a woman's water breaks is a centimeter an hour. But us? We spit in the face of average. So when I still refused to dilate much in the hours following my water breaking, my doctor began discussing the options.
And by options? I mean our lack of them.
But you know us. Dad and I definitely reveled in the hilarious before those decisions were made.
When I'd labored for several hours, my nurse asked if I was ready for some pain medication. I wasn't quite ready for the epidural, but I was tired enough to need something to take the edge off of each contraction--mostly because in order to manage them I needed to sit straight up, propping myself on my arms with the soles of my feet touching. I was tense and there was no way of knowing how much longer it would take before I got to look at your sweet face.
So my nurse brought me Stadol.
As soon as the drug hit my IV, I learned that it is possible to hallucinate while maintaining a firm grasp of reality. Any time I closed my eyes, I felt like I was being transported to an alternate reality. Everything looked as real as it did if my eyes were open, but I knew it couldn't be real. For example, there was a squirrel who kept pulling on my underwear. When I opened my eyes, I could still feel that stupid squirrel pulling on my underwear, but I also knew, laboring like I was, that I wasn't wearing underwear.
For a full report of all the hilarious things I saw, you'll have to contact Grandma. She wrote it down, blessed soul that she is.
Most of the day felt 15 minutes long to me--mostly because it was tedious. There was little change until late into the evening when I finally started to dilate. My body, trying to make up for lost time, seemed to dilate three centimeters at a time. And that was really promising.
Until my temperature spiked.
For some unknown reason, I developed a 102.4 degree fever and that was a definite cause for concern. We didn't know what was causing the fever and any sort of infection would impact you negatively. Immediately, the doctor started pushing antibiotics and discussing a C-section. She told me we had a limited amount of time before this situation was serious, and then left Daddy and I to talk.
Something far worse than contractions grabbed me after that conversation. Daddy and I both cried and tried to figure out what we should do before God reminded me of my word for the year: peace. So with little recourse, and no ability to make an informed decision, we called PastorJosh and asked for prayer.
It was around 10:30 in the evening and most of the people in the waiting room were clearing out and heading home in hopes of getting some sleep before returning to meet you. A few minutes after that call, many of those same people returned to that waiting room to pray for us...for you. Even more received a call or text from PastorJosh and got out of bed (even though Easter Sunday was the very next day) to pray until we were holding you in our arms.
Thirty minutes later? I was pushing.
Nurses warned us that first time mommies can push for hours before a birth occurs. I smiled and told my nurse you were going to be born today. Since it was after 11 pm, my nurse smiled and nodded, but she didn't look convinced.
Forty minutes later, at 11:46 pm, you were here.
People think I'm weird when I say this, but the actual birthing experience was one of the best experiences of my life. By the time I was pushing, I was so excited to hold you. The nurse commented she'd never seen anyone smile while pushing (and it was freaking her out a little). But I couldn't help myself. I grinned the entire time. The doctor told funny stories. We laughed like family.
And partially, I think that's how it was meant to be.
Peaceful. Hopeful. And the complete fulfillment of what I'd waited 8 years for.
Total, it took 97 months to meet you.
And every single second was worth it.
So many people have waited for you.
And loved you.
This is just the beginning of your story, Ryan.
I think there's probably a lot of laughter to come. (Including a few hilarious stories about Daddy and putting your stroller in the car for the first time...)
And I'm so excited to tell every single one until you can tell your own.
I'll love you forever; I'll like you for always.
Mommy
Part 2
I specifically waited until Grandma had left the room and Daddy was sleeping to have my break down. I didn't want to add stress to an already stressful situation, but those hot tears and sobs needed to be spent before I completely imploded.
I didn't really expect crying to help; I was just fighting frustration. After an almost perfect pregnancy, I found myself without much faith that my body was capable of doing something that came naturally to many women. I could almost taste the c-section that would be required, and, to be honest, I was afraid.
I wasn't two minutes into my tear fest when my replacement nurse came in to check the monitors and had her own panic attack. She was sure something was really wrong. Unfortunately, Grandma chose that exact moment to return to the room.
The nurse was scared. Grandma thought the nurse made me cry.
And here is where you get a few notes about Grandma. Before you were born, Grandma was a social worker with the Department of Health and Human services. She regularly dealt with insurance companies and often had the privilege of dealing with people who were less than forthcoming with information.
Because of this background, Grandma developed what your uncles and I like to call Mom personality #1 and Mom personality #2.
#1=An extremely naive woman who is non-confrontational and usually in a good mood.
#2=You know how National Geographic says more people are killed every year by angry hippos than any other animal? Well, your Grandma can channel her own angry hippo. And it ain't pretty.
Typically, Angry Hippo is reserved for insurance companies and lazy people; however, in the 5 nanoseconds that passed between your Grandma coming back into the room, registering my tears and turning to my nurse, I saw that Angry Hippo had swallowed whatever part of Mom Personality #1 had been present.
For the rest of the day, your Grandma (who I learned is extremely agile and protective) hawk-eyed every.single.procedure. And while I never would've described her as a terrifying woman, I certainly wasn't going to poke the bear. My nurse must have sensed the change in atmosphere because she was pretty low-key for the rest of her shift.
Around 9 am, Dr. S came in to check the progress of our through-the-night-Pitocin-gamble. We were all frustrated to learn I had only dilated to 2.5 centimeters. Dr. S scratched her head and said, "Well, I'm inclined to suggest we break your water and see what happens from there. Though, we can take you for a c-section if you'd rather."
I explained that I really wanted to avoid a c-section, and she responded, "I really think your body can do this, and we have some time. Let's break your water and see what happens."
Now I had read three different pregnancy books in the last nine months. Not one of them indicated what would happen if the doctor broke my water. So if you are ever planning to get pregnant ever (your wife, I mean), read carefully:
As soon as the doctor breaks your water, every muscle in your body is going to relocate to your uterus and spasm like you've been running from some crazed man trying to kill you. Truthfully, though, it's just your uterus trying to kill you. No worries.
For those of you who have never experienced a contraction, imagine some invisible force has reached inside your body and gripped your uterus. Then, in order maximize your pain, the force grows tentacles and wraps them around every available muscle in the tri-state area.
Thankfully, I reacted with the strength and grace that begets my personality. In other words? I panicked. Panicking is my spiritual gift, you know...or you'll learn sometime before you turn 18.
I don't mean to blow things out of proportion here because once I got my bearings and could focus on breathing, the contractions were manageable. But that first one? I just wasn't prepared. Call it a theme in this story.
My day nurse, Megan, said the average dilation activity after a woman's water breaks is a centimeter an hour. But us? We spit in the face of average. So when I still refused to dilate much in the hours following my water breaking, my doctor began discussing the options.
And by options? I mean our lack of them.
But you know us. Dad and I definitely reveled in the hilarious before those decisions were made.
When I'd labored for several hours, my nurse asked if I was ready for some pain medication. I wasn't quite ready for the epidural, but I was tired enough to need something to take the edge off of each contraction--mostly because in order to manage them I needed to sit straight up, propping myself on my arms with the soles of my feet touching. I was tense and there was no way of knowing how much longer it would take before I got to look at your sweet face.
So my nurse brought me Stadol.
As soon as the drug hit my IV, I learned that it is possible to hallucinate while maintaining a firm grasp of reality. Any time I closed my eyes, I felt like I was being transported to an alternate reality. Everything looked as real as it did if my eyes were open, but I knew it couldn't be real. For example, there was a squirrel who kept pulling on my underwear. When I opened my eyes, I could still feel that stupid squirrel pulling on my underwear, but I also knew, laboring like I was, that I wasn't wearing underwear.
For a full report of all the hilarious things I saw, you'll have to contact Grandma. She wrote it down, blessed soul that she is.
Most of the day felt 15 minutes long to me--mostly because it was tedious. There was little change until late into the evening when I finally started to dilate. My body, trying to make up for lost time, seemed to dilate three centimeters at a time. And that was really promising.
Until my temperature spiked.
For some unknown reason, I developed a 102.4 degree fever and that was a definite cause for concern. We didn't know what was causing the fever and any sort of infection would impact you negatively. Immediately, the doctor started pushing antibiotics and discussing a C-section. She told me we had a limited amount of time before this situation was serious, and then left Daddy and I to talk.
Something far worse than contractions grabbed me after that conversation. Daddy and I both cried and tried to figure out what we should do before God reminded me of my word for the year: peace. So with little recourse, and no ability to make an informed decision, we called PastorJosh and asked for prayer.
It was around 10:30 in the evening and most of the people in the waiting room were clearing out and heading home in hopes of getting some sleep before returning to meet you. A few minutes after that call, many of those same people returned to that waiting room to pray for us...for you. Even more received a call or text from PastorJosh and got out of bed (even though Easter Sunday was the very next day) to pray until we were holding you in our arms.
Thirty minutes later? I was pushing.
 |
| Our first meeting, Baby Boy. |
 |
| Daddy snapped all sorts of pictures. You were perfect even directly after birth. Most babies aren't cute at this stage. |
 |
| Ryan Christopher March 30th, 2013 8 lbs, 0.8 oz. 22 inches |
And partially, I think that's how it was meant to be.
Peaceful. Hopeful. And the complete fulfillment of what I'd waited 8 years for.
Total, it took 97 months to meet you.
And every single second was worth it.
I think there's probably a lot of laughter to come. (Including a few hilarious stories about Daddy and putting your stroller in the car for the first time...)
And I'm so excited to tell every single one until you can tell your own.
I'll love you forever; I'll like you for always.
Mommy
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Ryan's Birth Story: Part 2
 |
| 39 Weeks, 4 days pregnant--Right outside the hospital on Thursday |
Friday, March 29
If there's anything you're going to learn about your father, Ryan, it's that he doesn't sit well. So going into our second day at the hospital, I had honestly hoped you would make your appearance quickly because I wasn't sure which expensive piece of hospital equipment Daddy would choose to "experiment" with first.
To be honest, I was also a little nervous about the prospect of induction. The one thing Dad and I took a hardline stance on was Pitocin. We just didn't want to expose you to large amounts of this particular drug, and I also knew it had the potential to make labor more intense in the long run.
The nurse came in around 8 am to remove the Cervadil and assess our overnight progress. Over the next several hours, Megan (my nurse) and I got along really well. But my initial reaction was less than favorable. Why? Because she was the first person to inform us the Cervadil did absolutely nothing. And had I known that would be the theme for Good Friday? The crying would have commenced at that very moment.
Dr. J came in to see us and get the ball rolling on the Pitocin drip not long after 8 am. He determined that it was best to start slow and increase the medicine slowly. We were grateful for his approach because he reasoned there was no need to use a large amount where a small amount would do the job.
You had been at station -1 for the last three weeks, so I assumed a small amount of Pitocin would be our ticket to the big show. But in case you aren't seeing the theme here, my assumptions regarding your appearance into the world were largely off-base. I also thought I would be able to walk while in labor to help my progress; however, my blood pressure and the necessity of the IV made that reality an impossibility.
I wish I could give you a detailed account of the day after our initial meeting with the doctor, but most of that day's events swim together in my mind. At one point, I even told the doctor I'd felt nauseated for about 15 minutes before the nurse indicated I'd told her the same thing two hours before. Time, while important, was impossible to measure outside of contractions and progress.
But those were elusive in that first day of induction.
My contractions wouldn't strengthen. I didn't dilate. I didn't efface. I tossed and turned in my bed praying for something to happen, and I even cried--twice, actually--out of frustration at the whole process.
The most exciting thing that did happen on Friday was probably when my blood pressure cuff wouldn't stop airing up. I was caught so off-guard, I didn't have the presence of mind to rip it off. Your Grandma and Daddy, the only two people in the room at the time, both jumped across my bed to help, but by the time the cuff was ripped off my arm, the damage had been done. I now had a very sore arm, a bruise the size of my palm and a fear of the blood pressure cuff I wasn't allowed to remove.
People showed up off and on throughout the day. Your Uncle Ronnie and Aunt Sheena made it in from Ohio. Uncle Timmy and Aunt Nikki drove in from their AFB. Friends. Cousins. Grandparents. The hospital chaplain (who is also a friend). Their visits were a nice relief from the tedious reminder that nothing was happening. Of course, your father did his best to provide a bit of comic relief, too. At one point in the evening, he even attempted to put a surgical glove over his entire head and blow it up with his nose.
(He wasn't successful, by the way. The gloves were a size medium so he requested a size extra large from my night nurse. She apparently also had a pretty interesting sense of humor because she hunted for that glove for a full 40 minutes before telling us there weren't any available.)
After almost 12 hours of Pitocin, my primary doctor (Dr. S--who was on call for the weekend) came in to discuss our options. She identified our situation as "gray area" for her, and said we could continue the Pitocin through the night or stop it and restart it the next morning. Since I hoped to make as much progress as possible before the next day, we chose to continue the Pitocin through the night in hopes of delivering you early the next day.
Dr. S ordered the nurse to stop the Pitocin for a couple of hours so I could eat a real meal--I'd had nothing but liquids since the night before--and then restart the IV at 10 pm.
The anticipation was intense, and after a whole day of no progress, I was on the verge of an emotional breakdown...
To be continued
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Ryan's Birth Story: Part 1
Ryan,
I watched your little back rise as you were laying on my chest today, and I thought about how important it was that I take the time to write this part of your story. But your Momma? She's picky about words. This couldn't be one of those stories, as they say in the movie Big Fish, with "all of the facts and none of the flavor." Frankly, that would be missing a large portion of the way your Daddy and I see the world. And I truly hope you grow up to see the humor in the most stressful moments of your life.
Love,
Mommy
Thursday, March 28th
I went to my regular appointment with the fourth doctor in my practice hoping I had progressed in dilation and effacement. The Wednesday before I had experienced some pretty hard contractions and was disappointed they completely stopped the next day so I was ready to hear some progressive news.
After a quick check, Dr. J informed Daddy and I that I was still only 1 cm and around 60% effaced. He was, however, concerned because my blood pressure had taken a sudden jump this last week. While everything was OK as far as you were concerned, he recommended we head to the hospital to be admitted for observation. Then, he said, he would come by later in the evening to discuss possible induction or the next course of action.
Daddy and I headed home in order to gather a few essentials, eat lunch and then, two hours later, found ourselves walking into the hospital.
We quickly found out it was a crazy day on the second floor. Labor and Delivery was so busy, in fact, that there were women laboring in triage rooms and I had to share a room (atypical for this floor, I was told) with another woman who hadn't progressed enough to be moved. Of course, even if she had, I'm not sure where they would have put her. In that short night, there were about eight births total--including one set of twins.
When we first walked into the room, my roommate was telling the nurse that she would not, under any circumstances, take an epidural. "I'm tough," she reasoned out loud, and was echoed by her husband who assured the nurse she was a strong person.
I raised my eyebrows because 1. I am not tough and 2. I realized pretty quickly this labor stuff was no joke. It didn't take two hours before that same woman was declaring her overall hatred for the hospital, her doctor, Jesus and her own husband. She hit the bed and moaned "Ohmygod" repeatedly. I looked at your dad and said, "Umm...I'm not sure I can do this..." He responded wide-eyed, "Me either."
I won't share all of the things she hollered, but you should know her vocabulary was colorful and entertaining. Unfortunately, she didn't make labor look appealing. So it's not surprising I got a little sick to my stomach when Dr. J came in to let us know we wouldn't be going home without a baby. My sudden spike in blood pressure wasn't temporary, and he felt induction was our best course of action. He reasoned that you weren't in distress, but it was best to make these decisions when baby was still healthy and safe.
Daddy and I looked at each other, looked at the sheet separating us from Armageddon over Mommyhood, and agreed that if this would keep you safe? We were all in.
About an hour later, nurses came to move the moaner. She apologized on her way out, but the damage had been done. I was n.e.r.v.o.u.s. When she was gone, I made the nurse sit down and talk to me. I was sure that woman was transitioning from a 6 to a 7 and I just wasn't sure I was capable of handling something obviously so painful. The nurse smiled and said, "She moved from a 2 to a 3 while she was in this room. She was a little out of control so don't worry. I'm sure you'll be fine."
"Can I have her epidural and mine?" I asked, not really kidding.
"Listen," the nurse said. "When the time comes, focus and breathe. Don't waste time yelling or creating more drama in your room. Your body knows what to do. You'll be fine."
Everything at that point seemed to happen really fast. I got a new nurse due to shift change. A couple hours later, I got a new roommate--a former student at my high school, in fact--who I will refer to as Typhoid Mary because she hacked all.night.long. Loudly. After telling the nurse she smokes a pack a day.
Sigh.
We really didn't have the option to be choosy, though. My new nurse was given direction to give me Cervadil in order to finish the process so dilation could begin. I think that started at 11 pm, but I honestly can't remember due to the sleep aid I was given. All I do remember is periodically waking up as your monitor was readjusted so we could keep tabs on your sweet heartbeat.
(A side note to you: You, child, are a mover and a shaker. The nurses repeatedly commented on how active you were and How.Much.You.Move. Of course, you were out of space. I was 39 weeks 4 days, but you were 8 lbs and 22 inches at birth...so you were tired of people invading your space with monitors, hands, stethoscopes, etc.)
Daddy couldn't stay with me in our shared room. There just wasn't space for him. He scoped out a prime spot in the intensive care waiting room one floor up and left to get some sleep (or attempt to get some sleep) before the events of the next day. The next thing I remember, it was 4 am and Andrea (my nurse) was moving me into a birthing suite. Our induction with Pitocin would start that same morning so it was important I was as relaxed and comfortable as possible before proceeding. I called Daddy and he made himself comfortable in our new space.
Good thing, too, because we were there for a while.
To be continued...
I watched your little back rise as you were laying on my chest today, and I thought about how important it was that I take the time to write this part of your story. But your Momma? She's picky about words. This couldn't be one of those stories, as they say in the movie Big Fish, with "all of the facts and none of the flavor." Frankly, that would be missing a large portion of the way your Daddy and I see the world. And I truly hope you grow up to see the humor in the most stressful moments of your life.
Love,
Mommy
Thursday, March 28th
I went to my regular appointment with the fourth doctor in my practice hoping I had progressed in dilation and effacement. The Wednesday before I had experienced some pretty hard contractions and was disappointed they completely stopped the next day so I was ready to hear some progressive news.
After a quick check, Dr. J informed Daddy and I that I was still only 1 cm and around 60% effaced. He was, however, concerned because my blood pressure had taken a sudden jump this last week. While everything was OK as far as you were concerned, he recommended we head to the hospital to be admitted for observation. Then, he said, he would come by later in the evening to discuss possible induction or the next course of action.
Daddy and I headed home in order to gather a few essentials, eat lunch and then, two hours later, found ourselves walking into the hospital.
We quickly found out it was a crazy day on the second floor. Labor and Delivery was so busy, in fact, that there were women laboring in triage rooms and I had to share a room (atypical for this floor, I was told) with another woman who hadn't progressed enough to be moved. Of course, even if she had, I'm not sure where they would have put her. In that short night, there were about eight births total--including one set of twins.
When we first walked into the room, my roommate was telling the nurse that she would not, under any circumstances, take an epidural. "I'm tough," she reasoned out loud, and was echoed by her husband who assured the nurse she was a strong person.
I raised my eyebrows because 1. I am not tough and 2. I realized pretty quickly this labor stuff was no joke. It didn't take two hours before that same woman was declaring her overall hatred for the hospital, her doctor, Jesus and her own husband. She hit the bed and moaned "Ohmygod" repeatedly. I looked at your dad and said, "Umm...I'm not sure I can do this..." He responded wide-eyed, "Me either."
I won't share all of the things she hollered, but you should know her vocabulary was colorful and entertaining. Unfortunately, she didn't make labor look appealing. So it's not surprising I got a little sick to my stomach when Dr. J came in to let us know we wouldn't be going home without a baby. My sudden spike in blood pressure wasn't temporary, and he felt induction was our best course of action. He reasoned that you weren't in distress, but it was best to make these decisions when baby was still healthy and safe.
Daddy and I looked at each other, looked at the sheet separating us from Armageddon over Mommyhood, and agreed that if this would keep you safe? We were all in.
About an hour later, nurses came to move the moaner. She apologized on her way out, but the damage had been done. I was n.e.r.v.o.u.s. When she was gone, I made the nurse sit down and talk to me. I was sure that woman was transitioning from a 6 to a 7 and I just wasn't sure I was capable of handling something obviously so painful. The nurse smiled and said, "She moved from a 2 to a 3 while she was in this room. She was a little out of control so don't worry. I'm sure you'll be fine."
"Can I have her epidural and mine?" I asked, not really kidding.
"Listen," the nurse said. "When the time comes, focus and breathe. Don't waste time yelling or creating more drama in your room. Your body knows what to do. You'll be fine."
Everything at that point seemed to happen really fast. I got a new nurse due to shift change. A couple hours later, I got a new roommate--a former student at my high school, in fact--who I will refer to as Typhoid Mary because she hacked all.night.long. Loudly. After telling the nurse she smokes a pack a day.
Sigh.
We really didn't have the option to be choosy, though. My new nurse was given direction to give me Cervadil in order to finish the process so dilation could begin. I think that started at 11 pm, but I honestly can't remember due to the sleep aid I was given. All I do remember is periodically waking up as your monitor was readjusted so we could keep tabs on your sweet heartbeat.
(A side note to you: You, child, are a mover and a shaker. The nurses repeatedly commented on how active you were and How.Much.You.Move. Of course, you were out of space. I was 39 weeks 4 days, but you were 8 lbs and 22 inches at birth...so you were tired of people invading your space with monitors, hands, stethoscopes, etc.)
Daddy couldn't stay with me in our shared room. There just wasn't space for him. He scoped out a prime spot in the intensive care waiting room one floor up and left to get some sleep (or attempt to get some sleep) before the events of the next day. The next thing I remember, it was 4 am and Andrea (my nurse) was moving me into a birthing suite. Our induction with Pitocin would start that same morning so it was important I was as relaxed and comfortable as possible before proceeding. I called Daddy and he made himself comfortable in our new space.
Good thing, too, because we were there for a while.
To be continued...
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Ryan
Y'all. I have so much to say, but for now I will tell you my hands are a little full. I promise complete stories and pictures in the very near future. For now, I thought a few of you might be anticipating news of Ryan's arrival. He came March 30th at 11:46 pm after an unexpected induction and three days of waiting him out in the hospital. He is 8 lbs and a half an ouncr, 22 inches long (so maybe he will get the height we prayed for) and looks exactly like his Daddy with the exception of a head full of blond or reddish hair. We so appreciate your support and prayers over the last nine months.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
The One Where I Awkwardly Try To Share My Heart (You know. Like always. Plus extra Awkward.)
Among the things people never told me about pregnancy:
- I would become a world-class snorer--so much so that my husband (a beast among men when it comes to nasal activity in the nighttime) would actually pray for my normal, non-snoring self to return.
- Due sinus cavity problems (which might also contribute to the snoring), I can only breathe with my mouth open at night which basically means I've become a drooler. Nothing sexier than a woman who slobbers in her sleep.
- In the fashion of Kurt Vonnegut's "Harrison Bergeron," I've been mentally handicapped so I can only think about things in short bursts. And then, like the fronds of a dandelion, a strong wind comes along and I'm completely carefree.
That last one is probably why most of my writing of late has been relatively lame. I just can't seem to get what's in my head down on paper. (I'm not really sure what my excuse was before pregnancy...)
Recently, I wrote about community in a truthful, but really unsatisfying post. I keep writing things through the lens of expectation after years of being told to throw that particular dream out the window while driving 55 miles per hour. I'm not disappointed with that perspective because it's one of the few ways I can explain the sense of overwhelmed-by-grace I'm navigating. But there's so much more to that viewpoint, and I feel I'm unnecessarily narrowing the last ten years of my life to waiting for a gift and the fulfillment of that gift.
There's so much more in the meantime, y'all.
Which is probably why community keeps circling my consciousness. Rest assured, though, if you want to read something far more compelling and truer than anything I'll ever manage to get down here, visit this particular post. What I have to say, while similar, doesn't hold a candle to the words she managed to record. (And isn't it always the truth that when you really start narrowing in on a topic, someone else picks it up and does it just a little better?)
(For the record, I also read her post through the lens of community. After reading the comments, it's clear not everyone saw it that way.)
The idea of grace actively working inside a community, though. Whoo. That's a game-changer for sure. A lot of my past experiences in the church (and more of my exploits in the far and recent past) include a mentality that says something like "More Grace for Me. More Rules for You."
I'm not really sure how I justified approaching relationships in that way, and, frankly, I'm surprised someone along the way didn't ask me to tuck in my shirttail because my inner Pharisee was showing. My biggest fear is that more people just believed my actions were the typical Christian response to people who didn't quite fit the mold.
Admittedly, I charged myself with helping the peg fit the hole--square, round or otherwise. Myself, though? I saw my own redemption through a much wider-angle lens--one that was capable of understanding this knowing Jesus thing was a process in the constant state of "to be continued."
It reeks of dualism, right? Ironically enough, I was totally aware of the duplicity of that type of community, but I had no idea how to redirect those relationships into something that looked a little more like the Christ I was encountering. So using the best spiritual gift I've ever developed, I chose to ignore it.
And, like all ignored corners of the refrigerator, my dualism grew fur, fangs and possibly the ability to cure small colds or the flu.
(I'm kidding. Dualism isn't like Chinese takeout.)
(Or maybe...maybe I'm onto something there?)
Jesus, though, is far more diplomatic in his approach to those in need of a Saviour. Needy people--far from perfect and without a clear plan for change--find healing. Hope. Open arms.
But us? Too often, the "Christian Community" is hellbent on making someone else hug the cactus until s/he is penitent enough to join the ranks of the redeemed.
The people who have surrounded me and my family in the last year have been a breath of fresh air. Their constant breeze hasn't been without conviction, though. Their presence is the best form of pressure--the thumb in my back to remember exactly who this Jesus guy is.
This guy? Met a woman at a well, asked for a drink and offered her "living water" without ever condemning her for living with a man outside of wedlock.
The same guy embraced the turn-coat who denied Him and then returned to the fold.
He loved liars. Thieves. Tax Collectors. Prostitutes.
And He knew exactly what they were when he drew them to Himself.
My Jesus? He sees people and still doesn't open conversations by saying things like, "You aren't welcome if you fill-in-the-blank." It makes me wonder why we're developing elaborate sets of rules for who is allowed to enter the clubhouse.
When we talk about a community in Christ, the general public should envision a group of people open to loving anyone--social standing, orientation, creed nonwithstanding. And why should we fling the doors open for the vast array of people we will encounter as a result? Because Christ first loved us.
The consistent focus on relationship? That's what makes this whole shindig worthwhile. And I guess that's what I expect out of a community.
(For the record, I also read her post through the lens of community. After reading the comments, it's clear not everyone saw it that way.)
The idea of grace actively working inside a community, though. Whoo. That's a game-changer for sure. A lot of my past experiences in the church (and more of my exploits in the far and recent past) include a mentality that says something like "More Grace for Me. More Rules for You."
I'm not really sure how I justified approaching relationships in that way, and, frankly, I'm surprised someone along the way didn't ask me to tuck in my shirttail because my inner Pharisee was showing. My biggest fear is that more people just believed my actions were the typical Christian response to people who didn't quite fit the mold.
Admittedly, I charged myself with helping the peg fit the hole--square, round or otherwise. Myself, though? I saw my own redemption through a much wider-angle lens--one that was capable of understanding this knowing Jesus thing was a process in the constant state of "to be continued."
It reeks of dualism, right? Ironically enough, I was totally aware of the duplicity of that type of community, but I had no idea how to redirect those relationships into something that looked a little more like the Christ I was encountering. So using the best spiritual gift I've ever developed, I chose to ignore it.
And, like all ignored corners of the refrigerator, my dualism grew fur, fangs and possibly the ability to cure small colds or the flu.
(I'm kidding. Dualism isn't like Chinese takeout.)
(Or maybe...maybe I'm onto something there?)
Jesus, though, is far more diplomatic in his approach to those in need of a Saviour. Needy people--far from perfect and without a clear plan for change--find healing. Hope. Open arms.
But us? Too often, the "Christian Community" is hellbent on making someone else hug the cactus until s/he is penitent enough to join the ranks of the redeemed.
The people who have surrounded me and my family in the last year have been a breath of fresh air. Their constant breeze hasn't been without conviction, though. Their presence is the best form of pressure--the thumb in my back to remember exactly who this Jesus guy is.
This guy? Met a woman at a well, asked for a drink and offered her "living water" without ever condemning her for living with a man outside of wedlock.
The same guy embraced the turn-coat who denied Him and then returned to the fold.
He loved liars. Thieves. Tax Collectors. Prostitutes.
And He knew exactly what they were when he drew them to Himself.
My Jesus? He sees people and still doesn't open conversations by saying things like, "You aren't welcome if you fill-in-the-blank." It makes me wonder why we're developing elaborate sets of rules for who is allowed to enter the clubhouse.
When we talk about a community in Christ, the general public should envision a group of people open to loving anyone--social standing, orientation, creed nonwithstanding. And why should we fling the doors open for the vast array of people we will encounter as a result? Because Christ first loved us.
The consistent focus on relationship? That's what makes this whole shindig worthwhile. And I guess that's what I expect out of a community.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
I haven't given birth...yet.
*A brief note to all interested parties*
I do have a bumpdate; however, I'll probably wait and post it with pictures of the nursery sometime this weekend. My mom is finishing curtains and we have purchased a glider (which may not make it into the pictures as it's not due to arrive until next week) so I'd like to get some updated pictures on the blog for those who are interested in that sort of thing.
Favorite ishellbent sure Ryan will make his debut on Sunday (also Favorite's bday), and there are definitely some signs that indicate he's going to come sooner rather than later. Can you ever really tell, though? Babies can be so darned unpredictable. If you're a betting person, though, here are the latest updates:
We have one more shower on Thursday and an appointment to meet with our tax accountant on Friday. By then, I'm hoping to have finished the last week of lesson plans I have to write for my sub and be 80% caught up on grading. I think the last thing on my docket will probably be the 85 Julius Caesar papers from my sophomores. Frankly, though, I'm impressed we've gotten this far.
The end game here is an actual baby. And most of the time I'm still surprised I'm getting one of those.
Stay tuned for the (according to Favorite) soon-to-come announcement of his birth :)
I do have a bumpdate; however, I'll probably wait and post it with pictures of the nursery sometime this weekend. My mom is finishing curtains and we have purchased a glider (which may not make it into the pictures as it's not due to arrive until next week) so I'd like to get some updated pictures on the blog for those who are interested in that sort of thing.
Favorite is
- Over the last two weeks he has dropped significantly.
- I am having contractions. They aren't regular or particularly painful, but they're definitely happening.
- At my last appointment, I was 50% effaced and beginning to dialate. (My next appointment is Thursday afternoon.) The doctor also gave us the stern "if-you-feel-these-things-come-to-the-hospital" speech.
- It has become particularly painful to walk. My hips and back are sore fairly consistently and I've developed this need to hold my belly when I move because it feels like he's going to fall out at any given minute.
We have one more shower on Thursday and an appointment to meet with our tax accountant on Friday. By then, I'm hoping to have finished the last week of lesson plans I have to write for my sub and be 80% caught up on grading. I think the last thing on my docket will probably be the 85 Julius Caesar papers from my sophomores. Frankly, though, I'm impressed we've gotten this far.
The end game here is an actual baby. And most of the time I'm still surprised I'm getting one of those.
Stay tuned for the (according to Favorite) soon-to-come announcement of his birth :)
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