Two Months--Ryan Christopher

In the three seconds since my kid has been born, he's managed to turn two months old.  I'm not entirely sure how it happened so fast, but I know it appears that bear is shrinking.  Proof?

(I just now figured out it would be a good idea to put him in a white onesie for his month pictures.  Oh, and the bear is wearing a diaper because Favorite had to "practice" before Ryan got here.)

At his two month appointment, Ryan weighed 12 lbs 0.13 oz and was 22 1/2 inches long.  We like to joke and call him Jabba the Baby, but he's truthfully only in the 54th percentile for weight (and the 32nd percentile for height--poor baby is going to be like his parents).  On the other hand, his head was 39 1/2 centimeters--the 70th percentile.  (That information is just for you, Uncle BigBro.)

He's been sleeping through the night since he was about five weeks old.  That information was enough for several of my friends at work to call me a dirty whore out of jealousy :)  Typically, he goes down around 8:30 pm and sleeps until 6 am.  There is an occasional morning he wakes up at 4 am, takes a bottle and goes back down until 7 am, but those mornings are rare so I try not to complain.

Big Yawn

Naps, though?  Naps are a different story.  He sleeps just fine in the car, but he will argue endlessly with me when I put him down for a nap at home.  I'm working through the BabyWise sleep methods to teach him to nap.  Thankfully, it's been pretty successful.

And speaking of BabyWise, that book and the Moms On Call app for the iPhone have been awesome.  I highly recommend both for new Mommies.  Initially, Favorite and I were having a difficult time determining how much he should eat at each feeding because, from time to time, he would cry after finishing a feeing.  Based on the recommendation from Moms on Call, he takes about five ounces at each feeding now.  (That amount is a rough estimate due to nursing.  I have to supplement his feedings with formula, too.  Thankfully, he transitions from breast to bottle with no issues whatsoever.)  It's also been helpful to determine how many hours we should wait between each feeding.  Right now, he goes 3-3.5 hours.

He is not really a fan of his binky.  We do offer it and occasionally he will suck on it to soothe himself.  For example, he gets one when I lay him down at night.  He'll suck on it until he's calm, but he spits it out before he goes to sleep.  And if he's mad?  Good luck trying to keep it in his mouth.

Lately, he's really been talking to us.  He coos and smiles and mimics the faces we make.  He loves attention--especially from Num-NumTheWonderChild.  He smiles at her every time he sees her.  But he's also a fan of his Daddy and his Grandparents.

That Daddy is just hilarious.

Favorite and I took Ryan swimming for the first time on our 10 year anniversary trip.

Ten seconds after this picture?  He filled that swim diaper to capacity.

He loved it so I'm pretty sure he's going to be a water-baby.  (On a side note, can you see how much that child looks like his Daddy?)

Since we were visiting the zoo, we thought the trip wouldn't be complete without this picture:

The Ryno and a real rhino

Ryan is wearing size 1 diapers which means he is one snap out on the waist of the cloth diapers.  We are cloth diapering almost exclusively now; however, we don't travel with them.  Disposables are too convenient for a trip out of town. 

We started with the BumGenius Elementals.  (I'm only going to use AIOs because I have no desire to spend time stuffing diapers.)  Several bloggers commented that these diapers were excellent, and my experience with them has been really great so far.  My one complaint is that they take FOREVER to dry.  Because of that, we gave the BumGenius Freetime a shot.  I actually prefer them because they dry so much faster, but I know a few people are probably more partial to organic cotton over microfiber.  Oh, and any person interested in cloth diapering should invest in a diaper sprayer.

(And for those interested:  we currently have 18 diapers in the rotation--6 Elementals and 12 Freetimes.  You can definitely get by with 12, but 18 guarantees I'm not doing laundry every day and I have at least 4 clean and dry diapers on hand at any given time.)

Favorite is even a fan of the cloth diapers.  Overall, they should save us around $1500 for Ryan and even more if he has siblings.  Not too shabby, eh?



 

Look at those bright eyes.  If things keep progressing at this rate, I'll be posting pictures of his Senior Prom next week.  How did he get so big so fast?

PAIL

For those of you still interested in participating in the #100inJuneChallenge, I will probably post updates on Mondays and Fridays.  Maybe that will create some sort of accountability for all of us!  (On a side note, I realized last night how difficult this is going to be with a not-always-agreeable infant.  Nothing like making a commitment before counting the cost, eh?)

Today, I have the privilege to be featured here.  While there are few topics I shy away from here, infertility and loss aren't subjects I approach regularly outside of the blogosphere. 

That said, I'm thankful there was a community that could easily connect me to other women who also struggled with many of the same issues.  I've heard a friendship is born when someone says, "What?  You too?  But I thought that was only me..."  And that's promising for any woman who has felt the isolation infertility and loss can cause.

The One Where I Develop a HashTag

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.

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.

Our first meeting, Baby Boy.

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.

Daddy snapped all sorts of pictures.  You were perfect even
directly after birth.  Most babies aren't cute at this stage.

Forty minutes later, at 11:46 pm, you were here.

Ryan Christopher
March 30th, 2013
8 lbs, 0.8 oz.
22 inches

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

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

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...

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.