I just wanted to let ya'll know that I have not forgotten about this blog. I've been wanting to post for a while, but I feel like I have nothing to talk about. It seems like all I do these days is breastfeed Sophia. So that's what I'm going to talk about.
In my last post I said that things were finally getting better, but now I realize I may have been a bit hasty with those words. I had a doctor's appointment this past Tuesday, and when my doctor weighed Sophia, we discovered that, in one week, she hadn't gained any weight. At all.
My doctor was already concerned because Sophia's weight gain has been so slow (about half an ounce per day, or around three ounces per week). The preferred gain would be around one ounce per day (or at least five to six ounces per week). At six weeks old, her ideal weight right now should be 8 lbs 11 oz. Her current weight? 7 lbs 6 oz.
So my doctor told me it was time to pull out the big guns. She wrote me a prescription for Domperidone, a drug to increase my milk supply. One capsule, four times a day, for six weeks. Cost? $90.
She told me I had to buy a double electric breast pump. Cost? $300. (I would like to thank my friend Kat for getting us a big fat Target gift card. It helped pay for this ridiculously expensive pump.)
She had me go for a consultation to get me set up with an SNS (Supplemental Nursing System). I was going to explain it, but it's basically an alternative to the bottle, to avoid nipple confusion. It's also incredible frustrating, and I don't think I'm going to use it.
We think the reason that Sophia isn't gaining properly is twofold: she doesn't nurse with gusto, so she's not getting all my milk. Since breastfeeding is all about demand and supply, if she's not demanding it, then I'm not supplying it. So we need to get her to a place where she eats with vigor, and me to a place where I have lots to offer.
So: my new breastfeeding routine is to feed Sophia on both sides for as long as she'll go. Then I have to pump on both sides for 1o minutes, and then give her whatever I pump. No storing it in the freezer. I already had a small stash built up that I had pumped over the course of a few weeks, but my midwife told me to give that to her as well. She needs to take in everything that I've got.
I also have to keep getting Sophia weighed every week, and calling my doctor with those numbers. And I'm going to have yet another consultation with a Lactation Consultant so that they can observe a feeding, weigh Sophia before and after, see how much I pump, and then make suggestions from there.
And I still have to keep track of her diapers.
*BIG SIGH* So we're not out of the woods yet. But I'm praying like crazy that this new routine works. This whole ordeal is mentally and emotionally draining, and I feel like I can't enjoy motherhood while this is hanging over my head.
Your continued prayers would also be appreciated.
April 28, 2011
April 9, 2011
Breastfeeding. Oy.
Well, Sophia's birth may have happened naturally, but breastfeeding certainly hasn't. I have heard that there can be difficulties with establishing breastfeeding, but I didn't know how many issues there could be, or how I would react emotionally.
I feel like I've had 101 problems, and at least as many meltdowns over them.
Waking her for feedings because she's too sleepy.
Trying to keep her awake during feedings.
Latch issues.
Jaundice.
Two visits with lactation consultants.
Nipple shields.
Failure to thrive (slow weight gain)
Getting her weighed 2-3 times a week.
Trying to shorten feedings.
Trying to increase feedings.
Pumping.
Keeping track of the number of wet poopy diapers, and what color they are.
I have experienced much stress and heartache and worry over this whole breastfeeding thing. I've also received a lot of encouragement, which I needed. But at the same time, I got tired of hearing "You're a good mom, just keep doing what you're doing!" All I could think was, "If I'm such a good mom, does that mean that I have a bad daughter? If what I'm doing is working, then why isn't she gaining weight like she's supposed to?!"
All I could do was stick it out and keep going. Everyone said it would get better. So I just kept going and prayed that it would get better. And you know what? It's finally getting better.
As of Monday, Sophia was back at her birth weight. Two days later, she had gained another two ounces.
She is more alert during her feedings.
My milk supply is increasing, and I don't feel like I have to pump anymore.
I don't have to count her diapers anymore.
I don't have to wake her for feedings anymore, or try to keep her awake during a feeding.
I don't have to use the nipple shield all the time (I still use it sometimes).
She knows how to latch properly.
I have been watching her cues more, and the clock less.
The only problem I still had was that her feeding times seemed to getting longer, not shorter. I was once again reduced to tears over this, but a Google search about it restored my sanity and confidence. I found out that it's called cluster feeding, and it means two things: a growth spurt for her, and an increased milk supply for me.
So that's where we are right now, and I'm okay with it. Sure, I'm feeding her more frequently, but I'm so much more relaxed now. I feel like I can stop worrying, and just go with it. Also, I've learned how to occupy myself while she's feeding. I can hold her with one hand, and read, or eat, or do a Sudoku, or be on the computer with the other hand. In fact, I've been typing this whole post with one hand. :)
If there are any other frustrated breastfeeding moms reading this, or any soon-to-be moms, all I can say is it WILL get better. Stick it out. Also, a lactation consultant can help. So can Google. :)
I feel like I've had 101 problems, and at least as many meltdowns over them.
Waking her for feedings because she's too sleepy.
Trying to keep her awake during feedings.
Latch issues.
Jaundice.
Two visits with lactation consultants.
Nipple shields.
Failure to thrive (slow weight gain)
Getting her weighed 2-3 times a week.
Trying to shorten feedings.
Trying to increase feedings.
Pumping.
Keeping track of the number of wet poopy diapers, and what color they are.
I have experienced much stress and heartache and worry over this whole breastfeeding thing. I've also received a lot of encouragement, which I needed. But at the same time, I got tired of hearing "You're a good mom, just keep doing what you're doing!" All I could think was, "If I'm such a good mom, does that mean that I have a bad daughter? If what I'm doing is working, then why isn't she gaining weight like she's supposed to?!"
All I could do was stick it out and keep going. Everyone said it would get better. So I just kept going and prayed that it would get better. And you know what? It's finally getting better.
As of Monday, Sophia was back at her birth weight. Two days later, she had gained another two ounces.
She is more alert during her feedings.
My milk supply is increasing, and I don't feel like I have to pump anymore.
I don't have to count her diapers anymore.
I don't have to wake her for feedings anymore, or try to keep her awake during a feeding.
I don't have to use the nipple shield all the time (I still use it sometimes).
She knows how to latch properly.
I have been watching her cues more, and the clock less.
The only problem I still had was that her feeding times seemed to getting longer, not shorter. I was once again reduced to tears over this, but a Google search about it restored my sanity and confidence. I found out that it's called cluster feeding, and it means two things: a growth spurt for her, and an increased milk supply for me.
So that's where we are right now, and I'm okay with it. Sure, I'm feeding her more frequently, but I'm so much more relaxed now. I feel like I can stop worrying, and just go with it. Also, I've learned how to occupy myself while she's feeding. I can hold her with one hand, and read, or eat, or do a Sudoku, or be on the computer with the other hand. In fact, I've been typing this whole post with one hand. :)
If there are any other frustrated breastfeeding moms reading this, or any soon-to-be moms, all I can say is it WILL get better. Stick it out. Also, a lactation consultant can help. So can Google. :)
April 7, 2011
Sophia's Birth Story: Part 2
Click here to read part one.
So, to recap: I labored at home for 16 hours, I started having pushing contractions in my bathtub, and when I got into the car to go to the Birth Center, my water broke.
[I vaguely remember someone, maybe my midwife, telling me that I could have wet myself, and I remember feeling insulted. I know the difference between the two. I felt several big gushes of fluid. It was definitely my water, not my bladder.]
My friend Sozan recalls that, in the car, I was still chatty between my contractions, but she didn't really respond to anything I was saying because she was so afraid of saying or doing something wrong and having me yell at her. I guess her fears were valid, considering how I had yelled at Art. I should clarify that I was never angry with anyone. I yelled because it was all so intense that speaking at a normal volume was impossible.
Once we got to the Birth Center, things get a little bit more blurry in my memory. I remember that my midwife wanted to check me, but I could not be made to get into the bed. I remember getting into the tub and being on my hands and knees, and my midwife had to really coax me to get me to turn into a sitting/lounging position. And once I did turn, she and Art both exclaimed that they could see the baby's hair!
That's when it really became real to me. Believe it or not, a woman can be so focused on her labor that she forgets the reason she's going through it. When I heard the comment about the hair, I looked at Art wide-eyed and exclaimed, "We're having a baby!"
Things I don't remember: my midwife lighting candles. I didn't notice any candles. I don't remember Sozan putting my hair up, but apparently I thanked her three times. I have no idea where anyone was sitting/standing/kneeling once I got into the tub. Later on I had to ask Art where he was when I pushed our baby out (he was by my head).
I continued having pushing contractions in the tub for a while. My midwife had to call an assistant, and once she arrived, I was finally able to actively push through my contractions, not just grunt whenever they came. I don't know how long I pushed, but I know that it wasn't very many pushes where her head was kind of coming out then going back in. Twice my midwife told me to feel my baby's head. (It felt squishy.)
[Also? I don't really remember the pain during the pushing. I know I felt some, but my focus was on pushing the way my midwife was directing me, so I didn't really notice the pain. Or maybe I just didn't care by that point, knowing that I was so close to the end.]
Soon her head stopped going back in every time I pushed. I remember thinking about the term "Ring of Fire" that everyone uses to describe that moment when the head comes out. You know what? The ring of fire starts before that. I'm probably scaring all the non-mothers out there from ever having kids. So let me tell you something else: the pain lasts mere seconds (or so it seems). And you are motivated to keep pushing because you know that's the only way to make the pain go away. Not to mention the reward of holding you newborn child in your arms.
At one point while I was still in the tub, I remember exclaiming that it was all over! I was done being pregnant, and I was done with labor, and I had my baby! My midwife pointed out that I wasn't quite done, that still had to deliver placenta. I wanted to tell her to shut up and let me celebrate for a minute. But I didn't say anything. :)
Eventually I did have to get out of the tub (because she doesn't deliver the placenta in the water). They helped me over to the bed, covered me and Sophia with blankets, and made quick work of delivering the placenta, cutting the umbilical cord, and palpating my uterus to make it contract. (Their pressing on my uterus was something I was dreading because I just wanted to be done with the pain. And yes, it did hurt. Sozan continued to take pictures, and she captured one of me grimacing.)
After they were done fussing with us, they helped me sit up so I could begin breastfeeding, and then they left us alone for an hour so we could concentrate on bonding with our daughter. That hour passed quickly, especially for Sophia, who screeched loudly when I took her off my breast so my midwife could weigh her, check all her vitals, inspect her body, and test her reflexes.
Once she was thoroughly checked out, Art put her in her first diaper and her going-home outfit. And he did a fantastic job. He made it look like it was something he did everyday. Once she was dressed, he had the luxury of sitting on the couch with her in his arms, and they fell asleep together. I, on the other hand, did not get to relax or sleep, because it was my turn to get checked out.
Hat courtesy of my sister, outfit courtesy of my mom.
She looks like a little bear!
First of many naps with daddy.
[I'm afraid those are the only pictures I can post. There are lots of me with her, but I am not dressed, and though I am covered, I still don't feel that those pictures are appropriate for the internet.]
My midwife was very gentle, and she took her time. She explained how I had torn and what she was doing as she was stitching me up. I didn't hesitate to tell her if something was tender or downright painful, which she appreciated. However, she didn't tell how many stitches I got, which I appreciated. I don't understand why a doctor would offer that information, or why someone would inquire. In my mind, it's just one more number to needlessly obsess over and cause unnecessary fear or worry. (And yes, I was frozen for the stitching. They do have some drugs at the Birth Center.)
Then it was time to don those attractive mesh panties with a giant ice pack/pad, get dressed, and sit through an explanation of postpartum instructions for the next few days (Art and Sozan slept through most of it, and I was barely awake myself). Thankfully, we didn't actually have to remember every detail, because she gave us papers that said everything she was saying.
Finally Art and Sozan packed up the car, put Sophia in her car seat (which she hated, and still hates), and my midwife wheeled me out. It was 5:00am, and we were finally going home.
When we got home, we went straight to bed, called our parents with the news, and went to sleep.
So how do I feel about the whole experience? I keep telling people that my labor was perfect. I wouldn't change a thing. People are usually astonished when I say this. It's like they can't imagine that a woman wouldn't hate labor. And then they typically make comments about how strong and tough I am, or how I have a high tolerance for pain, or that my labor was pretty easy.
I hesitate to agree, because that isn't something that can be measured. It's not like we can take my labor and give it to someone else, and see how they do. Also, I think it diminishes my experience; as if my labor wasn't painful, or that I didn't have to work hard. (Labor does hurt, and it is work.)
I think it went so well because I was so well prepared. I spent nearly my entire pregnancy researching and reading about natural childbirth, imagining myself in labor and using the different techniques to cope with each contraction. Also, I think a person's mindset makes a huge difference.
I told myself over and over and over and over that, "Labor is a natural process, that it isn't something to be feared."
"Labor pain is a good pain, because it means that I'm bringing forth life."
"I only have to have one contraction at a time."
"I trust that God created my body to be able to do this."
"Each contraction is bringing me closer to my baby."
"It's only for a minute."
"I can do ANYTHING for a minute."
These thoughts were so deeply instilled in my mind that when labor started, I was able to listen to my body and do what I felt I needed to do, and just let it happen. Which is exactly what I had wanted for my labor.
So that's the story, those are my thoughts, and now I can concentrate on posting a bajillion pictures of my sweet baby girl. :)
So, to recap: I labored at home for 16 hours, I started having pushing contractions in my bathtub, and when I got into the car to go to the Birth Center, my water broke.
[I vaguely remember someone, maybe my midwife, telling me that I could have wet myself, and I remember feeling insulted. I know the difference between the two. I felt several big gushes of fluid. It was definitely my water, not my bladder.]
My friend Sozan recalls that, in the car, I was still chatty between my contractions, but she didn't really respond to anything I was saying because she was so afraid of saying or doing something wrong and having me yell at her. I guess her fears were valid, considering how I had yelled at Art. I should clarify that I was never angry with anyone. I yelled because it was all so intense that speaking at a normal volume was impossible.
Once we got to the Birth Center, things get a little bit more blurry in my memory. I remember that my midwife wanted to check me, but I could not be made to get into the bed. I remember getting into the tub and being on my hands and knees, and my midwife had to really coax me to get me to turn into a sitting/lounging position. And once I did turn, she and Art both exclaimed that they could see the baby's hair!
That's when it really became real to me. Believe it or not, a woman can be so focused on her labor that she forgets the reason she's going through it. When I heard the comment about the hair, I looked at Art wide-eyed and exclaimed, "We're having a baby!"
Things I don't remember: my midwife lighting candles. I didn't notice any candles. I don't remember Sozan putting my hair up, but apparently I thanked her three times. I have no idea where anyone was sitting/standing/kneeling once I got into the tub. Later on I had to ask Art where he was when I pushed our baby out (he was by my head).
I continued having pushing contractions in the tub for a while. My midwife had to call an assistant, and once she arrived, I was finally able to actively push through my contractions, not just grunt whenever they came. I don't know how long I pushed, but I know that it wasn't very many pushes where her head was kind of coming out then going back in. Twice my midwife told me to feel my baby's head. (It felt squishy.)
[Also? I don't really remember the pain during the pushing. I know I felt some, but my focus was on pushing the way my midwife was directing me, so I didn't really notice the pain. Or maybe I just didn't care by that point, knowing that I was so close to the end.]
Soon her head stopped going back in every time I pushed. I remember thinking about the term "Ring of Fire" that everyone uses to describe that moment when the head comes out. You know what? The ring of fire starts before that. I'm probably scaring all the non-mothers out there from ever having kids. So let me tell you something else: the pain lasts mere seconds (or so it seems). And you are motivated to keep pushing because you know that's the only way to make the pain go away. Not to mention the reward of holding you newborn child in your arms.
A few pushes later (and with a high-pitched yelp from me) and her head was out, and her body followed immediately after. [I was very thankful that I didn't have to push her shoulders out.] My midwife lifted her out of the water and placed her in my arms, and started rubbing her with towels to keep her crying. She encouraged me to talk to my baby, and all I could think was, "This is MY baby. This is the baby I was pregnant with, and I just gave birth and I have a baby!" It was an incredible and surreal moment.
Once that moment passed, my next thoughts were, "Everyone stop fussing with my baby so I can turn this slippery little body and see what I had!" Sozan was busy snapping pictures, and she has one of me in mid-sentence, when I announced to the room that we had a daughter, and that her name would be Sophia Grace.
Once that moment passed, my next thoughts were, "Everyone stop fussing with my baby so I can turn this slippery little body and see what I had!" Sozan was busy snapping pictures, and she has one of me in mid-sentence, when I announced to the room that we had a daughter, and that her name would be Sophia Grace.
At one point while I was still in the tub, I remember exclaiming that it was all over! I was done being pregnant, and I was done with labor, and I had my baby! My midwife pointed out that I wasn't quite done, that still had to deliver placenta. I wanted to tell her to shut up and let me celebrate for a minute. But I didn't say anything. :)
Eventually I did have to get out of the tub (because she doesn't deliver the placenta in the water). They helped me over to the bed, covered me and Sophia with blankets, and made quick work of delivering the placenta, cutting the umbilical cord, and palpating my uterus to make it contract. (Their pressing on my uterus was something I was dreading because I just wanted to be done with the pain. And yes, it did hurt. Sozan continued to take pictures, and she captured one of me grimacing.)
After they were done fussing with us, they helped me sit up so I could begin breastfeeding, and then they left us alone for an hour so we could concentrate on bonding with our daughter. That hour passed quickly, especially for Sophia, who screeched loudly when I took her off my breast so my midwife could weigh her, check all her vitals, inspect her body, and test her reflexes.
Once she was thoroughly checked out, Art put her in her first diaper and her going-home outfit. And he did a fantastic job. He made it look like it was something he did everyday. Once she was dressed, he had the luxury of sitting on the couch with her in his arms, and they fell asleep together. I, on the other hand, did not get to relax or sleep, because it was my turn to get checked out.
Hat courtesy of my sister, outfit courtesy of my mom.
She looks like a little bear!
First of many naps with daddy.
[I'm afraid those are the only pictures I can post. There are lots of me with her, but I am not dressed, and though I am covered, I still don't feel that those pictures are appropriate for the internet.]
My midwife was very gentle, and she took her time. She explained how I had torn and what she was doing as she was stitching me up. I didn't hesitate to tell her if something was tender or downright painful, which she appreciated. However, she didn't tell how many stitches I got, which I appreciated. I don't understand why a doctor would offer that information, or why someone would inquire. In my mind, it's just one more number to needlessly obsess over and cause unnecessary fear or worry. (And yes, I was frozen for the stitching. They do have some drugs at the Birth Center.)
Then it was time to don those attractive mesh panties with a giant ice pack/pad, get dressed, and sit through an explanation of postpartum instructions for the next few days (Art and Sozan slept through most of it, and I was barely awake myself). Thankfully, we didn't actually have to remember every detail, because she gave us papers that said everything she was saying.
Finally Art and Sozan packed up the car, put Sophia in her car seat (which she hated, and still hates), and my midwife wheeled me out. It was 5:00am, and we were finally going home.
When we got home, we went straight to bed, called our parents with the news, and went to sleep.
So how do I feel about the whole experience? I keep telling people that my labor was perfect. I wouldn't change a thing. People are usually astonished when I say this. It's like they can't imagine that a woman wouldn't hate labor. And then they typically make comments about how strong and tough I am, or how I have a high tolerance for pain, or that my labor was pretty easy.
I hesitate to agree, because that isn't something that can be measured. It's not like we can take my labor and give it to someone else, and see how they do. Also, I think it diminishes my experience; as if my labor wasn't painful, or that I didn't have to work hard. (Labor does hurt, and it is work.)
I think it went so well because I was so well prepared. I spent nearly my entire pregnancy researching and reading about natural childbirth, imagining myself in labor and using the different techniques to cope with each contraction. Also, I think a person's mindset makes a huge difference.
I told myself over and over and over and over that, "Labor is a natural process, that it isn't something to be feared."
"Labor pain is a good pain, because it means that I'm bringing forth life."
"I only have to have one contraction at a time."
"I trust that God created my body to be able to do this."
"Each contraction is bringing me closer to my baby."
"It's only for a minute."
"I can do ANYTHING for a minute."
These thoughts were so deeply instilled in my mind that when labor started, I was able to listen to my body and do what I felt I needed to do, and just let it happen. Which is exactly what I had wanted for my labor.
So that's the story, those are my thoughts, and now I can concentrate on posting a bajillion pictures of my sweet baby girl. :)
April 5, 2011
Sophia's Birth Story: Part 1
It all started on Monday, March 14, 2011, at 6:17 am. I had my very first contraction.
Now, up until that point, I had never experienced any Braxton Hicks, so I thought maybe I was finally feeling those. (After all, I was only 37.5 pregnant. First time moms NEVER go into labor, naturally, that early.) What did the contractions feel like? For me, I felt it all in my hips. That contraction (and all the rest that followed) didn't feel like a cramp, and it didn't feel like a tightening. It felt like an ache, in my already aching hips. But it had a beginning, and it had an end, so I knew it was...something.
I made note of it, and continued making breakfast and getting ready for work. Exactly 20 minutes later, I had another one, and again 20 minutes after that. I made note of those ones as well, but didn't tell Art, because I didn't feel that there was anything to tell. I had three light contractions, and I knew it didn't necessarily mean anything was going to happen. (I also had some bloody show, so with that combination, I knew that I would probably have the baby that week, but I didn't assume it would be that day.)
I went to work, and continued timing them as I felt them, while also trying to get some work done. They were anywhere from 5 to 30 minutes apart. (I think some of them were so mild that I couldn't quite distinguish them from the discomfort I was already feeling.) After a few hours of that, I finally decided to talk to my supervisor. I wasn't sure if should stay at work or not. I mean, I could work just fine. But what should I do?
She told me to call my midwife, and my midwife told me to go home and see if a change of activity would change anything, and to update her as needed. So I went home (and lied to my coworkers about why I was leaving. I didn't want everyone to get all excited only to have me show up at work the next day, still pregnant).
I then proceeded to clean the entire apartment, and I went to Target, and I blogged, and I napped, and the whole time, I was having mild contractions that didn't bother me at all. They did eventually settle into a 5-minute pattern, but I still wasn't convinced that I was in real labor.
I called Art, and my friend Sozan, just to give them a head's up, just in case. I also talked to my mom, and spent a lot of time on Facebook, emailing with friends (mostly Callie, who was excited and curious and wanted to know all the details).
At 3:10 the contractions started getting stronger (yes, I remember the exact time, because I wrote down on my paper "just got stronger"). It was at that point, or shortly after, that I didn't want to sit anymore, but I still wanted to use the laptop. So I grabbed a box from the closet, set it on the coffee table, and put the laptop on the box so I could stand at the computer.
By 6:00 the contractions got stronger again, and I had to start pacing. I walked in circles around the island in our kitchen, and then when the contraction was over, I would walk back over to the laptop and continue whatever I was doing. (I figured out very quickly that I could only walk clockwise around the island. I tried walking counter clockwise, but I felt like it made the contraction worse. I don't know what happens to a woman's brain during labor that makes those details so important, but that's what worked for me.)
[I took this picture at 7:30 pm. I had been in labor for 13 hours. Five hours after snapping this photo, Sophia was born.]
Art got home around this time, and for a while, he just watched me do my thing. I don't think he knew what to think, and I didn't need any help during my contractions just yet, so he spent most of the evening on the computer, waiting for...I don't know. I guess he was waiting for something to change, or for me to need his help.
Another hour went by, and I asked Art to start timing the contractions, because I needed to call my midwife again. I knew by this time that I was in real labor, and even though I assumed I had a long night ahead of me, I thought she should know that things were finally progressing, and I needed to give her details.
She kept me on the phone for several minutes so she could hear me have a couple of contractions. She basically wanted to know if I could talk through them, which I could. (I didn't want to, but I could.) She deduced that I wasn't in serious labor yet, and told me I had two options at that point: I could have her come over and sweep my membranes and really get things going, or I could do whatever I needed to do to relax and stop labor, get some sleep, and continue labor in the morning.
I was discouraged at this point, because labor seemed serious to me, and I hadn't wanted to be "that" woman who overreacted to early labor. She told me to think it over, keep timing the contractions, and to call her back in an hour with my decision.
It wasn't long before I decided that pacing during the contractions wasn't helping, so I got on my hands and knees and rested my face against a yoga ball, and simply breathed through each contraction. Art left the computer and started encouraging me, and reminding me to take deep long breaths. I didn't even ask him to do that, he just seemed to know that I needed his help now.
After a few of those contractions, I told him I wanted to get into the bathtub. I could no longer relax during a contraction, but I needed to be able to relax between contractions.
And once I got in the tub?
Things changed VERY quickly. Suddenly I was yelling for Art to "Make the water hotter!" "Get me a cool cloth for my face!" "Come back and press on my back!" "Keep timing the contractions!" "Squeeze my hands!" "Harder!" "No, that's not working!" I was also vocalizing through each contraction, and I needed the counter pressure on my lower back, and my poor husband... :) (He was overwhelmed, but I think he did a great job.)
He got in touch with my friend Sozan, and she and her husband finally showed up. I think her husband was a little worried. I mean, not one of us had ever witnessed or heard a woman in labor before, so he kept wondering if everything was okay, and if what he was hearing was normal.
Art had to call my midwife, because I couldn't talk anymore. While he was on the phone with her, my contractions changed, and suddenly I was having pushing contractions. (I have no idea when I went through transition.) My midwife heard me in the background, and told us to get to the Birth Center ASAP.
[Btw, I read somewhere that pushing contractions feel like vomiting, but downwards. And for me, that's exactly what it was like. The sudden tightening, the involuntary grunt...I actually thought I was going to throw up at first. Then I realized what was happening. And it's unstoppable. I couldn't resist them if my life depended on it. Also? The pushing contractions felt good. Maybe it's because the dominating sensation was the push, and I didn't notice the pain.]
Here's where it gets hilarious. Art had to convince me to get out of the tub and get dressed, which was the last thing I wanted to do at this point, but I knew I needed to. I ended up sitting on the toilet and having contractions there while Art attempted to clothe me. (At one point, I yelled at him to get out of the bathroom, because I was trying to go to the bathroom. Which I didn't exactly explain. Poor guy...)
He managed to get me into underwear and pants, but when he wanted to put socks on me, I yelled that I didn't want to wrestle with socks. In my mind, the socks were too tight, and it seemed like it would take a lot of effort to put them on. So barefoot into my shoes I went.
Then Art wanted me to put on a shirt, but again, it seemed like it would be really constricting, and I was NOT interested. I requested a zip-down sweater instead, and he complied. I should mention that this was at 10:30 at night, in the middle of March. I wasn't dressed for the weather at all, but I didn't care.
Art and my friends packed up the car, and in between contractions I still had the clarity of mind to tell Art to put a towel in the passenger seat, just in case. Once everything was ready to go, my friend Sozan held out her hands to me and said in her sweet, gentle way, "Okay Jenene, after your next contraction, I'm going to help you to the car."
Yeah, that didn't happen either. After the next contraction, I bolted right past her, out the door, ran down three flights of stairs, and waddled as fast as I could to the car. I did not want to be on the staircase, outside of someone's apartment when I had my next contraction. I made it to the car, got in the passenger seat kneeling, facing backwards, and?
My water broke.
Stay tuned for Part 2...
Now, up until that point, I had never experienced any Braxton Hicks, so I thought maybe I was finally feeling those. (After all, I was only 37.5 pregnant. First time moms NEVER go into labor, naturally, that early.) What did the contractions feel like? For me, I felt it all in my hips. That contraction (and all the rest that followed) didn't feel like a cramp, and it didn't feel like a tightening. It felt like an ache, in my already aching hips. But it had a beginning, and it had an end, so I knew it was...something.
I made note of it, and continued making breakfast and getting ready for work. Exactly 20 minutes later, I had another one, and again 20 minutes after that. I made note of those ones as well, but didn't tell Art, because I didn't feel that there was anything to tell. I had three light contractions, and I knew it didn't necessarily mean anything was going to happen. (I also had some bloody show, so with that combination, I knew that I would probably have the baby that week, but I didn't assume it would be that day.)
I went to work, and continued timing them as I felt them, while also trying to get some work done. They were anywhere from 5 to 30 minutes apart. (I think some of them were so mild that I couldn't quite distinguish them from the discomfort I was already feeling.) After a few hours of that, I finally decided to talk to my supervisor. I wasn't sure if should stay at work or not. I mean, I could work just fine. But what should I do?
She told me to call my midwife, and my midwife told me to go home and see if a change of activity would change anything, and to update her as needed. So I went home (and lied to my coworkers about why I was leaving. I didn't want everyone to get all excited only to have me show up at work the next day, still pregnant).
I then proceeded to clean the entire apartment, and I went to Target, and I blogged, and I napped, and the whole time, I was having mild contractions that didn't bother me at all. They did eventually settle into a 5-minute pattern, but I still wasn't convinced that I was in real labor.
I called Art, and my friend Sozan, just to give them a head's up, just in case. I also talked to my mom, and spent a lot of time on Facebook, emailing with friends (mostly Callie, who was excited and curious and wanted to know all the details).
At 3:10 the contractions started getting stronger (yes, I remember the exact time, because I wrote down on my paper "just got stronger"). It was at that point, or shortly after, that I didn't want to sit anymore, but I still wanted to use the laptop. So I grabbed a box from the closet, set it on the coffee table, and put the laptop on the box so I could stand at the computer.
By 6:00 the contractions got stronger again, and I had to start pacing. I walked in circles around the island in our kitchen, and then when the contraction was over, I would walk back over to the laptop and continue whatever I was doing. (I figured out very quickly that I could only walk clockwise around the island. I tried walking counter clockwise, but I felt like it made the contraction worse. I don't know what happens to a woman's brain during labor that makes those details so important, but that's what worked for me.)
[I took this picture at 7:30 pm. I had been in labor for 13 hours. Five hours after snapping this photo, Sophia was born.]
Art got home around this time, and for a while, he just watched me do my thing. I don't think he knew what to think, and I didn't need any help during my contractions just yet, so he spent most of the evening on the computer, waiting for...I don't know. I guess he was waiting for something to change, or for me to need his help.
Another hour went by, and I asked Art to start timing the contractions, because I needed to call my midwife again. I knew by this time that I was in real labor, and even though I assumed I had a long night ahead of me, I thought she should know that things were finally progressing, and I needed to give her details.
She kept me on the phone for several minutes so she could hear me have a couple of contractions. She basically wanted to know if I could talk through them, which I could. (I didn't want to, but I could.) She deduced that I wasn't in serious labor yet, and told me I had two options at that point: I could have her come over and sweep my membranes and really get things going, or I could do whatever I needed to do to relax and stop labor, get some sleep, and continue labor in the morning.
I was discouraged at this point, because labor seemed serious to me, and I hadn't wanted to be "that" woman who overreacted to early labor. She told me to think it over, keep timing the contractions, and to call her back in an hour with my decision.
It wasn't long before I decided that pacing during the contractions wasn't helping, so I got on my hands and knees and rested my face against a yoga ball, and simply breathed through each contraction. Art left the computer and started encouraging me, and reminding me to take deep long breaths. I didn't even ask him to do that, he just seemed to know that I needed his help now.
After a few of those contractions, I told him I wanted to get into the bathtub. I could no longer relax during a contraction, but I needed to be able to relax between contractions.
And once I got in the tub?
Things changed VERY quickly. Suddenly I was yelling for Art to "Make the water hotter!" "Get me a cool cloth for my face!" "Come back and press on my back!" "Keep timing the contractions!" "Squeeze my hands!" "Harder!" "No, that's not working!" I was also vocalizing through each contraction, and I needed the counter pressure on my lower back, and my poor husband... :) (He was overwhelmed, but I think he did a great job.)
He got in touch with my friend Sozan, and she and her husband finally showed up. I think her husband was a little worried. I mean, not one of us had ever witnessed or heard a woman in labor before, so he kept wondering if everything was okay, and if what he was hearing was normal.
Art had to call my midwife, because I couldn't talk anymore. While he was on the phone with her, my contractions changed, and suddenly I was having pushing contractions. (I have no idea when I went through transition.) My midwife heard me in the background, and told us to get to the Birth Center ASAP.
[Btw, I read somewhere that pushing contractions feel like vomiting, but downwards. And for me, that's exactly what it was like. The sudden tightening, the involuntary grunt...I actually thought I was going to throw up at first. Then I realized what was happening. And it's unstoppable. I couldn't resist them if my life depended on it. Also? The pushing contractions felt good. Maybe it's because the dominating sensation was the push, and I didn't notice the pain.]
Here's where it gets hilarious. Art had to convince me to get out of the tub and get dressed, which was the last thing I wanted to do at this point, but I knew I needed to. I ended up sitting on the toilet and having contractions there while Art attempted to clothe me. (At one point, I yelled at him to get out of the bathroom, because I was trying to go to the bathroom. Which I didn't exactly explain. Poor guy...)
He managed to get me into underwear and pants, but when he wanted to put socks on me, I yelled that I didn't want to wrestle with socks. In my mind, the socks were too tight, and it seemed like it would take a lot of effort to put them on. So barefoot into my shoes I went.
Then Art wanted me to put on a shirt, but again, it seemed like it would be really constricting, and I was NOT interested. I requested a zip-down sweater instead, and he complied. I should mention that this was at 10:30 at night, in the middle of March. I wasn't dressed for the weather at all, but I didn't care.
Art and my friends packed up the car, and in between contractions I still had the clarity of mind to tell Art to put a towel in the passenger seat, just in case. Once everything was ready to go, my friend Sozan held out her hands to me and said in her sweet, gentle way, "Okay Jenene, after your next contraction, I'm going to help you to the car."
Yeah, that didn't happen either. After the next contraction, I bolted right past her, out the door, ran down three flights of stairs, and waddled as fast as I could to the car. I did not want to be on the staircase, outside of someone's apartment when I had my next contraction. I made it to the car, got in the passenger seat kneeling, facing backwards, and?
My water broke.
Stay tuned for Part 2...
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