Birth day

In honor of Elijah's first birthday tomorrow, here's the story of his entrance into the world...

At my first OB appointment when I was around 10 weeks pregnant with Elijah, I told my doctor that I didn't want to go much past 41 weeks because I knew that there were complications that could come from babies being too far overdue that could sometimes be worse than complications from babies coming a little early. 

I had a very easy pregnancy - no morning sickness, no blood clots despite a genetic predisposition to them, no major complications. I had the usual sciatica and massive heartburn but not really much to complain about. Toward the end of February 2012, I went into preterm labor at 34 weeks. Fortunately labor stopped on its own and my little man stayed put to bake a little longer. Like an idiot, I of course felt positive that I would be one of the lucky women who delivered before 40 weeks, since he'd already made it known that he wanted out. 

I was relieved to make it to 37 weeks, as he would have been considered full term at that point, and I encouraged Elijah to come out whenever he was ready. I bounced on an exercise ball, ate pineapple, walked every day on my lunch breaks, ate spicy food out the wazoo (heartburn be damned) all to no avail. I began my maternity leave at 39 weeks, at the beginning of April, with no contractions or anything else to give me hope that my cozy kid was going to enter the world. Easter Sunday, my due date, came and went and I became very, very cranky. Not only was I unable to sleep, breathe, or go longer than 30 minutes without waddling as quickly as possible to the bathroom, but I was becoming increasingly worried that something horrible would happen to my son if he didn't come out SOON. 

I had an OB appointment on Friday, April 13, at 40 weeks, 5 days. I was dilated to about 3 cm and was 90% effaced but hadn't had any regular contractions. My doctor told me that she could schedule an induction for the following Sunday, when I would be 41 weeks, and I told her that being induced that same day (Friday) would be even better and I reiterated to her what my fears were. She said that since I was already dilated and effaced so far she could send me over to the hospital as an add-on induction. She stripped my membranes and called the hospital to let them know I'd be over for an induction and she sent me on my way. 

I was ecstatic! I called my parents, who live about 2.5 hours away, to let them know so that they could head up. Jack and I went home first, because my stepdaughter was with us - she was pregnant also and she had her OB appointment the same day I did so we all went together. We packed up the car with my bags and I ate some soup, took the dogs out and put them back up, hugged my stepdaughter and got in the car. I drove, which I suppose isn't very normal since most people are already in labor when they head to the hospital. I was so excited because I knew that, one way or another, we would be meeting our son by the next day at the latest. I was also thrilled to discover that I was FINALLY having regular contractions. Jack and I chatted happily all the way to the hospital. 

I got checked in and settled into my room around 3 or 4pm and then began a long and fairly boring wait. I hadn't slept much if at all the night before, and not much if at all the night before that, so I was pretty exhausted by that point. My contractions picked up in intensity and were very regular - in fact, one of the nurses commented that my labor pattern was the best one on the maternity ward that night. I was started on Pitocin, but at only half of the regular starting dose since I was contracting on my own. I had to have IV antibiotics, which burned like CRAZY every time the bolus was sent up my arm. For the first several hours, I was pretty happy and chatty, although I could definitely feel the contractions. I didn't have a grand vision of how I wanted my labor and delivery to go; I just wanted Elijah to be safe the whole time. Every time I had a contraction, I looked at the monitor to see what numeric value was assigned to it the contraction especially when they were strong contractions, but I also looked at the printout for the fetal heart monitor and that helped me focus on my breathing so that I could give him enough oxygen to keep him safe. I always felt better when the contraction had passed and his heartrate had stayed in the normal range. I was progressing fairly nicely and I think I was around 4 or 5cm when they broke my water. My friend Vera had warned me that after your water breaks, contractions hurt a LOT more because there's nothing cushioning your pelvic bone from the baby's head pushing down. She was right. Post-water breaking contractions hurt a whole lot more than the ones I'd had prior to that. After about an hour of that, I decided I didn't want to know what contractions would feel like when I hit transition, because although the pain was manageable, I knew I wouldn't be able to handle anything more intense. I asked for an epidural, which I think I got around 8 or 9 pm. It definitely helped, although I hated that I couldn't feel my legs and that my butt was numb. Also, the epidural did absolutely nothing for my back labor. The nurses kept telling me to push the button to deliver more drugs via the epi, but all that accomplished was to ensure that my butt was incredibly numb and that my legs felt like dead tree stumps attached to me. I asked Jack to massage my legs, which helped sometimes but other times just made my legs feel worse. 

My friend Vera left shortly after I got my epidural, and my parents went to their hotel room around midnight so that they could get some sleep and so that Jack and I could try to get some sleep. They told me to call them when I reached 8 cm, which happened around 5 am on April 14. I think I waited until closer to 6 to call them since they'd driven up the day before and stayed for so long. After I hit transition, I felt really nauseated and vomited three or four times, at which point I was happy that the nurses hadn't let me eat or drink anything except water, Sprite, and Jello. At 11:30 am, I was 9.5 cm and still 90% effaced. Despite the nausea, I was happy because I knew I'd see my baby soon.  I never felt the urge to push and was just waiting until the doctors told me it was time. 

However, time passed and I kept feeling really strong, really long contractions and I became more and more exhausted. My back labor was very intense at that point and I had a hard time focusing on my breathing. Every time I closed my eyes, I would immediately enter into a waking dream state. I would talk, but it would be based on the waking dreams I had. I was aware I was doing it but I was so out of it that I couldn't stop. Vera, who is a doctor, told me that these were called "hypnogogic hallucinations" and can happen when people are extremely exhausted. More time passed and I told Jack that I was so exhausted that I didn't know how I was going to push. Originally I was hoping not to have a c-section but I started feeling like maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing. The doctor, who'd been called away for an emergency c-section, came back in to check me and I was still at 9.5 cm at 3:00 pm. They told me that Elijah wasn't turned right and hadn't shifted in the 4 hrs since the doctor had checked me previously, and that he was presenting brow-first instead of having his chin tucked to have the top of his head presenting. Because labor had stalled and because of his position, the doctors told me I'd need a c-section. Since I'd previously been so adamant about not wanting one, both Jack and my mom looked concerned that I would be upset. I told them both that it was actually relief, because I had no strength left. 

After that, things moved fairly quickly. The anesthesiologist came in and adjusted my epidural so that I was numb from the chest down. I was prepped for surgery and rolled down to the surgery suite. I was so exhausted that I felt like I was watching a movie. I commented to the person pushing my bed that now I knew that movies were pretty accurate when they show people being rushed to surgery from the point of view of the person - it's true that all you see is the ceiling tiles and lights going by. In the surgery room, I hated lying so completely flat and not being able to move. Although the actual surgery didn't take very long, being stitched back up took FOREVER. Elijah was born at 3:58 pm, weighing 7 lb 12 oz and having a length of 21.5". He was then taken over to be cleaned up. I could see him but he was across the room so I couldn't touch him and I couldn't go over to him, which went against every instinct I had - that was definitely the worst part of having a c-section. The surgeon left Elijah's umbilical cord long so that Jack could clip it, which he did, and did quite well. It was nice that he did it where I could watch. Jack stayed beside me during the surgery and as they were sewing me up, although he did get to stand up and look over the curtain as they were pulling Elijah out, so he got to see Elijah first. He said Elijah made the biggest grimace when they did and then let out a big yell. After that, he was pretty quiet - in fact, so quiet that Jack asked the doctor if everything was okay with him. They assured him that Elijah was fine. Finally, after he was cleaned up and wrapped, Jack was allowed to hold him. Jack gave him his first hug, and then he brought Elijah over to me so I could see him and give him his first kiss. He looked so tiny and I couldn't believe he was mine. He looked just like he'd looked in the 3D ultrasounds I'd had. I wanted to hold him so badly but couldn't yet. I kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, and stroked whatever parts of him I could reach. Finally the surgeon was done stitching me back up and they placed Elijah on my chest, and they wheeled me out of the surgery suite and into the hallway, where my family was waiting. Everyone was overjoyed to see Elijah, and the anesthesiologist took a picture of my mom with Elijah and me. After visiting my family for a little bit, Elijah and I were taken to the post-anesthesia recovery unit, where he and I had skin to skin contact and he nursed right away, which was a really weird experience for me. Once I was able to sit up and move my legs I was taken to my new room, where I would stay for 3 nights, trying and usually failing to get some sleep - the first of many sleepless nights to come. I loved holding my son and watching him make faces in his sleep, shocked over his dark brown hair and in love with his gray-blue eyes and perfect nose. I was so in love with him and so in awe of how perfect he was, and I loved seeing Jack as a daddy to a newborn. 

Now a year has passed and our lives have definitely changed and definitely for the better. We are so blessed by our sweet boy. 

Happy

Before I became a parent, it never occurred to me how much joy it brings when you see that your child makes other people happy. Of course I knew that babies make parents happy (usually. Or at least, overall. Maybe not every single waking moment). And grandparents are a given as well.

But I have to say that it truly warms my heart when I see my sisters interact with my son. My oldest sister has two children, the oldest of whom is 14, and my son is her first nephew (and if he'd been a girl, he would have been her first niece). She lights up when he crawls over to her and holds his arms out to be picked out. When she happily picks him up, he points and says, "Go." She patiently takes him to wherever he wants to go and describes to him all the things he's looking at. (Meanwhile I'm grateful for the chance just to sit down.) My next older sister, the one who claims she doesn't like babies, has been known to sit with him on my parents' couch and look out the picture window with him, pointing out the trees and the birds and the clouds. She's even offered to hold him so I could eat, and admitted that he's "kind of cute". My youngest sister plays with him and laughs with him, and all of it makes me so happy to know that so many people, outside of my husband and myself, love him and dote on him.

Even complete strangers can't help but to smile when they see him while we're out and about, grocery shopping or eating at a restaurant. My child is such a shameless flirt and loves people so much that he just grins and plays games with anyone he sees. I smile when I see little old men grin at him, and little old ladies make silly faces at him. Once, at the store, there was a somewhat intimidating-looking younger man whose face just softened when we walked by him and he smiled and said, "That's a good-looking kid you got there."

Who knew that I would feel such delight in seeing that my child, without even trying, brings such happiness to other people? It's not even so much of a prideful, "Yep, that's MY kid" kind of a feeling as it is a feeling of, "Wow, babies truly are a blessing - and not just to their parents." I hope that we never become too busy to stop and notice the small things - all of them, not just the small people - that bring a bit of light to an often all too dark world.

To My Fellow Mommies

Dear Fellow Mommy (Especially if you're a new one, too),

I've only been a mom for just about a year, and one thing I've learned so far is that everyone has an opinion of the "right" way to parent. And, unfortunately, a lot of people can be quite rude in making it obvious when they don't think you are doing things the "right" way (i.e., their way). It's hard enough  being a new parent without other people critiquing your parenting skills. So, fellow newbie, here is my promise to you.

Whether you breastfeed or formula feed, I will not judge you. I won't judge you if you never even wanted to breastfeed, and I also won't judge you if you plan to breastfeed past one year.

If you have a son, I won't judge you if you had him circumcised or if you didn't.

I won't judge you if you push your kid in a stroller or wear him/her in a wrap/sling/mei tei/insert favorite babywearing object here.

I won't judge you if you use cloth diapers or disposables.

I won't judge you if you co-sleep or if your child has slept every night and every nap in his/her crib.

I won't judge you if you started solids right at 6 months, or at 4 months, or waited until 9 months. I won't judge you if used Gerber or stewed apples yourself.

I won't judge you if you transition your child to cow's milk, coconut milk, rice milk, soy milk, almond milk, organic or non-organic. No judging.

I won't judge you if you don't "treasure every single moment because time goes by so fast." We know time flies. That doesn't mean we treasure every diaper change or every temper tantrum.

However, I will judge you if you don't feed your child at all, or barely feed your child. I will judge you if you never spend time with your child. I will judge you if you don't ever change your child's diaper. I will judge you if you don't provide a safe place for your child to sleep. I will judge you if you abuse your child or allow others to do so. I will judge you if make parenting decisions based on what is convenient for you instead of what is in the best interest of your child.

To me, the only "wrong" way to parent is not to love your child. If your parenting decisions are based out of love for your child, then you're not doing it wrong. I may not always agree with what you decide, and we may ultimately decide to do different things, but as long as you are parenting out of love and not out of convenience, I won't judge you and I won't think you're doing it wrong.

So. Keep calm and carry on. You're not a bad mother.