William Scott was born 8.11.11 :) He weighed 8lb13oz and was 22 in long. He looks just like his big brother, but is a much more chill baby. (Thank you, Jesus!)
He was born via c-section, of all things. I labored at home until I stalled at 9cm. After 4 hours "stuck" in transition we went to the hospital and I got an epidural. After 12 hours at 9 cm, I agreed to a section. Will's head was in a really jacked up position, and would NOT descend. It was long, hard, and disappointing in the end. Laboring at home was awesome, and everything I'd imagined. Had he been in the right position, I know he would have been born at daybreak, after 6 hours of labor. But he wasn't. It is what it is. The recovery was very hard. Being in the hospital for 4 nights and days away from Jeb was very hard. Coming to terms has been hard, but not the end of the world.
So, I now have three sons, and couldn't be happier. I'm tired, but ok. I've had so much help; I have yet to do an entire day with just the kids by myself. I'm really scared to be alone with them all day! We'll find our groove though, I know.
I'll try to get some pics... but I don't have time for much these days, besides nursing/rocking/playing/managing/making snacks. You know, the stuff of mothering small children.
Life is good.
Showing posts with label birth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birth. Show all posts
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Birth
No, the baby is not here. I'm 34 weeks, and although I am getting to the point of NOT wanting to be pregnant anymore, it is still early yet. I'm hoping for a 38 week-ish delivery, but obviously I have very little control over such things.
Birth in general has been a passion of mine, starting with Colin's birth. Unfortunately, I didn't know much about birth (hell, I didn't know much about anything when I was 18) when I was pregnant with Colin. I took the "Lamaze" classes at the clinic, but I can't say I was very engaged in learning about the process. His birth was a typical in the hospital, mom knows nothing, doctors dictate everything, pitocin, epidural, forceps, blah blah blah, healthy baby is the only important thing, blah blah blah, birth. About 1 week after he was born, I decided I wanted to be a midwife. I learned that I had to become an RN first, so my major changed from Math to Nursing.
RN-ship had never, not once, not ever crossed my mind before.
Long story short, I hated working on an L&D unit because it was the polar opposite of what I had developed as my birth "philosophy". I was turned off to the entire field, as a career, and went to learn the specialty of Critical Care. Personally though? I knew my next birth would be different.
The week after I found out I was pregnant with Jeb, I found a midwife, and committed to a natural birth. My plan included going to a hospital that was not "in network" and knew it was going to cost me thousands of dollars out of pocket, vs $10 for the whole shebang had I delivered at my place of work. I didn't care about the money; it was that important to me. I hired a doula, took classes, read books, and taught Bennett all that I knew. The result? We had an amazing, beautiful, natural birth in a hospital with a terrific midwife, and I could not be happier with that experience.
This time? We are staying HOME. That's right! I am planning a HOMEBIRTH and I am thrilled. Obviously, if anything at all looks outside of normal, we'll transfer to the hospital less than a mile away. What an awesome safety net!!
I love birth so much. I still think about midwifery school. Bennett bugs me about it periodically. This passion for birth is in my blood. I have all my supplies ready. My midwife is amazing. I am going to do this awesome thing.... and then take a nap IN MY OWN BED. Ahhhhh... the thought is absolutely intoxicating. I'm sitting on my birthing ball as I type this, and fantasizing about when it's Time.
If something comes up, and we have to abandon our plan, so be it. I'm not so addicted to the idea of a HB that I am going to risk safety. This is the plan as long as everything remains normal. The best part? If pregnancy and labor progress within normal ranges? Homebirth is the SAFEST choice, according to the research. Not only has this become my preference? It's the SAFEST option for me and my newest precious babe. Score.
I love talking about birth, and homebirth, so if anyone has any questions, fire away!!
Birth in general has been a passion of mine, starting with Colin's birth. Unfortunately, I didn't know much about birth (hell, I didn't know much about anything when I was 18) when I was pregnant with Colin. I took the "Lamaze" classes at the clinic, but I can't say I was very engaged in learning about the process. His birth was a typical in the hospital, mom knows nothing, doctors dictate everything, pitocin, epidural, forceps, blah blah blah, healthy baby is the only important thing, blah blah blah, birth. About 1 week after he was born, I decided I wanted to be a midwife. I learned that I had to become an RN first, so my major changed from Math to Nursing.
RN-ship had never, not once, not ever crossed my mind before.
Long story short, I hated working on an L&D unit because it was the polar opposite of what I had developed as my birth "philosophy". I was turned off to the entire field, as a career, and went to learn the specialty of Critical Care. Personally though? I knew my next birth would be different.
The week after I found out I was pregnant with Jeb, I found a midwife, and committed to a natural birth. My plan included going to a hospital that was not "in network" and knew it was going to cost me thousands of dollars out of pocket, vs $10 for the whole shebang had I delivered at my place of work. I didn't care about the money; it was that important to me. I hired a doula, took classes, read books, and taught Bennett all that I knew. The result? We had an amazing, beautiful, natural birth in a hospital with a terrific midwife, and I could not be happier with that experience.
This time? We are staying HOME. That's right! I am planning a HOMEBIRTH and I am thrilled. Obviously, if anything at all looks outside of normal, we'll transfer to the hospital less than a mile away. What an awesome safety net!!
I love birth so much. I still think about midwifery school. Bennett bugs me about it periodically. This passion for birth is in my blood. I have all my supplies ready. My midwife is amazing. I am going to do this awesome thing.... and then take a nap IN MY OWN BED. Ahhhhh... the thought is absolutely intoxicating. I'm sitting on my birthing ball as I type this, and fantasizing about when it's Time.
If something comes up, and we have to abandon our plan, so be it. I'm not so addicted to the idea of a HB that I am going to risk safety. This is the plan as long as everything remains normal. The best part? If pregnancy and labor progress within normal ranges? Homebirth is the SAFEST choice, according to the research. Not only has this become my preference? It's the SAFEST option for me and my newest precious babe. Score.
I love talking about birth, and homebirth, so if anyone has any questions, fire away!!
Friday, December 3, 2010
Jeb's birth story. (long)
Jeb will be 3 tomorrow. My baby. Three. (sigh)
I wrote this years ago, but thought it was a good time to post :)
I never thought I'd make it to my due date, let alone go 15 days over. Having been an L&D nurse, I was all too aware of the risks of induction, and of hospital birth in general. I chose a midwife for my care, and specifically chose a hospital that was natural-friendly even though it would cost considerably more than going to a different facility. So, at 41 weeks I was getting really nervous. I started trying my own "induction" methods: walking, sex, spicey food, eggplant, evening primrose oil, relaxing, talking to the baby, bouncing on the birth ball, castor oil, enema, and even cohosh. Nothing worked. I had been contracting on and off for weeks; it felt like I could kick into active labor at any minute, but I didn't. By 41w5d, I was so deflated, exhausted, nervous, and uncomfortable. I agreed to come in for a cervidil induction at 42w, as I didn't feel comfortable going past that. It was such a hard decision; I knew how quickly the cascade of interventions could happen, and in the back of my mind was a tiny voice wondering what if my body just won't labor? I had been preparing for a natural birth for months, I'd had such faith in my body and the birthing process, why wasn't it happening? What if it just wouldn't? I hated the doubt. I hated that my faith was being shaken.
Somehow I got some sleep the night before we went in for the induction. Clothes, music, snacks, and cell phones were packed and ready to go. The car seat was in the car. I had a little moment of panic standing in the nursery before i went to bed. We would be bringing a BABY home in a few short days! It didn't last long though, being on the cusp of 42 weeks, I just wanted to not be pregnant. We woke up at 5 the next morning, and i took my last pregnant shower. For days leading up to this one, I had wondered is this my last pregnant shower? Now I knew: this was the last one. I spent an extra moment washing my belly and imagining my babe out of my body and in my arms. On our way out, I had bennett take one last picture of me pregnant, we loaded the car, and left. It was still dark as we drove, both of us so full of anticipation. I stared out the window and felt sad that things were already going differently than i had planned, or hoped. During my pregnancy, I had fantasized about laboring at home before going to the hospital. I pictured myself in the nursery, in the tub, breathing and moaning through contractions on the birthing ball. I pictured bennett and I walking through our neighborhood, leaves crunching beneath our feet, stopping on the sidewalk during contractions. I wondered what drivers-by would think, and imagined reassuring bennett that i was ok, that this was all normal. And here I was driving in for an induction.
We arrived on the L&D unit with all of our bags and Important Things. 2 nurses got us settled and admitted in record time. I mused about how nurses help each other with a 6am admission: no one wants to be stuck there late after a night shift. I tried not to let on that I was a nurse, let alone that I had been an L&D nurse. My midwife came in, and placed the cervidil noting that my cervix was still only 50% and 1cm. I thought the cervidil would surely put me into labor as I had continued contracting all night and had even passed some pink mucous. So we began waiting. I made sure to drink fluids regularly. Bennett paced. We watched tv. We each took a short nap. My contractions were showing up nicely on the monitor, but were not very painful. Around 11am, the baby started having some late decelerations. They were the kind you see in the text books: very little variability, the decel starts as the contraction is ending and takes awhile to recover. A nurse came in the room just as I was expecting. I changed positions, which helped. Bennett was hopeful that the tracing looked better, but I was nervous. The baby was having trouble tolerating these contractions and I wasn't even in labor. I kept thinking about my "old" placenta. At that time I honestly believed I had about a 50/50 chance of getting sectioned.
The day dragged on. The baby would occasionally have some nasty looking decels, but always recovered with position changes. I could tell that the nurses were nervous. at 4pm Nadine (midwife) came to check me. I was 2cm, but I think she was being generous. She offered to do another cervidil, or rupture my water. She assured me that the head was well applied, so I opted for the rupture. She had to be somewhere late morning the next day, and I really wanted her to deliver me because I felt the covering OB would surely not be as laid back as Nadine about some decels. So she broke my water, which was pretty uncomfortable, but I wanted so desperately to get into labor. After the my water was broken, I got out of bed and sat in the rocker. my contractions got more painful pretty quickly. We called my doula and agreed that she should come in within the hour. I filled her in on some of the heart rate issues, and she said to me "it's time that you stop being the nurse, and start being the laboring mother". I took those words to heart and didn't look at the monitor again. She got to our room around 7pm and I was having to breath through the contractions, but they still weren't difficult. We walked for some time, bounced on a birth ball for some time, and she showed bennett how to give me some acupressure. At first i thought the acupressure was kind of lame, but it really worked. So much so that during one contraction I pushed Bennett's hands away. We continued alternating between walking and bouncing for several hours. I kept up with my fluids and sneaked snacks. I hated going to the bathroom, as the following contractions were always more intense. We listened to Donovan, and reminisced about being teenagers together. I went on the monitor for 15 min out of every hour, and the baby was cooperating beautifully. I was constantly checking in with the baby, reminding him that he was safe, and that we would work together to have a beautiful birth.
The contractions started demanding my attention around 9pm and I was so glad to see nadine at 11pm to check me. I was terrified that there would be no change. I could handle the pain as long as I knew it was doing something. I was 90% and 3-4. I was elated! From my first prenatal appt, Nadine maintained that "once you get effaced, your labor is going to fly." That cervical exam brought on a wave of contractions that I had to moan through for the first time. I remembered to make low pitched noises; it was one of the only things I remembered from class. The baby's heartrate went to the 80s with a few contractions, but again recovered with position changes. I agreed to stay on the monitor for some time. I spent the next 2 hours in the bed on the monitor moaning with contractions. I visualized an eggplant with each contraction. I pictured holding it in my hands with my thumbs on the top of the fat part and my fingers on the thin part and pushing the bulk through the smaller "neck" while pulling back the skin. Tt's a hard visual to explain, but it seemed similar to pushing down on my fundus and pulling my cervix up and back, allowing the baby through. I focused on staying soft and limp and allowing each contraction to do its work. I concentrated on keeping my mouth loose and relaxing completely in between contractions. I got that "woozy" laborland feeling. At 1am Nadine came back to check me, and I was anxious to get in the water. I was 4-5 cm and completely effaced, so I headed to the tub.
As i lowered myself into the warm water, I thought I was in heaven. I could handle anything in there! It was bliss! Bennett sat next to the tub through a few contractions that were starting to push me to the edge. He remarked that Melissa (doula) and Nadine were commenting on how awesome I was doing. I said "really? because I feel like any one of these might make me lose it." My stomach was starting to feel uneasy, and my gatorade-water mix no longer sounded good. I wanted small sips of water. Ice cold water. The nurse did some intermittent doppler-ing, and it took all of my concentration to stay in control and not bat her hand away. I don't know why, but her touching me made EVERYTHING hurt more. I asked "is it going low?" she said no and I almost yelled "then get your freaking hands off of me!". I had been in the tub for maybe 15 minutes when I started having that I-can't-do-this feeling. I got on hands and knees in the water, but it didn't help. I started saying over and over that I couldn't do it, that I didn't care about going natural anymore, I just wanted it to stop. Melissa tried bargaining with me: just 5 more contractions and then I would get out of the tub. It worked in the sense that I needed something to fight against, I needed to argue with someone. Then I started throwing up. Bennett brought me a tiny spit basin and I looked at him and threw up all over his chest and extended arm. None made it into the basin. I threw up all over Melissa's arm and felt terrible about it. Finally she put a pile of towels in front of me which was exactly what I wanted but couldn't say with all the puke coming out of my mouth. I threw up into the towel pile and was just pummeled with wave after wave of crazy contractions. I didn't know when one was ending and the next starting. I thought I was dying, and then realized I wasn't, but wanted to. I was panicking, but also knew it was normal. I looked at Bennett and mustered all of my strength to gather the control to "check in" with him. I aked him if I was scaring him and he said no, but his eyes said yes. I told him I was going to be okay, and then I was sucked back down. I was terrified of thinking I was in transition. What if this hell wasn't transition? The thought was too scary. I started begging for a new plan. Something, anything. Nadine showed up and I told her I wanted a gun. She said with a big smile "oh! when women ask for a gun they are usually 8-9 cm!" She told me to get out of the tub and into bed and she would check me. I agreed, only on the terms that if I were anything less than 8 cm, I would get drugs. I even commanded them to get the OR ready. "call anesthesia! intubate me! I don't care!"
Somehow I made it to the bed. Being upright was much easier than hands and knees. I got into bed and Nadine checked me, sure enough, I was 8-9 cm. I got a huge smile and actually laughed. I looked and Bennett and said "oh my god, I'm going NATURAL!" I knew there was no turning back and was elated, but also frightened: there was no turning back. By this time it was 2am. I went from 4/5 cm to 8/9 cm in one crazy, intense hour. I spent the next 40 minutes working on that last cm or two. Not one position helped. The contractions spaced out a bit (they had been every 2-3 minutes for hours), but when one hit, I screamed to Jesus for dear mercy. Melissa tried everything. They told me to surrender and give in to my baby's descent. I told them I didn't care about a baby. They told me to relax and stay soft. I told them I was already doing my best and that everything was involuntary, I had no control anymore. Finally I got into a position to push. The position that felt the best was actually on my back, pulling my knees back. I didn't feel any great urge to push, I just wanted to get this over with already. Although, when I started a push, my body would then take over. It took me a few contractions, which were now a good 4 or 5 min part, to organize a good pushing groove. I was out of my head by this time, I felt like I was going to pass out. All of a sudden, my mouth was bone dry, and I couldn't talk. Melissa wiped my head with a cold cloth and i thought she was a genius. Never in my life had I had a need fulfilled so perfectly without asking. She gave me ice chips, and Bennett stroked my head. When a contraction would come I would whimper and dig down for strength I didn't believe was there, but it was. I was holding back a bit though, it felt like I would break in two if I pushed the way they were telling me to. Finally, with one contraction, I made the decision to push with reckless abandon, and POP his head came out. I looked up at Melissa in sheer terror, it was the most unnatural feeling I have ever experienced. A few seconds later I felt someone adjust my bed, Nadine was looking at the monitor, and the vibe in the room changed. Nadine looked at me and told me to get this baby out, now. I thought there was a stuck shoulder. It was a tight nuchal cord. I gave one last heave, and he came out. I thought for sure i had ripped from my meatus to my anus, but I was actually somehow completely intact. I fell back in bliss and just said over and over I did it, I did it. Bennett leaned into my face with tears in his eyes, and said "it's a boy!". I did it. I did it. They put Jeb on my chest for a moment, and he was blue. His first apgar was a whopping 5, so they took him to perk him up a bit. I sent Bennett over to take pictures and meet his son. I was suddenly more concerned with Bennett getting to see him than anything else. I felt like I'd had the pregnancy and birth, and these first moments were for him. I birthed the placenta, which hurt more than I was expecting. Jeb was brought to me and latched on beautifully. We made phone calls and revelled in our son. He was born at 3:19, and by 4:30, I was up to the bathroom and putting my own clothes on. I felt a little sore, but so great, so high. I did it. I did it. Bennett fell into a deep sleep around 5. The nurses were done with me for a while, and the room was cleaned up and calm and quiet. A glowing mama, and wrinkled newborn were the only evidence that birth had just happened in that very space. I held Jeb and we gazed at each other for over an hour as the sky changed from night to dawn. The sun was rising on a new life. His new life and mine. I declined the erythro ointment, and I am so glad I did. He was wide eyed for hours, and we just poured our souls into each other. It was the most perfect, sacred hour of my life.
For several days I didn't know what to think about natural birth. I felt a little bit traumatized, and couldn't remember why I had wanted to do this thing. Looking back, I'm so glad I did. I really believe I would have been sectioned if I'd had an an epidural and couldn't move around. I also believe it absolutely gave us a unique bond . I'd already been to the darkest, most miraculous place for him, before we'd even met. And the fast recovery was awesome. I am so proud of myself, and look forward to doing it again, hopefully at home next time:)
I wrote this years ago, but thought it was a good time to post :)
I never thought I'd make it to my due date, let alone go 15 days over. Having been an L&D nurse, I was all too aware of the risks of induction, and of hospital birth in general. I chose a midwife for my care, and specifically chose a hospital that was natural-friendly even though it would cost considerably more than going to a different facility. So, at 41 weeks I was getting really nervous. I started trying my own "induction" methods: walking, sex, spicey food, eggplant, evening primrose oil, relaxing, talking to the baby, bouncing on the birth ball, castor oil, enema, and even cohosh. Nothing worked. I had been contracting on and off for weeks; it felt like I could kick into active labor at any minute, but I didn't. By 41w5d, I was so deflated, exhausted, nervous, and uncomfortable. I agreed to come in for a cervidil induction at 42w, as I didn't feel comfortable going past that. It was such a hard decision; I knew how quickly the cascade of interventions could happen, and in the back of my mind was a tiny voice wondering what if my body just won't labor? I had been preparing for a natural birth for months, I'd had such faith in my body and the birthing process, why wasn't it happening? What if it just wouldn't? I hated the doubt. I hated that my faith was being shaken.
Somehow I got some sleep the night before we went in for the induction. Clothes, music, snacks, and cell phones were packed and ready to go. The car seat was in the car. I had a little moment of panic standing in the nursery before i went to bed. We would be bringing a BABY home in a few short days! It didn't last long though, being on the cusp of 42 weeks, I just wanted to not be pregnant. We woke up at 5 the next morning, and i took my last pregnant shower. For days leading up to this one, I had wondered is this my last pregnant shower? Now I knew: this was the last one. I spent an extra moment washing my belly and imagining my babe out of my body and in my arms. On our way out, I had bennett take one last picture of me pregnant, we loaded the car, and left. It was still dark as we drove, both of us so full of anticipation. I stared out the window and felt sad that things were already going differently than i had planned, or hoped. During my pregnancy, I had fantasized about laboring at home before going to the hospital. I pictured myself in the nursery, in the tub, breathing and moaning through contractions on the birthing ball. I pictured bennett and I walking through our neighborhood, leaves crunching beneath our feet, stopping on the sidewalk during contractions. I wondered what drivers-by would think, and imagined reassuring bennett that i was ok, that this was all normal. And here I was driving in for an induction.
We arrived on the L&D unit with all of our bags and Important Things. 2 nurses got us settled and admitted in record time. I mused about how nurses help each other with a 6am admission: no one wants to be stuck there late after a night shift. I tried not to let on that I was a nurse, let alone that I had been an L&D nurse. My midwife came in, and placed the cervidil noting that my cervix was still only 50% and 1cm. I thought the cervidil would surely put me into labor as I had continued contracting all night and had even passed some pink mucous. So we began waiting. I made sure to drink fluids regularly. Bennett paced. We watched tv. We each took a short nap. My contractions were showing up nicely on the monitor, but were not very painful. Around 11am, the baby started having some late decelerations. They were the kind you see in the text books: very little variability, the decel starts as the contraction is ending and takes awhile to recover. A nurse came in the room just as I was expecting. I changed positions, which helped. Bennett was hopeful that the tracing looked better, but I was nervous. The baby was having trouble tolerating these contractions and I wasn't even in labor. I kept thinking about my "old" placenta. At that time I honestly believed I had about a 50/50 chance of getting sectioned.
The day dragged on. The baby would occasionally have some nasty looking decels, but always recovered with position changes. I could tell that the nurses were nervous. at 4pm Nadine (midwife) came to check me. I was 2cm, but I think she was being generous. She offered to do another cervidil, or rupture my water. She assured me that the head was well applied, so I opted for the rupture. She had to be somewhere late morning the next day, and I really wanted her to deliver me because I felt the covering OB would surely not be as laid back as Nadine about some decels. So she broke my water, which was pretty uncomfortable, but I wanted so desperately to get into labor. After the my water was broken, I got out of bed and sat in the rocker. my contractions got more painful pretty quickly. We called my doula and agreed that she should come in within the hour. I filled her in on some of the heart rate issues, and she said to me "it's time that you stop being the nurse, and start being the laboring mother". I took those words to heart and didn't look at the monitor again. She got to our room around 7pm and I was having to breath through the contractions, but they still weren't difficult. We walked for some time, bounced on a birth ball for some time, and she showed bennett how to give me some acupressure. At first i thought the acupressure was kind of lame, but it really worked. So much so that during one contraction I pushed Bennett's hands away. We continued alternating between walking and bouncing for several hours. I kept up with my fluids and sneaked snacks. I hated going to the bathroom, as the following contractions were always more intense. We listened to Donovan, and reminisced about being teenagers together. I went on the monitor for 15 min out of every hour, and the baby was cooperating beautifully. I was constantly checking in with the baby, reminding him that he was safe, and that we would work together to have a beautiful birth.
The contractions started demanding my attention around 9pm and I was so glad to see nadine at 11pm to check me. I was terrified that there would be no change. I could handle the pain as long as I knew it was doing something. I was 90% and 3-4. I was elated! From my first prenatal appt, Nadine maintained that "once you get effaced, your labor is going to fly." That cervical exam brought on a wave of contractions that I had to moan through for the first time. I remembered to make low pitched noises; it was one of the only things I remembered from class. The baby's heartrate went to the 80s with a few contractions, but again recovered with position changes. I agreed to stay on the monitor for some time. I spent the next 2 hours in the bed on the monitor moaning with contractions. I visualized an eggplant with each contraction. I pictured holding it in my hands with my thumbs on the top of the fat part and my fingers on the thin part and pushing the bulk through the smaller "neck" while pulling back the skin. Tt's a hard visual to explain, but it seemed similar to pushing down on my fundus and pulling my cervix up and back, allowing the baby through. I focused on staying soft and limp and allowing each contraction to do its work. I concentrated on keeping my mouth loose and relaxing completely in between contractions. I got that "woozy" laborland feeling. At 1am Nadine came back to check me, and I was anxious to get in the water. I was 4-5 cm and completely effaced, so I headed to the tub.
As i lowered myself into the warm water, I thought I was in heaven. I could handle anything in there! It was bliss! Bennett sat next to the tub through a few contractions that were starting to push me to the edge. He remarked that Melissa (doula) and Nadine were commenting on how awesome I was doing. I said "really? because I feel like any one of these might make me lose it." My stomach was starting to feel uneasy, and my gatorade-water mix no longer sounded good. I wanted small sips of water. Ice cold water. The nurse did some intermittent doppler-ing, and it took all of my concentration to stay in control and not bat her hand away. I don't know why, but her touching me made EVERYTHING hurt more. I asked "is it going low?" she said no and I almost yelled "then get your freaking hands off of me!". I had been in the tub for maybe 15 minutes when I started having that I-can't-do-this feeling. I got on hands and knees in the water, but it didn't help. I started saying over and over that I couldn't do it, that I didn't care about going natural anymore, I just wanted it to stop. Melissa tried bargaining with me: just 5 more contractions and then I would get out of the tub. It worked in the sense that I needed something to fight against, I needed to argue with someone. Then I started throwing up. Bennett brought me a tiny spit basin and I looked at him and threw up all over his chest and extended arm. None made it into the basin. I threw up all over Melissa's arm and felt terrible about it. Finally she put a pile of towels in front of me which was exactly what I wanted but couldn't say with all the puke coming out of my mouth. I threw up into the towel pile and was just pummeled with wave after wave of crazy contractions. I didn't know when one was ending and the next starting. I thought I was dying, and then realized I wasn't, but wanted to. I was panicking, but also knew it was normal. I looked at Bennett and mustered all of my strength to gather the control to "check in" with him. I aked him if I was scaring him and he said no, but his eyes said yes. I told him I was going to be okay, and then I was sucked back down. I was terrified of thinking I was in transition. What if this hell wasn't transition? The thought was too scary. I started begging for a new plan. Something, anything. Nadine showed up and I told her I wanted a gun. She said with a big smile "oh! when women ask for a gun they are usually 8-9 cm!" She told me to get out of the tub and into bed and she would check me. I agreed, only on the terms that if I were anything less than 8 cm, I would get drugs. I even commanded them to get the OR ready. "call anesthesia! intubate me! I don't care!"
Somehow I made it to the bed. Being upright was much easier than hands and knees. I got into bed and Nadine checked me, sure enough, I was 8-9 cm. I got a huge smile and actually laughed. I looked and Bennett and said "oh my god, I'm going NATURAL!" I knew there was no turning back and was elated, but also frightened: there was no turning back. By this time it was 2am. I went from 4/5 cm to 8/9 cm in one crazy, intense hour. I spent the next 40 minutes working on that last cm or two. Not one position helped. The contractions spaced out a bit (they had been every 2-3 minutes for hours), but when one hit, I screamed to Jesus for dear mercy. Melissa tried everything. They told me to surrender and give in to my baby's descent. I told them I didn't care about a baby. They told me to relax and stay soft. I told them I was already doing my best and that everything was involuntary, I had no control anymore. Finally I got into a position to push. The position that felt the best was actually on my back, pulling my knees back. I didn't feel any great urge to push, I just wanted to get this over with already. Although, when I started a push, my body would then take over. It took me a few contractions, which were now a good 4 or 5 min part, to organize a good pushing groove. I was out of my head by this time, I felt like I was going to pass out. All of a sudden, my mouth was bone dry, and I couldn't talk. Melissa wiped my head with a cold cloth and i thought she was a genius. Never in my life had I had a need fulfilled so perfectly without asking. She gave me ice chips, and Bennett stroked my head. When a contraction would come I would whimper and dig down for strength I didn't believe was there, but it was. I was holding back a bit though, it felt like I would break in two if I pushed the way they were telling me to. Finally, with one contraction, I made the decision to push with reckless abandon, and POP his head came out. I looked up at Melissa in sheer terror, it was the most unnatural feeling I have ever experienced. A few seconds later I felt someone adjust my bed, Nadine was looking at the monitor, and the vibe in the room changed. Nadine looked at me and told me to get this baby out, now. I thought there was a stuck shoulder. It was a tight nuchal cord. I gave one last heave, and he came out. I thought for sure i had ripped from my meatus to my anus, but I was actually somehow completely intact. I fell back in bliss and just said over and over I did it, I did it. Bennett leaned into my face with tears in his eyes, and said "it's a boy!". I did it. I did it. They put Jeb on my chest for a moment, and he was blue. His first apgar was a whopping 5, so they took him to perk him up a bit. I sent Bennett over to take pictures and meet his son. I was suddenly more concerned with Bennett getting to see him than anything else. I felt like I'd had the pregnancy and birth, and these first moments were for him. I birthed the placenta, which hurt more than I was expecting. Jeb was brought to me and latched on beautifully. We made phone calls and revelled in our son. He was born at 3:19, and by 4:30, I was up to the bathroom and putting my own clothes on. I felt a little sore, but so great, so high. I did it. I did it. Bennett fell into a deep sleep around 5. The nurses were done with me for a while, and the room was cleaned up and calm and quiet. A glowing mama, and wrinkled newborn were the only evidence that birth had just happened in that very space. I held Jeb and we gazed at each other for over an hour as the sky changed from night to dawn. The sun was rising on a new life. His new life and mine. I declined the erythro ointment, and I am so glad I did. He was wide eyed for hours, and we just poured our souls into each other. It was the most perfect, sacred hour of my life.
For several days I didn't know what to think about natural birth. I felt a little bit traumatized, and couldn't remember why I had wanted to do this thing. Looking back, I'm so glad I did. I really believe I would have been sectioned if I'd had an an epidural and couldn't move around. I also believe it absolutely gave us a unique bond . I'd already been to the darkest, most miraculous place for him, before we'd even met. And the fast recovery was awesome. I am so proud of myself, and look forward to doing it again, hopefully at home next time:)
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
November will always hold a special place in my heart.
Today Jeb and I were outside, kicking leaves, and I thought of a private journal entry I wrote last year:
November always makes me think of those weeks I waited for Jeb's arrival. He was supposed to be a November baby. Throughout the pregnancy I fantasized about the familiar sights and smells that November brings, thinking they would be the sights and smells of early labor and early newborn-ness. It was not to be (as he was 2 weeks "late"), and now those sights and smells bring me back to a place of w a i t i n g. My boy is now quickly closing in on 2 (eta 3!) , which is too much to think about sometimes.
As Jeb's birthday approaches, I can't help but get transported back in time, and relive the days/weeks/moments of excitement/anticipation/nerves leading up to his birth. The same thing happens as I approach Colin's birthday each year. I'm happy that their births are opposite each other on the calendar. Each May as I remember Colin's beginnings, my thoughts and feelings are drawn to: buds on trees, longer days, new life at every glance, a general feeling of stepping outside and giving new life. Each November (turned December) as I remember Jeb's beginnings, my thoughts and feelings are drawn to: crisp evenings, falling leaves, shorter days, and turning inward to begin mothering. It feels just right.
Welcome, November, it's good to feel you again.
November always makes me think of those weeks I waited for Jeb's arrival. He was supposed to be a November baby. Throughout the pregnancy I fantasized about the familiar sights and smells that November brings, thinking they would be the sights and smells of early labor and early newborn-ness. It was not to be (as he was 2 weeks "late"), and now those sights and smells bring me back to a place of w a i t i n g. My boy is now quickly closing in on 2 (eta 3!) , which is too much to think about sometimes.
As Jeb's birthday approaches, I can't help but get transported back in time, and relive the days/weeks/moments of excitement/anticipation/nerves leading up to his birth. The same thing happens as I approach Colin's birthday each year. I'm happy that their births are opposite each other on the calendar. Each May as I remember Colin's beginnings, my thoughts and feelings are drawn to: buds on trees, longer days, new life at every glance, a general feeling of stepping outside and giving new life. Each November (turned December) as I remember Jeb's beginnings, my thoughts and feelings are drawn to: crisp evenings, falling leaves, shorter days, and turning inward to begin mothering. It feels just right.
Welcome, November, it's good to feel you again.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
My Labor Day
My Labor Day comes in May, not September.
Tomorrow my first born turns 12.
12 years ago tonight, at 0100, my water broke. I spent the entire day in labor, and gave birth in the wee hours on the 14th.
May 14 rolls around in my head almost constantly. At least 3 times per week, I look at the clock at 5:14. It's really weird, but it happens all.the.time. 514. fiveonefour. fivefourteen. oh five one four. may fourteen. May 14th. 5.14.98. May 14. May Fourteenth. It was my password for everything, for years.
BUT. May 13? That's my day. My Labor Day. That's the day I look at the clock and can tell you, at any given moment what was going on. In fact, I can tell you about the entire week. In my mind, it runs like an old film; really fast snap shots with no sound, or rather, like it's being narrated.
On the afternoon of May 11, at 39 weeks, I was running (trotting?) out to the car and tripped and fell FLAT on my belly. Everything was fine, but I always wonder if that's what lead to my water breaking less than 48 hours later.
On the afternoon of May 12 (it was a Tuesday), my boyfriend (not the birthdad) dropped me off after school and said "Call me when you go into labor tonight!" HAHAHA! We laughed!
At 0100, now Wednesday May 13, I woke up to go to the bathroom (again), stood up, and could not for the life of me figure out why I was peeing all over myself. OH! Maybe this is it! I sat on the toilet and dripped. And dripped. And hollered to my mom. She called the midwife who told me to get some rest. Oh, right, because it is so easy to sleep when you are 18 and about to give birth to a baby you will then not take home.
So, I did calculus homework. (I later asked my calc teacher for extra credit for doing homework in labor. He said no.)
I tossed and turned.
I was pretty unemotional; I was naive.
I called Colin's parents and they got ready for the drive.
I called my boyfriend in the morning; he had to go to school.
The principle said a prayer for me over the intercom.
Once the sun came up, I went to the midwife's office where ruptured membranes were confirmed, and mom and I were sent to the hospital. We got there late morning, and did the whole triage thing. I thought it was outrageous that I had to walk around dripping. I was settled into my L&D room around noon. Contractions were bearable. I was on complete auto pilot. The biggest emotion I can remember is being so excited for Colin's parents. I wanted them to get to me asap and enjoy this stuff.
I got an epidural around 3. I honest to God thought the anesthesiologist was joking when he told me I'd have to stay still during a contraction. It seemed impossible, but I shut my mouth and did it. I tried not to make any waves through any of it. There was already so much fuss and comotion over my pregnancy, I didn't want to be any more of a burden.
The afternoon dragged on. Boyfriend came to see me. We watched the Last Ever Episode of Seinfeld. Colin's parents were stuck in major traffic. Like, bumper to bumper for hours. A 3 hour drive took >7 hours that night. I felt so badly for them; I couldn't imagine the torture of sitting still on a highway while you are trying to get to your baby's birth.
I was declared ready-to-push at 10pm. Boyfriend held a leg, and mom held the other. I pushed, and nothing happened. At 11pm boyfriend had to leave, it was a school night after all. He passed Colin's parents in the hallway and they held each other and cried. Colin's mom, D, wiped my brow as I pushed. and pushed and pushed. Dad, G, waited in another room. I pushed for 4 hours. They put forceps on, and Colin was finally, mercifully born at 0159. "It's a boy! You have a son!", the Ob said to me; I appreciate that more now than I did then.
We all cried. He was so bruised. I had the hormone shakes, and remember thinking it was very metaphorical. I was being shaken into my new life. G&D held their son and looked at him like new parents do. You know that look. You can feel it on your own face when you look at your kids, esp when they are brandy-new.
Everyone went home, and we all got some sleep. Colin didn't room in with me, I didn't even think of it. Later that morning, I rang for the nurse and asked for my baby. I fully expected her to tell me "no", and I would have accepted that. I was surprised when she said "yes".
G&D came back and we began this whole Open Adoption Thing. They bought newspapers with the date, fivefourteen. We all held, changed, and loved this new baby. We each rubbed our cheeks on his, and tried to honor each others' feelings.
Friday May 15, everything came crashing down. Birthdad said he would not sign. G&D brought me their car seat so I could bring my son home. I considered changing his name to Jake, but just couldn't do it. I felt so badly for my mom, she was going to have to help me a lot. I was crushed for G&D. They were crushed, too. A social worker came to my room and talked to me like I was a 5 year old; "now you know the baby needs to eat often, right?" in a very high, sing-songy voice. Yeah, lady, I was making an adoption plan, I'm not a dunce.
Saturday May 16, I took my son home. I was numb, and scared, and relieved, and sad, and scared scared scared. He didn't sleep a wink that night; we both cried much of the night.
Monday May 18 was my due date. It was my first full day alone with the baby. I read to him from The Bastard. Boyfriend thought it was inappropriate reading material for a newborn, but I reminded him: it's good for the baby to be talked to a lot, and I ran out of things to say. I started reading What to Expect the First Year, and tried to be the best mom I could.
Tomorrow my first born turns 12.
12 years ago tonight, at 0100, my water broke. I spent the entire day in labor, and gave birth in the wee hours on the 14th.
May 14 rolls around in my head almost constantly. At least 3 times per week, I look at the clock at 5:14. It's really weird, but it happens all.the.time. 514. fiveonefour. fivefourteen. oh five one four. may fourteen. May 14th. 5.14.98. May 14. May Fourteenth. It was my password for everything, for years.
BUT. May 13? That's my day. My Labor Day. That's the day I look at the clock and can tell you, at any given moment what was going on. In fact, I can tell you about the entire week. In my mind, it runs like an old film; really fast snap shots with no sound, or rather, like it's being narrated.
On the afternoon of May 11, at 39 weeks, I was running (trotting?) out to the car and tripped and fell FLAT on my belly. Everything was fine, but I always wonder if that's what lead to my water breaking less than 48 hours later.
On the afternoon of May 12 (it was a Tuesday), my boyfriend (not the birthdad) dropped me off after school and said "Call me when you go into labor tonight!" HAHAHA! We laughed!
At 0100, now Wednesday May 13, I woke up to go to the bathroom (again), stood up, and could not for the life of me figure out why I was peeing all over myself. OH! Maybe this is it! I sat on the toilet and dripped. And dripped. And hollered to my mom. She called the midwife who told me to get some rest. Oh, right, because it is so easy to sleep when you are 18 and about to give birth to a baby you will then not take home.
So, I did calculus homework. (I later asked my calc teacher for extra credit for doing homework in labor. He said no.)
I tossed and turned.
I was pretty unemotional; I was naive.
I called Colin's parents and they got ready for the drive.
I called my boyfriend in the morning; he had to go to school.
The principle said a prayer for me over the intercom.
Once the sun came up, I went to the midwife's office where ruptured membranes were confirmed, and mom and I were sent to the hospital. We got there late morning, and did the whole triage thing. I thought it was outrageous that I had to walk around dripping. I was settled into my L&D room around noon. Contractions were bearable. I was on complete auto pilot. The biggest emotion I can remember is being so excited for Colin's parents. I wanted them to get to me asap and enjoy this stuff.
I got an epidural around 3. I honest to God thought the anesthesiologist was joking when he told me I'd have to stay still during a contraction. It seemed impossible, but I shut my mouth and did it. I tried not to make any waves through any of it. There was already so much fuss and comotion over my pregnancy, I didn't want to be any more of a burden.
The afternoon dragged on. Boyfriend came to see me. We watched the Last Ever Episode of Seinfeld. Colin's parents were stuck in major traffic. Like, bumper to bumper for hours. A 3 hour drive took >7 hours that night. I felt so badly for them; I couldn't imagine the torture of sitting still on a highway while you are trying to get to your baby's birth.
I was declared ready-to-push at 10pm. Boyfriend held a leg, and mom held the other. I pushed, and nothing happened. At 11pm boyfriend had to leave, it was a school night after all. He passed Colin's parents in the hallway and they held each other and cried. Colin's mom, D, wiped my brow as I pushed. and pushed and pushed. Dad, G, waited in another room. I pushed for 4 hours. They put forceps on, and Colin was finally, mercifully born at 0159. "It's a boy! You have a son!", the Ob said to me; I appreciate that more now than I did then.
We all cried. He was so bruised. I had the hormone shakes, and remember thinking it was very metaphorical. I was being shaken into my new life. G&D held their son and looked at him like new parents do. You know that look. You can feel it on your own face when you look at your kids, esp when they are brandy-new.
Everyone went home, and we all got some sleep. Colin didn't room in with me, I didn't even think of it. Later that morning, I rang for the nurse and asked for my baby. I fully expected her to tell me "no", and I would have accepted that. I was surprised when she said "yes".
G&D came back and we began this whole Open Adoption Thing. They bought newspapers with the date, fivefourteen. We all held, changed, and loved this new baby. We each rubbed our cheeks on his, and tried to honor each others' feelings.
Friday May 15, everything came crashing down. Birthdad said he would not sign. G&D brought me their car seat so I could bring my son home. I considered changing his name to Jake, but just couldn't do it. I felt so badly for my mom, she was going to have to help me a lot. I was crushed for G&D. They were crushed, too. A social worker came to my room and talked to me like I was a 5 year old; "now you know the baby needs to eat often, right?" in a very high, sing-songy voice. Yeah, lady, I was making an adoption plan, I'm not a dunce.
Saturday May 16, I took my son home. I was numb, and scared, and relieved, and sad, and scared scared scared. He didn't sleep a wink that night; we both cried much of the night.
Monday May 18 was my due date. It was my first full day alone with the baby. I read to him from The Bastard. Boyfriend thought it was inappropriate reading material for a newborn, but I reminded him: it's good for the baby to be talked to a lot, and I ran out of things to say. I started reading What to Expect the First Year, and tried to be the best mom I could.
Friday, February 26, 2010
First Award!
I don't even know how to get the Beautiful Blogger icon over here *blushes*, but I'd like to thank Denver Jen for nominating me:)
Since I don't have too many followers, I'll just do the "7 things". I really like reading other peoples' "7 things"!
1. My husband and I met when we were 12, in 7th grade homeroom. It's a really great love story, I'll have to tell it sometime.
2. I'm an ICU nurse, but it's really just a paycheck. I don't mind coming to work, per se, and I think I'm good at it, but it doesn't really inspire me. I believe I am destined to be a midwife, but finding the time for grad school feels impossible.
3. I hate unloading the dishwasher so much, sometimes I wash the dirty dishes in the sink if the dishwasher is full of clean ones so that I don't have to put them away.
4. I make my bed everyday, even if it's 7pm. Making my bed gives me a sense that everything is under control, even if the rest of the house is taken over by toys and clothes.
5. I've lived in 7 states, and 1 Canadian province. From 6th grade until my freshman year in college, I was in a different house (or apt) each year for Christmas. It sucked.
6. I had a natural birth with Jeb, and CANNOT wait to do it again. In fact, I look forward to birth more than a baby right now, which is a pretty good reason to wait to TTC ;)
7. My favorite movie of all time is Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
Since I don't have too many followers, I'll just do the "7 things". I really like reading other peoples' "7 things"!
1. My husband and I met when we were 12, in 7th grade homeroom. It's a really great love story, I'll have to tell it sometime.
2. I'm an ICU nurse, but it's really just a paycheck. I don't mind coming to work, per se, and I think I'm good at it, but it doesn't really inspire me. I believe I am destined to be a midwife, but finding the time for grad school feels impossible.
3. I hate unloading the dishwasher so much, sometimes I wash the dirty dishes in the sink if the dishwasher is full of clean ones so that I don't have to put them away.
4. I make my bed everyday, even if it's 7pm. Making my bed gives me a sense that everything is under control, even if the rest of the house is taken over by toys and clothes.
5. I've lived in 7 states, and 1 Canadian province. From 6th grade until my freshman year in college, I was in a different house (or apt) each year for Christmas. It sucked.
6. I had a natural birth with Jeb, and CANNOT wait to do it again. In fact, I look forward to birth more than a baby right now, which is a pretty good reason to wait to TTC ;)
7. My favorite movie of all time is Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Birthday Eve
Exactly 2 years ago from right now, my alarm was going off. Husband and I were heading in for an induction. At 42 weeks pregnant, I was desperate to give birth. J was due Nov 19, and here I was having a December baby?! He wasn't born until Dec 4th, but the 3rd will always be my Labor Day. We had a totally awesome natural birth, and I immediately became Suction Cup Mama. The severe anxiety set in by day 2. Any signs of distress from the baby sent me into orbit. I thought I was just being a normal new mom, but looking back my responses were fraught with adoption baggage. Anything that wasn't just right, any struggle J had, the littlest things made me feel like my validity as a mom was being threatened. If he fussed and I didn't fix it, if his cord fell off too early or too late, if I complained an ounce about sleep deprivation, someone would come to take him away. If my first baby were better off elsewhere, maybe this one would be too? Maybe someone/something would intervene and he would disappear. J got a cumulative 2 ounces of formula on day 3 before my milk came in and I agonized about whether I could call myself an "exclusive nurser"; had I taken the easy way out that day? (I am so not a 'formula is the devil' breast feeder, it was only my own anxiety.) When J was 3 weeks old, I took a 15 minute walk with my mother. It was the ONLY time I was away from him until I went back to work at 10 weeks. We co-slept full time, so I literally held him all day and night. I physically could not bring myself to be away from him, which fed the Anxiety Beast even more. My husband and I were primed to watch for depression, or the blues, but that anxiety hit me out of left field. I won't even talk about what it was like to go back to work.
I remember one day when I was away from him and I had the thought I am his mother even when I'm away from him. It was a novel concept.
The anxiety is better and different; but not gone. I still catch myself feeling like my motherhood is less valid. I no longer cry every time I leave him, but I lay in bed and wonder: did J run enough today? did he laugh enough today? did he get enough protein? should I have played blocks instead of talking to my mom on the phone? does he feel loved? am I doing something wrong? ---- I KNOW that J is well cared for, happy, healthy, lighthearted, stress-free, and all those good things. But, I'm still trying to prove to someone that it's cool that he's with me.
Thankfully, he is a total mama's boy, so we spend lots of time cuddling, which is obviously the best feeling in the entire world :)
Friday, November 20, 2009
The Story
It's been so long since I told my story in it's entirety, I've almost forgotten where to start ;)
The Beginning
I conceived my son in Aug 1997. It was an end-of-summer fling. My family was getting ready to move to a new (old) state, I was getting ready to start my Senior year. We moved, and I started school. By October I was dating a new great guy, but started thinking maybe my lack of period was something more than my typical irregularity. Sure enough, an HPT confirmed my fears, I was pregnant. (As an aside, it is so wild to me that as an adolescent I didn't think of pregnancy until I was almost 10 weeks pregnant; with my second son, I knew at 10 dpo.) My boyfriend and I cried a lot that day; I thought of terminating for a few days, but within a week knew that adoption was the right choice for us. My parents were initially outraged, but soon became supportive. I started going to the midwife, and started taking vitamins. I quit smoking, and started drinking more milk. I went to my appointments and ultrasounds alone, and it didn't occur to me that that was sad or lonely, until 9 years later when my husband accompanied me to prenatal appointments and ultrasounds. I loved my baby, but never wavered in my plan to place.
The Middle
All the typical mile stones of 2nd trimester came and went. I felt movement, I started to show. My teachers turned out to be amazingly supportive, and my boyfriend and I had a really great relationship. Looking back, I can't remember how I thought I was going to find a family. I don't know if May just always seemed so far away so I thought I had tons of time? In any case, at my 24 week appt my midwife asked if I was planning to breastfeed. I told her no, I was planning to place. She directed me down the hallway to the social worker. I went to the office, and told her I wanted to make an adoption plan. I had seen an after school special with Mary Stewart Masterson in which a teen girl placed her baby, but still got to see him. I told her I wanted that. And then, for the first time, I heard the words "open adoption". She gave me a phone number to an agency based out of Vermont who facilitated open adoptions. I said thanks and left. The whole thing took 5 minutes. I went home and called. It all felt so calm, drama-free, almost nonchalant. It was like I was calling for a pizza... "hi, I'm pregnant and would like to place my baby in an open adoption." They responded like Papa John's does when you tell them you want a large pepperoni... "ok, let's get some more info." Days later 4 profiles arrived in the mail. I liked G&D the best right off the bat; their profile was bright and colorful. The agency arranged a phone call, and I spoke with G&D for the first time on 2.12.98. I had just turned 18, and was 26 weeks along. I asked them a few questions, that now seem trivial, but there is no template for this kind of conversation! We talked for 15 or 20 minutes, and the next day I told the agency they were It. For a while I felt kind of weird about choosing the only couple I spoke with; I felt like I should be able to tell my son that I had rigorously interviewed hundreds of couples so as to find just the right one. But, when you know, you know. I still found him just the right couple, it just happened to be the first one. We then spoke every Tuesday for the duration of the pregnancy. I enjoyed the phone calls, I liked chatting with D, but they were so much less monumental to me than to her. I suppose it's because I was really the only one who could know how committed I was to giving them my baby. All this time, the bdad did not know what was going on. I had a gut feeling that he wouldn't be on board, so I stuck my head in the sand. In April, it became clear that this wasn't going to go down without his consent. So, I brought him up to speed, and he was lukewarm at best. We all went along assuming he'd sign when the time came.
The (first) End
My water broke 5 days before my due date. I went to the hospital for augmentation and G&D hit the road. Thankfully my labor dragged on, as they hit the most horrendous traffic and what should have been a 3 hour drive turned into a 7 hour trip. I was in my hospital bed, in labor, and all I could think about was how agonizing in must be to be stuck in traffic when you are trying to get to your son's birth. They got to my room with plenty of time to spare, as it turned out, because I pushed for 4 solid hours. My mom and D held my hands, and my knees, and wiped my forehead. G was in the little baby alcove, I wasn't quite ready for him to see the gory stuff. I screamed through the delivery, and someone yelled "it's a boy!". They took the baby to the alcove, and G&D spent some time meeting their son. My mom and I hugged and cried. We took tons of pictures that I still love to pour over. I looked so young. After a few hours, I went to my post partum room, C went to the nursery, and everyone went home to get some sleep since it was about 4am. Later that morning, I rang the nursery and asked for my baby; I fully expected them to say "no". Obviously they did not, and I spent some time holding and caring for my son before G&D arrived back at the hospital. That day was fantastic; we all hung out, and it felt just right. Early in the evening, birthdad came to the hospital. I was totally unprepared to see him, but knew he had every right to see the baby. The next morning our worlds came crashing down.
The Real End of the Story
It was early on C's second day of life that my facilitator called my room to tell me birthdad said he was not signing TPR. He went back to his home state, he was not going to sign. 5 minutes later D called to tell me they were on their way back to the hospital, and I had to break it to her. It was the worst phone call I've ever experienced. They came to the hospital to say good bye. They brought me their car seat, diapers, clothes, all the supplies I didn't have because I wasn't supposed to be taking a baby home. It was awful. I took the baby home the next day completely unprepared in every way, to be a mom. I had been emotionally preparing for something entirely different. It was really, really hard. D told me later that that experience gave her great insight to what a birthmom feels: she felt like a mother with no baby. So, I parented C, and did a good job. G&D called weekly to see how we were; we had a friendship by now, and it was impossible to just sever all communication. Birthdad would call periodically, but really wasn't participating. When C was 6 weeks old, I called birthdad to say something, anything, that this wasn't how it was supposed to be. He asked if we could still place and I told him yes. C was laying on the bed next to me as I called D to tell her birthdad was ready, we were going to proceed. I looked down at my son, and thought about how this little tiny infant had no idea how his life had just changed in that moment. A week later we were in court terminating. The following week we spent transitioning C to his new caregivers. We all spent the first night together, I would start a feeding and D would finish it. We did our best to honor the fact that this was a huge transition for such a little baby. He did very well, and the new family went home when C was 8 weeks old.
Peoples' first question is always about how much harder it was to place after parenting for 7 weeks. The answer is yes, and no. Yes it was harder, for obvious reasons; my house screamed baby. My room smelled like a baby, pacifiers were laying around, it was eerily quiet. But, those 7 weeks gave me an honest look at single teen parenting. It made it impossible to romanticize parenting. I missed being a teenager. I knew more than ever, that placing was the right thing to do.
Birthdad still sees C, as well, and has proven to be a pretty great birthdad. He needed more time, and I admire him for resisting being rushed into such a huge decision.
That's the story, folks.
The Beginning
I conceived my son in Aug 1997. It was an end-of-summer fling. My family was getting ready to move to a new (old) state, I was getting ready to start my Senior year. We moved, and I started school. By October I was dating a new great guy, but started thinking maybe my lack of period was something more than my typical irregularity. Sure enough, an HPT confirmed my fears, I was pregnant. (As an aside, it is so wild to me that as an adolescent I didn't think of pregnancy until I was almost 10 weeks pregnant; with my second son, I knew at 10 dpo.) My boyfriend and I cried a lot that day; I thought of terminating for a few days, but within a week knew that adoption was the right choice for us. My parents were initially outraged, but soon became supportive. I started going to the midwife, and started taking vitamins. I quit smoking, and started drinking more milk. I went to my appointments and ultrasounds alone, and it didn't occur to me that that was sad or lonely, until 9 years later when my husband accompanied me to prenatal appointments and ultrasounds. I loved my baby, but never wavered in my plan to place.
The Middle
All the typical mile stones of 2nd trimester came and went. I felt movement, I started to show. My teachers turned out to be amazingly supportive, and my boyfriend and I had a really great relationship. Looking back, I can't remember how I thought I was going to find a family. I don't know if May just always seemed so far away so I thought I had tons of time? In any case, at my 24 week appt my midwife asked if I was planning to breastfeed. I told her no, I was planning to place. She directed me down the hallway to the social worker. I went to the office, and told her I wanted to make an adoption plan. I had seen an after school special with Mary Stewart Masterson in which a teen girl placed her baby, but still got to see him. I told her I wanted that. And then, for the first time, I heard the words "open adoption". She gave me a phone number to an agency based out of Vermont who facilitated open adoptions. I said thanks and left. The whole thing took 5 minutes. I went home and called. It all felt so calm, drama-free, almost nonchalant. It was like I was calling for a pizza... "hi, I'm pregnant and would like to place my baby in an open adoption." They responded like Papa John's does when you tell them you want a large pepperoni... "ok, let's get some more info." Days later 4 profiles arrived in the mail. I liked G&D the best right off the bat; their profile was bright and colorful. The agency arranged a phone call, and I spoke with G&D for the first time on 2.12.98. I had just turned 18, and was 26 weeks along. I asked them a few questions, that now seem trivial, but there is no template for this kind of conversation! We talked for 15 or 20 minutes, and the next day I told the agency they were It. For a while I felt kind of weird about choosing the only couple I spoke with; I felt like I should be able to tell my son that I had rigorously interviewed hundreds of couples so as to find just the right one. But, when you know, you know. I still found him just the right couple, it just happened to be the first one. We then spoke every Tuesday for the duration of the pregnancy. I enjoyed the phone calls, I liked chatting with D, but they were so much less monumental to me than to her. I suppose it's because I was really the only one who could know how committed I was to giving them my baby. All this time, the bdad did not know what was going on. I had a gut feeling that he wouldn't be on board, so I stuck my head in the sand. In April, it became clear that this wasn't going to go down without his consent. So, I brought him up to speed, and he was lukewarm at best. We all went along assuming he'd sign when the time came.
The (first) End
My water broke 5 days before my due date. I went to the hospital for augmentation and G&D hit the road. Thankfully my labor dragged on, as they hit the most horrendous traffic and what should have been a 3 hour drive turned into a 7 hour trip. I was in my hospital bed, in labor, and all I could think about was how agonizing in must be to be stuck in traffic when you are trying to get to your son's birth. They got to my room with plenty of time to spare, as it turned out, because I pushed for 4 solid hours. My mom and D held my hands, and my knees, and wiped my forehead. G was in the little baby alcove, I wasn't quite ready for him to see the gory stuff. I screamed through the delivery, and someone yelled "it's a boy!". They took the baby to the alcove, and G&D spent some time meeting their son. My mom and I hugged and cried. We took tons of pictures that I still love to pour over. I looked so young. After a few hours, I went to my post partum room, C went to the nursery, and everyone went home to get some sleep since it was about 4am. Later that morning, I rang the nursery and asked for my baby; I fully expected them to say "no". Obviously they did not, and I spent some time holding and caring for my son before G&D arrived back at the hospital. That day was fantastic; we all hung out, and it felt just right. Early in the evening, birthdad came to the hospital. I was totally unprepared to see him, but knew he had every right to see the baby. The next morning our worlds came crashing down.
The Real End of the Story
It was early on C's second day of life that my facilitator called my room to tell me birthdad said he was not signing TPR. He went back to his home state, he was not going to sign. 5 minutes later D called to tell me they were on their way back to the hospital, and I had to break it to her. It was the worst phone call I've ever experienced. They came to the hospital to say good bye. They brought me their car seat, diapers, clothes, all the supplies I didn't have because I wasn't supposed to be taking a baby home. It was awful. I took the baby home the next day completely unprepared in every way, to be a mom. I had been emotionally preparing for something entirely different. It was really, really hard. D told me later that that experience gave her great insight to what a birthmom feels: she felt like a mother with no baby. So, I parented C, and did a good job. G&D called weekly to see how we were; we had a friendship by now, and it was impossible to just sever all communication. Birthdad would call periodically, but really wasn't participating. When C was 6 weeks old, I called birthdad to say something, anything, that this wasn't how it was supposed to be. He asked if we could still place and I told him yes. C was laying on the bed next to me as I called D to tell her birthdad was ready, we were going to proceed. I looked down at my son, and thought about how this little tiny infant had no idea how his life had just changed in that moment. A week later we were in court terminating. The following week we spent transitioning C to his new caregivers. We all spent the first night together, I would start a feeding and D would finish it. We did our best to honor the fact that this was a huge transition for such a little baby. He did very well, and the new family went home when C was 8 weeks old.
Peoples' first question is always about how much harder it was to place after parenting for 7 weeks. The answer is yes, and no. Yes it was harder, for obvious reasons; my house screamed baby. My room smelled like a baby, pacifiers were laying around, it was eerily quiet. But, those 7 weeks gave me an honest look at single teen parenting. It made it impossible to romanticize parenting. I missed being a teenager. I knew more than ever, that placing was the right thing to do.
Birthdad still sees C, as well, and has proven to be a pretty great birthdad. He needed more time, and I admire him for resisting being rushed into such a huge decision.
That's the story, folks.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Triggers
Inevitably, there are triggers that come up in everyday life, and not just for birthmoms. Everyone has something; something that brings up confusing feelings, nostalgia, longing, ect. Birthmotherhood is certainly my biggest Something, but not my only one. Again, it's just one hat.
Today, a dear friend gave birth to her first son. I am so thrilled for her, and filled with all the great feelings that come when a new life joins us: renewed faith, hope, and love in humanity. She is an adult, in a great marriage, wanted and planned for this baby. But, I can't help but revisit my own experience of birthing my first son. It sounds completely self-centered, but I wonder if it will cross her mind in the next few days, what it was like for me to make an adoption plan.
It's a "false" wonder, though, if such a thing exists. It only somewhat applies. It applies in the sense that, all mothers feel uniquely connected to their babies. It does not apply in the sense that giving birth to a baby you can parent feels completely different from giving birth to a baby you know you cannot.
I read many new adoptive parents' blogs, and they talk about feeling torn between their joy, and their child's birthmom's pain. The compassion and empathy is fantastic; but I am here to say that knowing my first son's parents were over the moon to have him was a source of strength for me. I was not in a position to be over the moon about having a baby, but he deserved to have parents who were just that.
Every baby deserves to have parents love them like my First Son's parents do, like I love my second son, like my friend loves her 7 hour old son. And so, even though it is a trigger for me, relishing in a friend bringing new life always makes for a great day.
Today, a dear friend gave birth to her first son. I am so thrilled for her, and filled with all the great feelings that come when a new life joins us: renewed faith, hope, and love in humanity. She is an adult, in a great marriage, wanted and planned for this baby. But, I can't help but revisit my own experience of birthing my first son. It sounds completely self-centered, but I wonder if it will cross her mind in the next few days, what it was like for me to make an adoption plan.
It's a "false" wonder, though, if such a thing exists. It only somewhat applies. It applies in the sense that, all mothers feel uniquely connected to their babies. It does not apply in the sense that giving birth to a baby you can parent feels completely different from giving birth to a baby you know you cannot.
I read many new adoptive parents' blogs, and they talk about feeling torn between their joy, and their child's birthmom's pain. The compassion and empathy is fantastic; but I am here to say that knowing my first son's parents were over the moon to have him was a source of strength for me. I was not in a position to be over the moon about having a baby, but he deserved to have parents who were just that.
Every baby deserves to have parents love them like my First Son's parents do, like I love my second son, like my friend loves her 7 hour old son. And so, even though it is a trigger for me, relishing in a friend bringing new life always makes for a great day.
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