So what do you think:  is he going to be crying to his therapist whist stuffing his face with brownies 20 years from now or will he think harder about the consequences of his behavior from now on?

Thomas knows that I keep a journal for each child that I write in periodically.  He also knows that I “do some writing on the computer”.  (Something tells me that he will be a blogger one day; if we aren’t all socially networked to each other by chips in our brains by the time he is a teenager.)  Tonight as I was putting the boys to bed Thomas asked me to write about him (and then added that I should write about Theo too) so I thought I would oblige.

Thomas…

Thomas has consistently been winning the on-going contest of “most challenging child in the family” for the past several weeks.  This week’s bad behavior highlight:  telling me to “shut my mouth” when I told him to put on his shoes for a walk (oh the cruelty of forcing my child to walk three blocks with me to the mailbox in 80 degree weather!).  In return for his disrespect he had all sweets taken away for one week.  And he was treated to learning a new word “grounded”.  As in if he ever says that to me again he will not go anywhere but school for one week and when he’s at home he will not get any TV and will have to go to bed directly after dinner.  I am 100% supportive of him expressing his feelings, but he will do so in a respectful manner – or else.  In another transgression Thomas lost the use of his Legos for a week.  Perhaps remembering the consequences of bad behavior, the rest of this week has been pretty darn great.  He has been incredibly helpful with Theodore – for the most part, playing nicely with him while I comforted the ever-fussy Anna.  At lunchtime yesterday Theo finished eating his beloved Snappea crisps before Thomas (a rare and favorite item in our house) and threw himself a tantrum when I denied him more.  I told Theo that I had given him and Thomas the exact same amount (I counted) but he was not to be consoled.  Thomas sighed and very generously handed Theo his last two Snappea crisps.  Thomas is now reading to Theodore which is utterly adorable.  And during a rare and beautiful half hour where both Anna and Theodore were asleep at the same time I sat down and taught him multiplication which he picked up quickly.

Theodore…

Theodore, my amazing, perfect, sent-from-heaven, sleeper has been waking up the middle of the night yelling about needing help with his blanket.  Because although he is quite capable of climbing into my bed and pulling my covers over his head to play hide and seek he is, apparently, incapable of pulling his own blanket over himself in the middle of the night.  Under the category of awesome Theo has developed a passion for “bake with Mama?”.  I am not sure if it is the one-on-one time together or the opportunity to lick the beater that has suddenly ignited his culinary fires, but I am having a lot of fun with my new baking buddy.  Theodore has also, for a couple of months now, been complaining that he misses me while at school.  So in what might prove to be insanity I decided to pull Theodore out of school one day a week so that he is now home with me three days a week.  (Thomas will still go to school three days a week.)  The truth is I miss him too.  I also know that as my middle child Theodore gets the short end of the stick when it comes to one-on-one time with me.  He is more talkative and creative when he is the only child around and I want to enjoy that side of him.

Anna…

In addition to “Sunshine” Anna’s other nickname is “Fussypants”.  We joke constantly about her fussypants as if they were an actual, pair (or pairs) of attire.  Mocking our baby’s fussiness with rather juvenile humor helps keep us sane when we’re swaddling and walking her to sleep for the tenth time in a day.  I particularly enjoyed this exchange:

Jeff:  How was she today?

Me:  Well this morning was great; she was smiling and talkative for about 20 minutes; her fussypants were in the laundry.  But then they came out of the dryer and she put them on.  Apparently they had shrunk so she was extra fussy the rest of the day.

Jeff:  Nothing’s worse than a tight pair of fussypants.  Why are you letting a newborn choose their own pants anyway…why don’t you just put a pair of happypants on her?

Me:  We didn’t get any.  And they don’t sell them at Target.

We also call Anna “the baby stick” because when she’s all swaddled up tight (which given her fussiness is most of the time) she seems to me like a little stick with a cute baby head attached to the top.  Despite her general crankiness I am actually finding her quite awesome.  When she’s awake and happy she is very chatty and gives me that adoring smile that babies often seem to reserve for their mothers – the one where they look up at you and grin at you like you are a god.   Finding out what my kids are thinking is absolutely one the highlights of parenting older children.  I’m excited at the idea that it won’t be too long before Anna tells me, vociferously I am sure, what her thoughts on life are.

Me…

I love being on maternity leave.  My days with Anna alone are actually very relaxing.  I suspect that Anna might be a night-owl like her Mama and her biggest brother.  Most days after we finally get her to sleep; she sleeps and nurses all night long without much complaint, finally waking at the deliciously late hour of 9:30 am or so.  As long as I stay in bed with her and nurse her on demand she stays happy and content and I am getting eight hours of (interrupted, but hey I have a newborn – I’m not complaining!) sleep every night.  It has also been surprisingly helpful to my sanity that Jeff bought me a one pound box of See’s chocolates for Christmas.  I hid said box in my nightstand and whenever I start fantasizing about running away to a land without children I sneak into the bedroom and eat a chocolate.  And you know what, that helps quite a lot.  Do you have any secret coping mechanisms when life gets rough?  I promise I won’t tell.

]]> http://www.mendolo.com/2012/01/07/thee-kids-one-adult/feed/ 2 http://www.mendolo.com/2011/12/04/holy-shit-trees/ http://www.mendolo.com/2011/12/04/holy-shit-trees/#comments Sun, 04 Dec 2011 08:43:07 +0000 Gina http://www.mendolo.com/?p=1823 As I was recovering from childbirth, nursing a baby a dozen times a day, potty training a two and half year old, and trying to figure out where to send a five year old to school I thought:  my life is simply not complicated enough, what I need is an unprecedented natural disaster to add a little excitement to my day.  Well, Mother Nature obliged and this happened:

That would be most of our 72 year old redwood tree lying directly over our bedroom; you know, the room we sleep in with our newborn nestled between us.  Wednesday night saw what I have seen the local newspapers call simply, “Wind 2011″.  A few days of strong winter winds (Santa Anas) are typical here in Southern California.  In fact, 10 years ago, one such set of winds capsized the boat that Jeff was in thirteen miles offshore, resulting in him and his research colleagues narrowly escaping death in the frigid waters before being rescued by the coast guard.  The winds this past Wednesday night started innocently enough.  As the winds picked up throughout the evening Jeff made multiple trips outside; first to put away a few of the boys’ toys, then to turn over our patio furniture and secure it against the house, then to turn over the garbage cans so that they wouldn’t take off.  By the time Jeff came inside the final time, I didn’t think it was safe for him to be outside.  The winds were coming in fiercely from the north, the side of the house with our bedroom and living room with a large bay window of untempered glass.  We nervously hung out on the south side of the house making occasional forays to look out the windows and see trees convulsing violently in the wind.  And then there was a boom and the house shook.  Jeff jumped up and through the haze of blowing branches saw a huge trunk of our redwood tree lying on our house.  This was a new problem for us and we weren’t initially sure what to do.  We then heard the wind rolling the tree trunk around the roof of our house; a very disturbing sound.  I started by calling the police non-emergency line which was busy.  Then I moved on to 911 which transferred me to the fire department.  The dispatcher asked me if we were all ok and whether or not we could leave the house.  I told him that we could leave, but that it certainly didn’t seem safe to go outside!  He told us that as long as the tree wasn’t actually in the house or the house was on fire, then we should stay in and they would get to us as soon as they could.  Minutes went by, then an hour, and through the power of our neighborhood facebook page, I realized that the fire department would probably not be coming as people began posting pictures of trees that had actually come through their roof!  The police department sent out emails and text messages asking residents to stay home and off the streets.  Most of the streets in Pasadena were now blocked by downed trees and power lines, while transformers were sparking all around us.  We could hear sirens and realized as bad as a tree on our house was, others had it worse and we didn’t have a choice but to wait and hope that our roof would hold.  Much of Pasadena and all of the neighboring cities of Altadena and Sierra Madre were without power.  We called our insurance company and started a claim; they had already declared Los Angeles Country a “catastrophe” area after receiving more than 1000 claim calls in an hour.  Given that we still, for the moment, had a roof we were told that it would be days before our damage could be assessed, to take care of what needed to be fixed, and save our receipts.  There wasn’t anything more we could do at 1:00 am, but there was no way I was going to sleep with a tree poised over my head so Jeff moved our mattress into our windowless dining room and we hunkered down with Baby Girl.  I think I literally hovered over her tiny body all night trying to shield her from anything that might invade our house.  In the wee hours of the morning the wind died down and we finally slept marveling as we awoke at how quiet the world could be without the fury of the wind.  Seeing the devastation in the morning light was surreal; our lawn was green, not with grass, but with redwood needles.  In a stroke of amazing luck I called a tree service company  just as they opened and they said they would come by with a crane.  They warned that they wouldn’t have time to do much else, but would remove the tree from our house.  The schools were all closed and normally we would have stayed home given such a disaster, but in case of very bad timing we had a long arranged court date at 8:30 am sharp to finalize Theodore’s name change.  It was comical, getting three kids up and dressed properly for court, traipsing out to our car via our side door (the front door was blocked with debris), me in high heels stepping around huge branches.  The drive to the courthouse, only two miles away, was slow going.  The major streets in many spots had only one lane open with cars in each direction taking turns around huge downed trees.  Streetlights and traffic signals lay broken.  There were pieces of roof everywhere.  In the end, we made it to court and Henry William officially became Theodore Gregory.   When we arrived home, the redwood on our roof was gone and our front walk was even cleared and swept clean.

Besides the wind apocalypse it hasn’t been an easy week.  While not truly colicky, Baby Girl is going through some significant newborn fussiness.  Theodore is sick with some evil daycare germ and actually threw up on his baby sister (and me) today.  And Thomas is just plain moody and difficult.  But one of the most wonderful things about being a 33 year old mother of three children, rather than a 28 year old first time parent, is that nothing much phases us anymore.  As long as our family is safe and healthy, everything really is ok.  I was a little shaky the night after the wind storm, vividly envisioning what could have happened if that tree had crashed through our bedroom with us in it.  But the fact is, that it didn’t.  Our 72 year old house is, apparently, made of pretty strong stuff; as is my love for our perfect Baby Girl.

*The title to this post is in reference to the “Holy shit bees!” in last week’s post.  And yes, the tree service company,  told us that the Holy shit bees were, amazingly, still in the tree (surviving 100 mile per hour winds and a fall!) section that fell on our roof.

***************************

On Wednesday morning [November 15th] I woke up at 4:30 am with regular strong contractions.  We began timing contractions at 5:00 am.  I couldn’t sleep and realized I was hungry so Jeff made me a very satisfying meal of toast.  I honestly don’t remember the pain of the contractions during this time, I only remember the quiet excitement of eating toast in bed as the sun came up, thinking that our baby was actually on his way to us.  It still felt surreal to me that I was even pregnant at all, much less close to having a real baby.  At about 7:30 am, I got tired again and we lay down and went back to sleep, with me half-awake for most of the contractions, until about noon when the pain and discomfort of laying down outweighed the benefits of trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep.  My recollections of the next few hours are hazy.  I called Diane, our midwife, to let her know things were underway and she made plans to come over later in the afternoon.  I played several games of Tetris.  Jeff watched much of the time, commenting on how impressed he was by my ability to play so well despite the contractions and how obvious it was when I had a contraction as my game basically went to shit; Tetris pieces piling up to the top of the screen.  I was feeling pretty uncomfortable, but also pretty upbeat, thinking things like “the pain means the contractions are productive” and “the contractions are good because they are bringing my baby to me”.

After a couple of hours, the early morning caught up with Jeff and I urged him to take a nap.  I was doing OK and I knew I would really need him later.   At 2:30 pm I began to write a letter to the baby while curled up on a corner of the couch.  Although we hadn’t yet decided on a name for the baby I began the letter with “Dear Thomas”.  I began to have increasing trouble concentrating and sensing that my labor was ramping up I began timing the contractions again at 3:00 pm.  I was in a strange mood, restless, but there was too much unknown up ahead for me to really be excited.  Shortly after that, my sister Sara called and I tried to sound interested and speak normally as I doubled over in pain from a contraction.  I have absolutely no idea what we talked about.  Jeff woke up from his nap and fully realizing the baby was coming very soon, he was seized by the urge to unload gravel from the truck.  He got about halfway done before darkness fell.

I was growing increasingly restless and I little bit irritable so I decided a more active “labor project” was in order.   Around 4:00 pm I began to bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies.  After the dough was ready, but before I had a chance to put the cookies in the oven, Diane came over for the first time at a quarter to 5:00 to check on me.  She found that I was perhaps a bit more than 2 cm dilated.  I was pretty disappointed that after laboring for 12 hours, I wasn’t further along, but I tried not to dwell on it knowing that it was only a measure of where I was when she checked me, not a measure of how fast I might progress later.  After Diane left I put the cookies in the oven.  It took two bakings for all of the cookies and as I rolled the balls for the last batch I thought that I was glad I had not made a double batch.  My interest in anything other than the labor was waning fast and it was getting difficult to concentrate.  I had planned to eat a couple of cookies when I started baking them but no longer had any interest.

As soon as darkness fell it felt as if exhaustion quickly descended on me.  After the cookies were finished I am not sure what I did.  I have a vague recollection of pacing around the house and thinking that I should keep drinking water.  Jeff suggested that I get in the birth tub.  It honestly didn’t sound that appealing and I was also concerned that it would slow down my already slow labor.  But I could feel myself growing more tense and the possibility of some pain relief made me agree.  The tub felt just OK to me.  I certainly didn’t feel the wave of relief that I have heard many women describe upon getting into the tub. I was feeling a bit panicky, ill, and disappointed. I was in a semi kneeling position and would rest my head on my arms which were hanging on the side of the tub.  During a contraction Jeff would record the time, hold my hands, and wipe my face, ears, and arms with a cool washcloth.  The contractions were bad, but it was truly relaxing and helpful to listen to Jeff’s voice. Despite the pain, we had a good rhythm together and I stayed in the tub for almost two hours.

Close to 8:00 pm I felt that I was overheating and that my tension was returning so I got in the shower.  I had long imagined that I would take a lot of showers during labor and that I would find them relaxing as I love a good long shower.  I felt disoriented for a bit, but then got into a pattern where I would hang off the shower door during a contraction.  I was definitely in a labor zone and can’t recall any thoughts outside of my labor except for “I wonder if this shower door will hold?”.  After the hot water ran out I got out and paced a bit.  I knew that I really needed to try and get some rest, preferably sleep.  I lay down on our bed and listened to the birth affirmations on my iPod.  They were slightly relaxing, but I couldn’t possibly fathom that I was going to be able to fall asleep with the pain.  Besides, I felt the headphones making my already hot ears even more uncomfortable, so I got up.

I handled the next couple of hours by walking around the house. It became more and more difficult to handle the contractions and I was rapidly feeling more and more pain and exhaustion.  Around 11:00ish Diane came over.  She checked me and I was only slightly more dilated.  I was a lot more disappointed this time as I really thought that I was a least 4 cm dilated. I tried to push away my disappointment and the nagging feeling that things were going awry.  The idea that I had a lot more work ahead of me and that I could not sleep was giving me a nagging feeling of panic.  We all sat on the bed and Diane talked me through a couple of contractions, helping me to relax.  I did feel better when I went into one fully relaxed.  In between contractions I felt tired, but lucid and remember talking and even laughing with Jeff and Diane.  Diane suggested that I try some wine to help me relax.  It sounded worth a try to me so Jeff poured me a half glass of red wine and I am pretty sure I drank it faster than I have ever had a glass of wine.  It made me feel pleasantly light headed and Diane left encouraging me to get some rest.  The novelty of the wine quickly wore off though as I found myself still unable to relax in between and during a contraction.  Unfortunately I think the wine also contributed to my sleepiness.  I really, really wanted to sleep and I tried laying down hoping I could sleep between contractions.  But that position made the contractions so awful that I couldn’t continue to lay down.  Jeff tried propping me up in bed to sleep, both of us hoping that that position would be more tolerable, but it was just as bed.  I was feeling pretty frantic with exhaustion and pain and for the first time began truly questioning whether I could do this.  Our time in the birth tub earlier had gone pretty well before so I decided to get in the tub again.

 This second time into the tub, the water felt slightly too cool and there was absolutely no relief, only a building annoyance with the shittiness of the situation.  We turned on a hypnobirthing track on the ipod.  I instantly became angry with the hypnobirthing mantras.  My body wasn’t relaxing and we were way beyond a pain free birth.  Jeff quickly shut it off – lest I drown the ipod in the birth tub.  We tried a few contractions in the tub and they were more painful in the tub than out walking around.  The tub certainly wasn’t helping though so I got out.  Diane came over again about 2:00.  After getting out of the tub I had begun a ritual of waking in a circle around the house; from the living room, through the entry, down the hall (over the heater), into the dining room, and back to the living room.  I really had no thoughts other than that I just had to keep going.  I would sometimes sit and rest in between contractions, with Jeff warning me that I needed to get up after a minute or two passed.  If one hit while I was sitting, I was frozen in pain, unable to move.  If one hit as I was walking I could continue to shuffle through it.  Diane checked me at least once, perhaps more, during this time still finding my cervix to be minding its own business at less than 3 cm.  At some point during the walking I became unable to support myself and began to push the stroller around my “track”.  Jeff sweetly placed one of my water bottles in the cup holder to encourage me to drink.  When the stroller was too much for me, Jeff took over.  Jeff walked backwards while I held onto his hands pressing downwards with my weight, around and around and around.  Somewhere around 6:00 am Diane checked me again and I was basically no further along.  I had been feeling like something needed to change for a while, I was just not able to see myself progressing.  I had begun to entertain thoughts of going to the hospital, but in my heart of hearts I just couldn’t bear the thought.  By that point though my body started to speak rather than my mind and it was telling me that I needed more help, specifically something to help me rest.  I asked about going to the hospital and Diane and Jeff quickly agreed that it was a good idea.  Jeff assumed that my asking, meant we were going and I snapped at him saying I wasn’t sure yet, although internally I was resigned to going.  Diane called our OB and the hospital to tell them we were coming and that I would want an epidural.

We arrived at the hospital and I walked in, slowly, but determined to walk in myself; besides sitting in a wheelchair certainly wouldn’t have made my contractions any easier.  Upon entering we were presented with forms to fill out (although I had pre-registered) and I instantly became annoyed at the process.  It was about 7:00 am.  Seeing my annoyance, Jeff and Diane arranged to deal with the forms later.  I was led to the back curtained “room” of the triage area and was told that I would need to wait for my epidural as the anesthesiologist was attending a scheduled C-section.  I felt as if my labor slowed down at this point, I think the anxiety of being in the hospital probably did slow it down somewhat, as well as I perceived it as slower because I was now waiting for something – the epidural.  We had a series of nurses come in, asking myself and Diane questions and filling out forms.  To this day, I have no idea what the point of all of that was.  After over an hour of waiting, one young nurse came in.  She started to ask questions about how far along I was and casually said that she needed to evaluate whether or not I was actually in active labor and if not, that I should go home.  I immediately lost what little composure I had left.  How badly I wanted to be at home.  I started to cry and my mind raced trying to figure out alternatives, other hospitals, and I was supremely angry, I know the word “bitch” came out of my mouth and we didn’t see her again.  Another nurse mentioned that I should relax and breathe through the contractions and I told her to “shut-up”.  Really, as if I hadn’t tried that in the last 28 hours of.  It was insulting.

 Finally a little after nine am the anesthesiologist arrived.  My first impression was that he was a giant prick.  It turned out to be correct.  He insisted that Jeff and Diane leave citing nonsense about how they might faint.  I put up some protests but gave in quickly.  I was so tired and I knew that the procedure would be quick and that I would be OK by myself.  The doctor talked annoyingly as he was setting up about labor pain (as if he had any idea), basically congratulating me on getting an epidural.  I hated him.  He reminded me repeatedly not to touch the “sterile field”.  I didn’t even look at the set-up.  I really wanted an epidural, but what did he think, I was so impatient I was going to try the do-it-myself version?  I had a brief thought that many people were scared of getting an epidural and wondered if I should be, but when I thought of it I truly wasn’t.  I was scared that the epidural might slow down my labor but of the actual procedure I wasn’t.  It turned out I was right on that count as well.  It felt extremely odd to have a large catheter shoved up my spine, but not really painful.

 The epidural provided nearly immediate relief and a feeling of lucidity that I had not possessed for many hours came over me.  I disliked the total lower body numbness of the epidural, but decided to enjoy the lack of pain for a while before deciding what, if anything, to do about it. Diane, the midwife, went home to rest for a few hours.  I still believed (correctly) that it was going to be awhile.

Sometime before noon my OB, Kerri, stopped by to check in on me.  She encouraged me to agree to have my water broken.  I held off, I was afraid of a cascade on interventions and was still reeling emotionally from the hospital transfer and the epidural itself.  While she was there, she “checked” me poking gently on the baby’s head.  Kerri left, seeming somewhat perplexed at my resistance to having my water broken.  Almost immediately after the baby’s heart rate decelerated.  The nurse rushed into the room having seen the decel remotely and turned me onto my left side and placed an oxygen mask over my face.  There was a tense and concerned air in the room that confused me. I couldn’t clearly see the monitors to know that anything was amiss and could feel the baby moving so I wasn’t worried.  I was also still so exhausted from labor that I felt in a fog.  Kerri came back into the room and I was very glad that she was there.  She was calm and measured as opposed to the nurse’s panic.  I heard her use the terms “head compression” and “wait to come back up”.  After a few minutes the baby was again responding well and the crisis (if there ever really was one) seemed averted.  The ordeal had seemed add a slight note, however, of urgency to the labor, an urgency my cervix apparently could have cared less about.  Jeff took up a position on my right side and stayed there looking back and forth from me to the monitors, concerned and tired.

I rested for a bit and then asked that the epidural be turned down.  I felt disconnected from my labor (and my legs) and wanted to feel again.  The nurses were surprisingly reluctant to do so, saying that I would want it at that high level later.  I was insistent that I wanted it turned down and felt my tension quickly rising.   Diane and Jeff were a bit apologetic about the nurses, but that only annoyed me more.  I felt sometimes during labor that I wasn’t taken seriously because how could a woman in such obvious distress be “in her right mind”.  The thing was, that was one of the reasons why labor was so difficult.  I was in my right mind, aware of everything around me.  My mind just happened to be filled with pain and exhaustion as well.  The epidural was turned down and within the hour I began to feel my legs and the contractions (although not  terribly painfully) again.

 I realized how hungry I was and sent Jeff on a mission to procure food.  He brought back a grilled cheese sandwich and fed it to me as I lay on my right side.  He was oddly and annoyingly slow about feeding me.  I wonder if the hospital “rules” and hyper concern were getting to him. I was also drinking water and at one point a nurse admonished me for drinking.  We told her that drinking was allowed as per the doctor’s orders and she left it alone.  I wonder how horrified she would have been about the grilled cheese sandwich.

 Kerri had promised to come back at the end of the work day and around 4:30 I found myself wishing she would arrive already so we could make some decisions.  I had not had many (if any) more cervical checks done, but I knew my cervix wasn’t really progressing.  I thought constantly of what more interventions might be recommended and I was anxious to hear what they might be.  Kerri came by just before 6:00 and I was relived when she only suggested breaking my water and when Diane agreed that it was a good idea, I consented.  I was very pleased though when about one second later I felt the baby’s head drop down significantly.  Not long after my water broke I began to feel real pain again with the contractions.  The pain began just under my ribs and as the time went by gradually crept further downward.  I was quite happy about the pain and wanted it to stay so I told no one, worried that they would encourage me to strengthen the epidural.  I even thought of asking to have the epidural turned down, but I felt inhibited by the previous reactions of the nurses, Diane, and Jeff when I had asked so I remained quiet.

At this point I was again hungry, actually starving, and wanted some food.  Diane was hungry as well and she and Jeff went on a mission to procure some more food.  Jeff got me a cheese sandwich which was delicious.  In a stroke of brilliance he also brought back mashed potatoes – all of which was rapidly consumed.  Around 9:00 pm I began to grow increasingly distracted.  I found myself checking out of what was going on around me and felt that everyone was talking but I couldn’t really follow what was going on. I could feel the pressure of the contractions building with each surge and felt the need to retreat inward to deal with them.  I wasn’t scared of the pain this time though.  It felt much bigger and more powerful than before, but less scary.  It felt productive. The pain was reassuring me that I was actually doing this, birthing the baby.

I started to feel myself shake and it quickly grew into a feeling that every one of my nerve endings was aching.  I was angry at the shaking.  It felt like the worst days of arthritis all over my body.  My muscles were so sore. The shaking was so all consuming I barely noticed the contractions.  Looking back, I realize that although there was mention that the epidural was causing the shaking, it was almost certainly “transition”.  Finally after much trial and error the shaking subsided with a combination of Jeff holding a cool cloth to my neck/shoulder in just the right spot and a feeling that I had completely surrendered to my labor.

I stayed absolutely still, afraid that movement might bring back the shaking, but also focused on the wonderful and powerful sensation of the contractions pushing the baby down further and further.  I kept these feelings a secret.  I had no desire to push but began to breathe with the contractions.  I felt like I was working with my body and the baby.  The baby’s movements were slower and smaller but still there.  I wondered what he was feeling and if he knew that we were getting close.

 In what felt like a relatively short time, but was actually a couple of hours, I felt that it…the baby…was hovering on the edge of emerging.  After such a long, slow labor it was hard to believe that my baby could be waiting right there, just at the edge of the world.  I informed Jeff and Diane that I was ready to be checked again…I couldn’t quite bring myself to say what I knew, that we were ready.  Diane checked and said the baby’s head was “right there” an inch away from being out.  I was thrilled.  We called a nurse who checked me, pronounced me complete and admonished me not to push until the doctor arrived and everything was set up.  I thought (and may have said out loud) that I will push if I damn well please.  I couldn’t get comfortable.   It really hit me at that moment that I did not want to be in the hospital, but I was well and truly stuck at that point.  Kerri had come in and I was slightly amused at the gear that she donned.  Full scrubs, gown, long gloves, face shield.  I thought, how messy could this get?

 Ideal place or not, I wanted to give birth to my baby so I began to push.  While pushing a number of incongruous thoughts went through my head.  I noticed a pain under the left side of my ribs.  Confused, I complained out loud about it, thinking that perhaps I had a cramp or was sitting with something wedged under it.  Jeff and Diane looked me over and found nothing and at the same time that my mind realized it, Jeff and Diane pointed out that it was probably the baby.  The thought of removing this discomfort was actually a small motivation in pushing him out.  While pushing I also noticed a familiar sensation in my abdomen that took a moment to place, I was hungry.  After, all of that food, I was still hungry.  I was quickly thankful that I had eaten during labor and thought of all of the food I had eaten as good fuel for pushing.  I fantasized briefly about another cheese sandwich after the birth or perhaps during pushing if it took that long.

I also noticed a clock on the opposite wall.  It read 12:47.  Having heard many stories of first time mothers pushing for hours I thought that I would likely be pushing for awhile.  The contractions no longer seemed painful or even that noticeable over the sensation of pressure.  I was feeling good about the pushing, energized and that it wasn’t too difficult.  It didn’t seem nearly as “difficult” as it was supposed to be so I had the thought that perhaps it wasn’t going to go very quickly.  I contemplated asking for the clock to be taken down, however, I decided that I would reevaluate how I felt at 1:00 am.  Seconds away from the birth, I still really had no concept of how close I was; it just seemed too easy.  After a little more encouragement I gave the hardest series of pushes yet the birth happened easily and fast.

 Jeff announced that he was a boy and he was laid on my stomach and chest.  I immediately began to laugh, not a laugh of humor, but of absolute joy.   My first thought upon seeing our baby boy was how perfect he was.  He was small and slender with a full head of dark hair.  The birth was, unfortunately, hard on him though and it was clear from his purple skin tone and small whimpering that he wasn’t quite adjusted to the outside world yet.  I was never really worried about him though, his small noises reassured me that he was going to be just fine.  He was lifted off of my chest by one of the nurses and taken across the room to a warming bassinet.  Jeff went with him.  The nurses suctioned his mouth and nose and rubbed his skin vigorously.

 I felt oddly lucid after they took him. I looked over at the baby in the warmer every so often to see Jeff reassuringly hovering over him.  The first time I looked his arms and legs had a blue and purple hue and as I kept looking over they turned pink.  About the time he began to cry rather than whimper I noticed the nurse attempting to put an ankle bracelet on the baby.  At that point I instantly became extremely annoyed.  If they were no longer doing anything medically necessary (and I know bracelets are not medically necessary) then I wanted my baby back NOW.  Diane quickly stepped in and our baby was brought back to me and laid down much the same as just after he was born, now looking considerably cleaner and pinker, as well as a bit pissed off himself.

 He quickly began to root for food and Diane and Jeff helped me latch him on.  He latched on strongly and I was amazed at how easily we both took to breastfeeding.  I remember Diane giving us all sorts of nursing advice and I remembered none of it except to rub his upper back gently to encourage him to latch on and keep eating (rather than the back of his head which he would reflexively pull away when it was touched).

 Our first few hours with the baby are very foggy in my mind.  We nursed for over five hours.  Left and right, back and forth.  We really didn’t know what we were doing but we just followed our instincts and it felt wonderfully easy and natural.  We were alone, just the three of us, and it was very quiet.  I can’t recall any specifics, but I can recall that I was completely, blissfully happy.

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Happy 5th birthday to my brilliant, inquisitive, challenging, handsome, amazing boy.