Welcome to the world, Baby Boy, Part 4

The midwives offered to check me to see how dilated I was, but I was so reluctant because before, I'd been dilated to 7 cm a whole four days beforehand, and after several hours of contractions, I was afraid to have them check only to find out that I was still at 2 or something depressing like that.  I was afraid that knowing how far there was to go would make me believe I couldn't make it, so I put it off as long as possible, but before long, I started feeling like it was time to push and a quick check said we were at 9 cm!  I was a little nervous about pushing in the tub.  Pushing a baby into the world, opening the gateway for a soul, as some would say, is BIG work and I wasn't sure I felt grounded enough there to manage it, but the time came so quickly, there wasn't much time for doubts.

I'm always baffled when I see doctors telling women not to push or to wait to push.  It doesn't work that way for me and I can't imagine that it does for anyone else either.  It's just something you have to do, even beyond the feeling of having to breathe.  I pushed once, one big long push, and when I stopped, I remember the pain was terrible.  (Well, I remember that the idea of the pain was terrible, but I can't call up the sensation.  Strangest thing.  I can remember, with painful empathy, just what little hands scraped on asphalt feel like, just how it feels to pinch the tip of a finger in a chair, the jolt of pain from a toe stubbed in the dark, but labor?  Nothing.)  Amy, I think, told me that you were right on my perineum.  I remember saying sarcastically, "No kidding!"  And then I pushed a second time and they told me your head was out.  With the third push I remember feeling vaguely frustrated - all this laboring, two pushes, pain, and I still hadn't delivered a baby?  What the heck?!  So, I remembered gathering myself in a disorganized way and pushing one more time.  (I also remember saying, "Get out!" during that push.  Sorry - it wasn't a good place for you to hang out and I was ready to meet you.)  And then, there you were!

I don't remember who caught you.  I think it was Allison and it's in the paperwork somewhere, but I just remember you, all pink and blue and compressed, being put in my arms and warm wet towels being laid over both of us.  I was so stunned to have a boy.  I'd really been prepared for things to go either way and didn't have any "sixth sense" of what you might be, but somehow, wow, a boy!  (I'm delighted, just in case you're wondering.  I love little boys - the rowdy, sturdy gameness that they come at life with.)  It took you a few moments to gather yourself enough to cry and no one else was worried, but I remember asking over and over if you were okay.  And of course you were.  You arrived so solid and centered (I still cannot believe I had a 9 lb. baby) and in a moment or two, you began to "squeak," as your sister says.

Then, of course, there was a flurry of activity.  Delivering the placenta, making sure that there wasn't too much bleed, concern that you were too cold, etc.  (And that last push must have awakened your sister, because she started to cry.  Motherhood is so automatic and it supersedes so much else.  You were only here a moment, I was cuddling you up, and I was giving your dad instructions as he darted up the stairs to check on her: "Tell her everything's okay, but it's not time to get up yet.  Tell her you'll turn on Frances and when she wakes up in the morning, she can meet her little brother!"  As if I didn't have enough to do.  As if he didn't know that.)  Once I was able to think about other things, the water seemed very cold all of a sudden and we all wanted to make sure you were warm enough, so I handed you off to get dried and dressed, staggered out of the tub, dried off too, and we snuggled down in bed with blankets piled on us.

Welcome to the world, Baby Boy, Part 3

So..., there we were, pretty sure that labor was starting but not quite, so I got in the bathtub and just stretched out.  Your dad was bustling around, making sure the birthing tub was ready to go, double-checking things, and asking me every two minutes if I thought this "was it."  He and Amy texted a little bit, but nothing much was happening.  The contractions weren't that bad and they kept happening, but they weren't clearly getting stronger or closer or developing any sort of pattern, so I just kept refreshing my bath, chatting with your dad, and getting annoyed with all the questions.  I just kept waiting for some crystal clear indication (like my water breaking) that this was "it."

"It" was a contraction that hit a little after 11:00 p.m.  Your dad was on the phone with Amy at the time, so he told her we were ready.  She got in touch with Jill and Allison and they were all here by midnight.  In the meantime, your dad had the tub about a third of the way full, so I got out of the bathtub and got in there to relax.  It was chilly in the house, in the mid-60s, and we were working hard to get things warmed up enough for you too - oven open, space heaters running, stove cranked up, so I just sat in the tub and watched the steam rising.  For some reason, I remember the ceiling.  I just stared up at the tongue-and-groove ceiling boards, thinking my way through each contraction, and waiting as patiently as I could.

Amy, Jill, and Allison went into our little room to wait, conveniently out of the way enough to offer privacy, but close enough to be able to hear my breathing and time contractions without being in the middle of everything.  Your dad sat next to me, talking to me occasionally, but mostly, it was quiet and I just labored through contractions in my own way.  My lower back hurt pretty badly (had the same pain with your sister) and I found that it was comfortable to let the plastic step in the pool press into my lower back.

Labor is a strange thing and so hard to describe, because for me, not only did the pain end the moment you were born, but so did the memory of the pain.  It's a slippery memory and it slides away from me whenever I try directly to grab it.  Mostly, I just remember the ceiling, staring and staring at the ceiling and trying not to let my breath get away from me.  And the slideshow your dad put together.  Because, before I met you, I couldn't imagine anything as fine as your sister, your dad put together a slideshow of pictures of her to run along with a mix of songs that you both listened to while you were hanging out in my tummy.  A quiet house, the humming of the stove, cold darkness all around the edges, gentle music, her sweet face slipping past, and the ceiling - always the ceiling....

Welcome to the world, Baby Boy, Part 2

By 9:00 or so, I was still feeling kind of "off," so I just stayed in bed where I'd done our reading and stretched out.  Shifting positions and moving around didn't seem to help much, but I still wasn't sure anything was going to happen.

This is probably a good place to explain why we were planning to have you at home.  Your sister was born, start to finish, in just about four hours and I had absolutely no indication that I was going into labor until my water broke, which is what started everything.  Your dad works about 30 minutes away, and the hospital, depending on traffic, is about 25-40 minutes away.  From the first few weeks I knew I was pregnant, I was just anxious about what we were going to do when it was time for you to arrive.  I was worried that your dad would be at work, and wasn't sure that he'd have time to rush home, gather us up, and get us to the hospital.  I kept thinking about being here with a toddler and being in active labor or about getting a third of the way to the hospital and then having you arrive.

And, of course, we don't have any family nearby and while we have some friends who would have taken your sister on a Saturday afternoon for a few hours, I didn't feel like I knew anyone that I could call in the middle of the night.  Or who I'd want to ask to come to the hospital and pick up Nora and mess with swapping car seats out while I was in labor and then they'd maybe have to call off from work and take care of her for who knew how long, not to mention how she'd likely feel about having to be hauled out of bed in the middle of the night, left at a nurses' station with strangers, taken to a strange place, and kept away from the two people she really knows for hours and hours.  That all just sounded awful - for her and for me, and I wanted to be able to think about you and focus on you and not be worrying about all this other stuff.

So, I started researching my options and found the CHOICE office in Worthington.  They offered home births in Franklin and surrounding counties, had been in practice for 35 years, and just seemed to be very organized, reputable and highly recommended, so we set up an appointment.  I also wanted to make sure that my blood pressure wasn't likely to be a problem again, and after talking to my doctor, the midwife who delivered Nora, the midwives in practice and just about every other medical professional in my life, I was reassured over and over that it was likely a fluke and there was no reason to believe it would happen a second time.  So we set up an initial consultation, talked about it quite a bit, and decided that just staying here at home, while knowing the hospital was close by and we'd be advised if that became necessary, would be the best fit for all of us.

I wasn't really sure what to think at first, to be honest.  Everyone seemed very competent, but I just wasn't sure I could do it, and of course, as a parent, my mind immediately went to the worst case scenarios that left me wondering how I'd live with myself for the rest of my life if anything went wrong.  But your dad was confident.  (I think I've said this before - he's very confident in me, more than I am, so often, and his confidence allows me to jump off cliffs.  Or at least be dragged to the edge of the cliff and pushed....)  After talking with Amy, Jill (who is an herbalist and had a Grateful Dead tattoo, both of which your dad just loved), and Allison, we came home, mulled it over, and decided that we'd do it! Aside from some mild anemia, which they caught, and a little bit of creeping on the part of my blood pressure in the final two weeks, I had another textbook pregnancy, although I'd be lying if I said that the blood pressure blips in the last couple of weeks didn't freak me out just a bit....

Welcome to the world, Baby Boy, Part 1

First, I'm sorry I haven't written to you in so very long.  Please know that I was loving you and thinking of you and preparing for you every day!  When I was pregnant with your sister, I was free to rest whenever but the second time around is much harder in that regard.  She is, as of this writing, a very active, very chatty little person filled with light and energy, and keeping up with her and my work until nap time most days has been all that I could manage for the six to eight weeks.  I was just so ridiculously tired most days, but your dad was, as usual, very understanding, and took care of all sorts of things around here so I could rest as much as possible.

There's also not been much to write because pregnancy with you has been uneventful and pretty easy!  About 36 weeks or so, I had a touch of anemia, but I jumped right on that and improved it in just a couple weeks, and during the last few weeks, my blood pressure crept up a bit, which meant even more taking it easy, but otherwise, no real pains, no complications or concerns, easy peasy. Every now and then, I'd think, "How long has it been since he moved?!" and would panic a little bit and jostle you around.  Then you'd squirm in irritation, I'd breathe a big sigh of relief and we'd both go back to what we were doing.

And I think I've just been more introspective because as I mentioned before, this time I knew just how impossible it is to imagine how terrific you'd be when you actually arrived, and I was right!  So, while I still remember things, let me tell you what that was like....

The week of November 11th, I wasn't feeling great.  Not really bad - just some bouts of false labor (three hours of that on Sunday night) and feeling tired and sore.  More than a few mornings, I'd had to lie in bed for a few minutes before getting up, just mentally encouraging myself that I could, in fact, get through another day.  Most days, by the time I lugged your sister up the stairs for her nap, I was counting the steps as I went and I'd come back downstairs and collapse for a bit.

I'd been managing to rally a bit in the evenings, get some work done, get up before your dad got home, start dinner, play with Nora..., and Thursday evening wasn't any different.  I made pancakes for dinner (easy and leftovers to freeze for later), talked to your grandfather just after dinner, around 7:00, because he'd been calling every day, multiple times a day to ask me if I felt labor was imminent.  (Do not ask a woman this.  She doesn't necessarily know.  People kept telling me that I'd know when it was time, but I really didn't, or at least I didn't know hours and hours in advance.  If I knew anything useful, I'd have shared it!)  Then I read to your sister after her bath, and during stories, I had a few contractions and was mentally preparing myself for an evening of false labor, thinking that it would likely get better if I got up and moved a little bit.  (For some reason, I never expected you'd arrive early.)  Because we thought it was likely that I'd have a quick labor, your dad texted Amy, our midwife, to let her know that I was having some random contractions, just so she could be on alert, and he made sure we were all set to fill the birthing tub when the time came....

Autumn Right Around the Corner

I've been telling Nora that when the leaves fall off the trees and it turns cold and frosty that you'll be here with us, and every day now, a few more dry leaves drift down in the driveway. Conveniently, as of July 31, you'd been growing for 170 days, so that means that as of today, you've only got roughly 73 days to go! 73 days doesn't sound so bad, but 10 weeks sounds pretty scary and I'm trying very hard to get lots of things done so that when you get here, we won't have to worry about anything. Looking forward to snuggling up with you in snowy December and not needing to worry about much besides feeding you, feeding us, and getting all of us to get some sleep. According to your dad, you've reached butternut squash status in there. (He loves his weekly emails that let him know what you're up to and he keeps me updated on your various fruit/vegetable stages, minus all the stuff that would make me antsy about things I haven't done yet....) This must mean you have plenty of room to wiggle still, because most nights between 10:00 and 11:30 or so, you rassle around, punching and shoving with your elbows and your little feet, working as hard to get comfortable as I am. But generally, you're pretty peaceful. Hiccups don't seem to disturb your rest, although occasionally I dump some cold water or hot tea on top of you, which doesn't seem to be appreciated. Sorry about that. I'm pretty tired pretty often now, so most afternoons, you and I settle down for at least a half an hour together, just to think quiet thoughts and talk to each other a bit. I like thinking about what you're up to in there and what you'll be like and how much better you'll be than anything I can think of, but I realized that after having your sister - we put so much faith in our imaginations, but in reality, they are so painfully, disappointingly limited. You'll be so much more and so much better and so much more everything than I could even hope to be able to conjure up, so I just mostly content myself with thinking cozy thoughts of you resting and snuggling and waiting. And at night, you listen to Charlotte's Web sometimes as we're drifting off to sleep. I listened to E.B. White read so much when I was little that his voice is pretty much permanently associated with peacefully dozing off in my mind. In my spare time, I've been working on piecing a little quilt for you, with some plans to work on a little hat and a crocheted blanket too. Mostly, everything is here, just waiting for you, and so am I! Love, Mama

Nora - Turning Two

On this day two years ago, I spent all day waiting, waiting, waiting, not knowing what was going to happen or who was going to join our little family or how I'd come to feel about this person. And now, here you are, and every single day, I'm astounded and amused and amazed by who you are, Nora Bean. You are light and sunshine, you are endless smiles and endless chatter, and while your father and I had a life we enjoyed when it was just the two of us, we both cannot imagine how we could have lived our whole lives in a world without knowing you. At two, you know your alphabet, all your colors, can count to 30 (mostly - some of those teens are tricky numbers), sing little songs and chatter to yourself nonstop about all sorts of things. Last night at dinner, you told us a wonderful story about going to the grocery store to ride in the blue carpet (you mean cart, but say carpet), where we'd visit loud fish with lots of loud golden water going by and you were going to stand right there on the edge! (Very emphatic about that part.) You like red, you love snuggling with your kitty cats, you are interested in bugs and snakes and spiders and any bird or animal you see ("talk more about crickets!" or "talk more about frogs!" is something I hear a lot.) You enjoy books and pictures of babies, you currently love all things Frances and Little Grey Rabbit and although you've only seen a few minutes of him on television, you dearly love Elmo. And the garbageman, who, you are sure, wants to come and play blocks and hang out with you and Donald Duck and Chip and Dale. You've had a great morning today! We decided that getting you wound up at the end of the day wasn't a good idea, so you got your presents this morning. Poppy and Granny sent you a red tricycle that you've been pushing around the living room (I'm pretty sure figuring out the bell is only a matter of time...) and some money for your savings account, and Uncle Kelly and Aunt Mary sent you an Elmo book, a stuffed Elmo, an Elmo toothbrush, two very sweet long-sleeved shirts, and an Elmo card. Mama and Daddy continued our tradition of getting you a charm (last year, you got the Tiffany charm bracelet and a little bean) and this year's charm is a little "I love to read" book, because you certainly do. We got you some animal toys and a few new books, including Little Grey Rabbit's Birthday, and tonight, there will be, per your request, "chocolate birthday cake with lots of candles." I just wanted to take a moment to tell you how much we love you, how delightful it's been to watch you change and grow, and what a privilege it is to have you with us. Happy birthday, sweet girl - Mama hopes the light that's in you today will be with you always....

Midway

Almost a month has gone by and things change every day. Nora, you are the most delightful, talkative little person. You race around in your diaper, you shout, "Mama give it big hug!" and grab onto me, you do a funny little dance that's like clogging, and you're fascinated by animals and nature and all sorts of things, just everything. You learn new words each and every day, and you love big words - quesadilla, dictionary, President Obama, alphabet. If you had your way, I would read one of your picture dictionaries to you over and over and over again, just taking the occasional break for a Frances book or one of Bonny Becker's Bear and Mouse books. (You cracked us all up last week when we were on vacation with Granny and Poppy by shouting, "Impossible! Intolerable! Insufferable!") As your daddy regularly says, you are hi-larious. Right now, you are in your bed, not sleeping and, for some reason, clapping and shouting, "Yay!" Happy, happy girl....

And you chat more and more about being a big sister and babies. You like to talk to my tummy and occasionally want to pull my shirt up to give it a pat or just to say hello.

Bip, you are moving on toward spaghetti squash status apparently. Eyelids, eyebrows, lips - you are a busy, busy baby! And you are apparently feeling up to checking out your new digs, because there's been a whole lot of wiggling going on in there. Daddy's even been able to feel some of your little thumps from time to time. We're crazy busy, but I do my best to find some time each afternoon to put my feet up while your sister naps and just hang out with you for a bit. I enjoy your little Morse code taps and talk to you and pat you and just think quiet thoughts. Hope you're enjoying your accommodations, and we can hardly believe that we're past the halfway point, that you'll be here before we know it!

Love and kisses,
Mama