If you know me, you know I have an incurable crush on older men. I'm not talking Clooney. I'm talking hunched back, saggy skin and long earlobes older. They have lived. And they are so special to me.
The other night at work I was floated down to the ICU. INSTANT FEAR AND TREMBLING. I stopped being an ICU nurse for a reason and I was nervous my old cronies would want me to take a patient load. No thank you, it's been almost two years and I would likely kill whomever they were wanting me to save. Instead (thank you Jackie!) I was assigned the task of sitting with an 81 year old confused heart surgery patient who had previously tried to give himself a concussion by pulling his IV pole down on his head. I will call him Donny.
Donny was wonderful. In order to keep him from pulling out his PICC line, I asked him if I could hold his hand. And he had just the sweetest answer. "Well, I had better call your dad and ask for permission." See? Eighty-one year olds have class. I told him I didn't think my dad would mind- nor my husband. (And Josh didn't- he knows he comes first, Russell Crowe second, and all old men third.)
So Donny and I got to hold hands all night long. And sometimes he would grab my hand with both of his, and with shaking hands arms raise my hand to his mouth to kiss the back of my hand. Aww. Precious.
Now, Donny wasn't perfect. At certain points of the night he was screaming for his wife (who wasn't there), twitching like he was getting ready to knock me unconscious, or winging his SpO2 monitor cord around like a lasso. But he was also sweet enough to tell me about his kids and his time in the service and his dear wife who "was quite a looker, in his opinion."
It was an incredibly long night shift- sitting in a darkened room trying ever so hard not to get sleepy. But it was so good. The older people are the one thing I miss from the ICU. Their stories. Their wisdom. Their perspectives. They have lived life and learned lessons. They've experienced pain and heartache. And they've loved. And they are living in a time when the number of people they love are growing fewer and fewer. I can't imagine watching friends die. And having to say goodbye to a spouse of fifty years. But I have watched older people deal with life tragedy with class. And I want to learn from them. I want to reap from the harvest of their wisdom. I want to hear their stories- learn history from their perspective. I want to be a friend to them.
They need friends, you know. My heart cries for people shoved into nursing homes and forgotten by family. And that's why one day I'm going to take my kiddos to nursing homes. And let my babies begin to learn a life lesson. Older people are treasures that won't always be around. Make sure you are not missing out.
I am going to go call my Grandma.
*Disclaimer: Not all older people are wonderful and a joy to be around. In fact, some are quite perverted and should not be granted the opportunity to hold and kiss your hand. :)
Monday, July 16, 2012
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Update on my Pitiful Post
So, I thought perhaps I should continue the transparency and let you know how my journey to be a far less lackluster wife is going. (I find 'less lackluster' fun to say. It's even fun to type. Try it. Your fingers get tongue-tied, if that's possible.)
Honestly, I think it's going well. Our house gets a little cleaner each day and I'm working hard to keep it that way. Dishes are done each evening (mostly), the living and dining rooms are tidied before heading upstairs to get ready for bed, and I wipe down the bathroom sink right before climbing into bed. I've even started keeping the toilet lid down (shout out to my brother-in-law, Simon. An open toilet lid is a serious no-no in the Henry household.)
I still have a crazy lot of room to improve. Our master bedroom has three overflowing baskets of clean, folded laundry to be put away. However, I'd prefer you focus on the facts. The laundry is both clean and folded. :) AND.....
The other day some friends randomly stopped by. And when the husband walked into our house, he said, "It's clean in here! You guys keep a tidy place!" And my heart found a place called Bliss.
Now, to get more consistent with my devotions (definitely) and consider a workout routine (probably not).
Honestly, I think it's going well. Our house gets a little cleaner each day and I'm working hard to keep it that way. Dishes are done each evening (mostly), the living and dining rooms are tidied before heading upstairs to get ready for bed, and I wipe down the bathroom sink right before climbing into bed. I've even started keeping the toilet lid down (shout out to my brother-in-law, Simon. An open toilet lid is a serious no-no in the Henry household.)
I still have a crazy lot of room to improve. Our master bedroom has three overflowing baskets of clean, folded laundry to be put away. However, I'd prefer you focus on the facts. The laundry is both clean and folded. :) AND.....
The other day some friends randomly stopped by. And when the husband walked into our house, he said, "It's clean in here! You guys keep a tidy place!" And my heart found a place called Bliss.
Now, to get more consistent with my devotions (definitely) and consider a workout routine (probably not).
Monday, July 2, 2012
Confessions of a (Pitiful) Wife
Eight months.
That is how long it's taken me to start getting into the swing of things after having Malachi. Embarrassing but true. I could blame part of it on working night shift and not having a babysitter during the day when I'm badly needing sleep. I could blame part of it on a decent amount of traveling. (Not going to lie- I could also blame Hulu for hours of mindless show watching. Bad mom award, right here.) But mostly I think I just let myself off the hook.
I look at my sister (or anyone who goes home with a newborn to a house filled with other children) and wonder how in tarnation she does it. If you're wondering, she just added the sweetest baby girl, Adriah Faith, to her already impressive collection of a four year old boy, and two year old twin girls. And I'm pretty sure if I were Rachel, you would find me wandering down the side of the road in my underclothes muttering something about guns and the end of the world. But she is cool. She already had three babies, what problem could one more bring?
I'm not like that. I've always been slow at completing tasks. I can get lost for hours in fiction. I want to snuggle with Josh on the couch instead of dealing with the (never-ending) dishes all over my kitchen. And we're in deep trouble now that Olympic trials are on.
I hadn't realized how messy I'd let life become until a week ago when I made an actual dinner with an actual recipe and we actually sat at the table to eat it. (Granted, the other half of the table was covered with items needing to be put away.) And I realized I felt good about making a yummy meal for my hubby. And I wondered when having a few restful weeks after Malachi's birth had turned into eight months of being a lackluster wife and making excuses.
So here goes something, folks. (I can't rightly say "here goes nothing." Because it's not nothing. We as Christians are told to work as unto the Lord. And I daresay I would be embarrassed to have him see the state of my house right now. And yes, I know He can see it. This is not meant to be a theology lesson. It's more me making an inward decision and outward commitment to do better. Because I know I can.
So, feel free to stop by my house. Anytime. And if it's a wreck, well, I deserve to be embarassed and perhaps it will spur me on.
Just don't judge me for the bills on the table- I'm mailing them tomorrow. :)
That is how long it's taken me to start getting into the swing of things after having Malachi. Embarrassing but true. I could blame part of it on working night shift and not having a babysitter during the day when I'm badly needing sleep. I could blame part of it on a decent amount of traveling. (Not going to lie- I could also blame Hulu for hours of mindless show watching. Bad mom award, right here.) But mostly I think I just let myself off the hook.
I look at my sister (or anyone who goes home with a newborn to a house filled with other children) and wonder how in tarnation she does it. If you're wondering, she just added the sweetest baby girl, Adriah Faith, to her already impressive collection of a four year old boy, and two year old twin girls. And I'm pretty sure if I were Rachel, you would find me wandering down the side of the road in my underclothes muttering something about guns and the end of the world. But she is cool. She already had three babies, what problem could one more bring?
I'm not like that. I've always been slow at completing tasks. I can get lost for hours in fiction. I want to snuggle with Josh on the couch instead of dealing with the (never-ending) dishes all over my kitchen. And we're in deep trouble now that Olympic trials are on.
I hadn't realized how messy I'd let life become until a week ago when I made an actual dinner with an actual recipe and we actually sat at the table to eat it. (Granted, the other half of the table was covered with items needing to be put away.) And I realized I felt good about making a yummy meal for my hubby. And I wondered when having a few restful weeks after Malachi's birth had turned into eight months of being a lackluster wife and making excuses.
So here goes something, folks. (I can't rightly say "here goes nothing." Because it's not nothing. We as Christians are told to work as unto the Lord. And I daresay I would be embarrassed to have him see the state of my house right now. And yes, I know He can see it. This is not meant to be a theology lesson. It's more me making an inward decision and outward commitment to do better. Because I know I can.
So, feel free to stop by my house. Anytime. And if it's a wreck, well, I deserve to be embarassed and perhaps it will spur me on.
Just don't judge me for the bills on the table- I'm mailing them tomorrow. :)
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Adjusting to Mommy-ness
Finally. Time to sit down with my half glass of dark chocolate soy milk and Josh's computer. Time to blog while repeatedly smiling at Malachi who is busy yelling and talking and letting the universe in general know he is alive and awake. He may just throw himself out of his bouncer if I don't go rescue him from it soon.
People have often asked me how being a Mommy is. My response? It doesn't really feel like life has changed that much. And yet I know it has. I would say it's similar to getting married; everything is different and new and yet it feels like life may have been this way forever.
As much as I'd like to say things have fallen into a routine, I know there is much room for improvement. It is not yet rare for Josh to get home in the evening after a long day at school and find me still in my pj's, hair a mess, glasses repeatedly sliding down my nose as I realize I've not yet come up with dinner plans and Malachi is ready to eat again. Today is a midway successful day- I have a load of laundry in the dryer, the dish washer is running, the pots and pans are clean and Malachi got a bath. (Don't judge me for calling it successful when that's all I've accomplished). Oh, and I'm finally taking the time to write a blog. Which now falls way low on the list of priorities. Which is why this post is coming to a close. I've got more to do. My son to rescue from the bouncer, a diaper to change (if the sounds coming from Malachi's direction are any indication), bottles to wash, and it would probably be good if I made myself a little more presentable before my man comes home. Time to get moving. Oh, and dinner. I've got to stop forgetting dinner.
People have often asked me how being a Mommy is. My response? It doesn't really feel like life has changed that much. And yet I know it has. I would say it's similar to getting married; everything is different and new and yet it feels like life may have been this way forever.
As much as I'd like to say things have fallen into a routine, I know there is much room for improvement. It is not yet rare for Josh to get home in the evening after a long day at school and find me still in my pj's, hair a mess, glasses repeatedly sliding down my nose as I realize I've not yet come up with dinner plans and Malachi is ready to eat again. Today is a midway successful day- I have a load of laundry in the dryer, the dish washer is running, the pots and pans are clean and Malachi got a bath. (Don't judge me for calling it successful when that's all I've accomplished). Oh, and I'm finally taking the time to write a blog. Which now falls way low on the list of priorities. Which is why this post is coming to a close. I've got more to do. My son to rescue from the bouncer, a diaper to change (if the sounds coming from Malachi's direction are any indication), bottles to wash, and it would probably be good if I made myself a little more presentable before my man comes home. Time to get moving. Oh, and dinner. I've got to stop forgetting dinner.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Having a Baby- Pattengale Style
It's been two weeks since Malachi David Pattengale entered this world. I guess it's finally time to re-enter the blogosphere and tell the world.
So. We'll start at 7:30 am on Thursday, October 27. I got home from work and got into my warm, cozy bed and snuggled up to my warm, cozy husband and said "Goodnight." (Oh the bliss of coming home to a warm bed and man!) I woke up around 3:30 that afternoon to spend some time with Josh before he left for the evening- he was going to a guys night at a friend's house. At least, he thought so. During a round of Gin Rummy, I once again started having contractions. These have been starting and stopping (most annoyingly) for the past week. We started timing them at 3:42. I know the exact time because we wrote down the contractions and I still have the paper on the fridge. It's one of those things that I just can't throw away. They were about 8-9 minutes apart consistently- strong enough that I'd stop playing and breathe through them, but not really painful. After an hour, I got irritated so I pumped with my milk pump for about 20 minutes. That brought my contractions to every 3-4 minutes. After an hour of these contractions, I decided to take a shower. (I didn't want to go to the hospital even though the timing and length of the contractions were appropriate- since I work in the Birthing Center I didn't want to be sent home from triage for false labor. Mortifying.) After my shower we waited another hour of contractions every 5 minutes before I called the midwife to let her know what was going on. She said I could do whatever I wanted, so I packed up my bags and we went to the hospital an hour later (eh, 8:30pmish).
I was in triage about 30 minutes when they admitted me into labor. The monitor showed I was having contractions every 1-2 minutes, but the baby's heart rate wasn't showing the changes they wanted. So, lots of fluids, popsicles, and lying on my side. After an hour, his heart rate started showing good variations- we were back in business. I had to have IV antibiotics for Group B strep, a normal bacteria that some women have, so they got that on board and then it was time to start walking the halls. It's an interesting thing to wear a hospital gown and have contractions in front of co-workers. I got back massages, advice and encouragement at the nurses' station- they also told me I was 3.5 cm and -2 station. (I was ticked at the -2 station. Come on now, Baby P.)
At 11:30, the midwife broke my water- most interesting feeling ever! Like peeing yourself, but you know you didn't. Suddenly I understood why the nurses were all saying I was smiling too much at the beginning- those contractions were nothing compared to these new ones. I took one more walk in the halls and then said, "Shoot, I'm done with that. It hurts." :) My favorite new spots were lying on my side (breathing and relaxing through contractions) and sitting on the birthing ball (rolling around on the ball during contractions and resting back on Josh between them).
Let me mention, Josh was fantastic! I was incredibly nervous that I would be a total witch during labor- I tend to get a little snappy and mean when I'm hurting. I was just hoping I wouldn't say anything that would damage our marriage forever. ;) However, with that foreknowledge, I must say I did pretty well! There was one time he was talking to my mom on the phone during a contraction and I commanded him (very strongly and several times) to put that phone down! I also had him changing the thermostat almost every minute. But he was great! Supportive, encouraging, loving. He stopped me when I started punching my thigh repeatedly during a contraction (it doesn't really make sense now- but hitting my thigh had seemed like an appropriate response to the pain at the time) and repeatedly offered his hand through every contraction. He grabbed the trash can when I started throwing up and massaged my back whenever I needed it. I have told him this repeatedly: I could not have done it without him (also, I would not have needed to do it without him! Ha.)
At some point in the night, the word 'medicine' started rolling around in my head. Josh and I had wanted to have a medication free birth (other than the necessary antibiotics), but we weren't set in stone as we had no idea what labor was like. We decided to have the nurse check my progress and decide afterwards. She said I was 6cm dilated. Not quite as much as I had hoped, but I really think I was just trying to overachieve (and also I wanted the pain to be done.) After a few more contractions, we decided to try the tub for pain relief. The warm water was heavenly at first. Minus the fact that I was nine months pregnant and a whale. Whales are not supposed to fit in tubs. It's depressing when you can't get all of you under water. You have to keep shifting and rotating and rolling so you don't get cold. Mostly, I just wanted the water to cover my belly- it felt the best that way.
After about 10 minutes in the tub, it wasn't working anymore. The contractions seemed stronger, longer, worse. Josh held the removable shower head so it was spraying water straight on my stomach, but all I could do was cry and pray, "Oh Lord, Oh Lord, Oh Lord" repeatedly. (Oh goodness, I'm going to cry now... this is bringing back quite the memories...) I called my labor nurse into the bathroom, sat up so my face was about a foot away from her's and said (in probably my most intense voice ever... poor Erin!) "Erin, I want pain medicine." She was very serious in return and told me she would get the midwife and then we'd get me some meds.
When the midwife came in, she watched 2 contractions in the tub. At this point, I had no idea what was going on with my body. Halfway through a contraction my entire body would start shaking. I was trying my best to relax (I had been practicing relaxation techniques for the previous 9 months) but would end up pushing with each contraction. The midwife decided to check my progress before allowing any medication: "Ericka, you're a 10. You're completely dilated and ready to go. We're going to get you into the bed and you're going to have this baby." Suddenly I understood why the contractions in the tub seemed so bad. They were! I had dilated 4 cm in 20 minutes. Intense. And no time for pain meds. I had made it.
After the next contraction, I climbed out of the tub, Josh and the midwife quick toweled me dry, and we tottered over to the bed. (I say tottered because it wasn't a walk and it wasn't a run. It was like a trot with the midwife holding one arm and Josh the other. I have no idea who had the IV pole with the antibiotics. I don't even know if it was still hooked to me or not.
I got in the bed and tried to prepare myself for the next hurdle: pushing out a baby. I had read in a book not to push as hard as possible- push how hard your body is telling you to. So, with the first push, I only pushed until I felt pain relief. I didn't think it was that great of an effort, but then the midwife said, "Oh, he's got a lot of hair!" And Josh said he saw the head too. And I thought, "Uh oh, you're not supposed to be seeing his head just yet." And with the second push, I got to reach down and feel my baby's head. It felt... wet. Warm. Soft. After this second push, they told me at some point I was going to feel a lot of pain... the dreaded 'ring of fire.' Even the name is enough to conjure fear in the heart of every woman of childbearing age. Shudder. I replied, "Yes, that is what I'm afraid of!" Push through it, they told me. So, with the third push and (I'm not going to lie) a bit of a yell, I pushed hard. And out came his head. And they told me, "One more, Ericka!" So, with another yell and my forth and final push, out came my son. The midwife had positioned Josh's hands, so he got to deliver our baby.
Suddenly, I had this incredibly warm, wet, soft little body lying on my chest. I heard Josh say, "He's beautiful, Ericka," but I was lost. A weird feeling of disconnect. There is a baby lying on my chest. I know he is mine. What am I supposed to do now? "Hi, buddy." I remember hearing Malachi cry- I remember Josh going to lie down when he got really pale and lightheaded- I remember people congratulating us- but besides how warm Malachi's body was, everything seemed very distant.
I know at some point, it will be difficult to recall the details, but for now, they are engraved in my mind. Malachi David Pattengale, born on his due date. October 28, 2011. At 4:04 am. Weighing 7lbs, 12 oz. Length 20 inches. A full head of dark hair. Perfect.
I will skip the details of the midwife sewing me back together. Needless to say, when you only push 9 minutes, there is no time for an episiotomy or stretching. There is time for nothing except catching the baby. So we had to do some repair work.
Then came snuggling with my son- a shared pride with my husband- exhaustion from a long night's work- pictures with my new family of three- the most delicious piece of toast I've ever eaten- my first unguarded moments alone with my son- a feeling of utter joy mixed with deep tiredness that completely filled my being. And the peace that comes with knowing you finished. You completed the task. You did well.
Of course, the work of being a parent? Well, it just started...
So. We'll start at 7:30 am on Thursday, October 27. I got home from work and got into my warm, cozy bed and snuggled up to my warm, cozy husband and said "Goodnight." (Oh the bliss of coming home to a warm bed and man!) I woke up around 3:30 that afternoon to spend some time with Josh before he left for the evening- he was going to a guys night at a friend's house. At least, he thought so. During a round of Gin Rummy, I once again started having contractions. These have been starting and stopping (most annoyingly) for the past week. We started timing them at 3:42. I know the exact time because we wrote down the contractions and I still have the paper on the fridge. It's one of those things that I just can't throw away. They were about 8-9 minutes apart consistently- strong enough that I'd stop playing and breathe through them, but not really painful. After an hour, I got irritated so I pumped with my milk pump for about 20 minutes. That brought my contractions to every 3-4 minutes. After an hour of these contractions, I decided to take a shower. (I didn't want to go to the hospital even though the timing and length of the contractions were appropriate- since I work in the Birthing Center I didn't want to be sent home from triage for false labor. Mortifying.) After my shower we waited another hour of contractions every 5 minutes before I called the midwife to let her know what was going on. She said I could do whatever I wanted, so I packed up my bags and we went to the hospital an hour later (eh, 8:30pmish).
I was in triage about 30 minutes when they admitted me into labor. The monitor showed I was having contractions every 1-2 minutes, but the baby's heart rate wasn't showing the changes they wanted. So, lots of fluids, popsicles, and lying on my side. After an hour, his heart rate started showing good variations- we were back in business. I had to have IV antibiotics for Group B strep, a normal bacteria that some women have, so they got that on board and then it was time to start walking the halls. It's an interesting thing to wear a hospital gown and have contractions in front of co-workers. I got back massages, advice and encouragement at the nurses' station- they also told me I was 3.5 cm and -2 station. (I was ticked at the -2 station. Come on now, Baby P.)
At 11:30, the midwife broke my water- most interesting feeling ever! Like peeing yourself, but you know you didn't. Suddenly I understood why the nurses were all saying I was smiling too much at the beginning- those contractions were nothing compared to these new ones. I took one more walk in the halls and then said, "Shoot, I'm done with that. It hurts." :) My favorite new spots were lying on my side (breathing and relaxing through contractions) and sitting on the birthing ball (rolling around on the ball during contractions and resting back on Josh between them).
Let me mention, Josh was fantastic! I was incredibly nervous that I would be a total witch during labor- I tend to get a little snappy and mean when I'm hurting. I was just hoping I wouldn't say anything that would damage our marriage forever. ;) However, with that foreknowledge, I must say I did pretty well! There was one time he was talking to my mom on the phone during a contraction and I commanded him (very strongly and several times) to put that phone down! I also had him changing the thermostat almost every minute. But he was great! Supportive, encouraging, loving. He stopped me when I started punching my thigh repeatedly during a contraction (it doesn't really make sense now- but hitting my thigh had seemed like an appropriate response to the pain at the time) and repeatedly offered his hand through every contraction. He grabbed the trash can when I started throwing up and massaged my back whenever I needed it. I have told him this repeatedly: I could not have done it without him (also, I would not have needed to do it without him! Ha.)
At some point in the night, the word 'medicine' started rolling around in my head. Josh and I had wanted to have a medication free birth (other than the necessary antibiotics), but we weren't set in stone as we had no idea what labor was like. We decided to have the nurse check my progress and decide afterwards. She said I was 6cm dilated. Not quite as much as I had hoped, but I really think I was just trying to overachieve (and also I wanted the pain to be done.) After a few more contractions, we decided to try the tub for pain relief. The warm water was heavenly at first. Minus the fact that I was nine months pregnant and a whale. Whales are not supposed to fit in tubs. It's depressing when you can't get all of you under water. You have to keep shifting and rotating and rolling so you don't get cold. Mostly, I just wanted the water to cover my belly- it felt the best that way.
After about 10 minutes in the tub, it wasn't working anymore. The contractions seemed stronger, longer, worse. Josh held the removable shower head so it was spraying water straight on my stomach, but all I could do was cry and pray, "Oh Lord, Oh Lord, Oh Lord" repeatedly. (Oh goodness, I'm going to cry now... this is bringing back quite the memories...) I called my labor nurse into the bathroom, sat up so my face was about a foot away from her's and said (in probably my most intense voice ever... poor Erin!) "Erin, I want pain medicine." She was very serious in return and told me she would get the midwife and then we'd get me some meds.
When the midwife came in, she watched 2 contractions in the tub. At this point, I had no idea what was going on with my body. Halfway through a contraction my entire body would start shaking. I was trying my best to relax (I had been practicing relaxation techniques for the previous 9 months) but would end up pushing with each contraction. The midwife decided to check my progress before allowing any medication: "Ericka, you're a 10. You're completely dilated and ready to go. We're going to get you into the bed and you're going to have this baby." Suddenly I understood why the contractions in the tub seemed so bad. They were! I had dilated 4 cm in 20 minutes. Intense. And no time for pain meds. I had made it.
After the next contraction, I climbed out of the tub, Josh and the midwife quick toweled me dry, and we tottered over to the bed. (I say tottered because it wasn't a walk and it wasn't a run. It was like a trot with the midwife holding one arm and Josh the other. I have no idea who had the IV pole with the antibiotics. I don't even know if it was still hooked to me or not.
I got in the bed and tried to prepare myself for the next hurdle: pushing out a baby. I had read in a book not to push as hard as possible- push how hard your body is telling you to. So, with the first push, I only pushed until I felt pain relief. I didn't think it was that great of an effort, but then the midwife said, "Oh, he's got a lot of hair!" And Josh said he saw the head too. And I thought, "Uh oh, you're not supposed to be seeing his head just yet." And with the second push, I got to reach down and feel my baby's head. It felt... wet. Warm. Soft. After this second push, they told me at some point I was going to feel a lot of pain... the dreaded 'ring of fire.' Even the name is enough to conjure fear in the heart of every woman of childbearing age. Shudder. I replied, "Yes, that is what I'm afraid of!" Push through it, they told me. So, with the third push and (I'm not going to lie) a bit of a yell, I pushed hard. And out came his head. And they told me, "One more, Ericka!" So, with another yell and my forth and final push, out came my son. The midwife had positioned Josh's hands, so he got to deliver our baby.
Suddenly, I had this incredibly warm, wet, soft little body lying on my chest. I heard Josh say, "He's beautiful, Ericka," but I was lost. A weird feeling of disconnect. There is a baby lying on my chest. I know he is mine. What am I supposed to do now? "Hi, buddy." I remember hearing Malachi cry- I remember Josh going to lie down when he got really pale and lightheaded- I remember people congratulating us- but besides how warm Malachi's body was, everything seemed very distant.
I know at some point, it will be difficult to recall the details, but for now, they are engraved in my mind. Malachi David Pattengale, born on his due date. October 28, 2011. At 4:04 am. Weighing 7lbs, 12 oz. Length 20 inches. A full head of dark hair. Perfect.
I will skip the details of the midwife sewing me back together. Needless to say, when you only push 9 minutes, there is no time for an episiotomy or stretching. There is time for nothing except catching the baby. So we had to do some repair work.
Then came snuggling with my son- a shared pride with my husband- exhaustion from a long night's work- pictures with my new family of three- the most delicious piece of toast I've ever eaten- my first unguarded moments alone with my son- a feeling of utter joy mixed with deep tiredness that completely filled my being. And the peace that comes with knowing you finished. You completed the task. You did well.
Of course, the work of being a parent? Well, it just started...
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Autumn.
Autumn is my favorite.
Scarves.
Apple cider.
My dad's old flannel red and black jacket.
Snuggling.
Gusty, invigorating breezes.
Crunchy leaves.
Pumpkins.
Pumpkin pie.
Pumpkin rolls.
Pumpkin lattes.
Pumpkin bread.
Dark hot chocolate.
Red, orange, and brown.
Sweaters (albeit, I wear sweaters all year long).
Festivals.
Beautiful foliage.
Spicy smells.
Chili and cornbread.
Crisp, clear air.
The whispered thought of Christmas.
Scarves.
Apple cider.
My dad's old flannel red and black jacket.
Snuggling.
Gusty, invigorating breezes.
Crunchy leaves.
Pumpkins.
Pumpkin pie.
Pumpkin rolls.
Pumpkin lattes.
Pumpkin bread.
Dark hot chocolate.
Red, orange, and brown.
Sweaters (albeit, I wear sweaters all year long).
Festivals.
Beautiful foliage.
Spicy smells.
Chili and cornbread.
Crisp, clear air.
The whispered thought of Christmas.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
An Exceptionally Good Day
Satisfied.
That is what I feel right now.
Today we had our external version- the procedure where the OB doctor and midwife try to push a baby into the head down position when he or she is breech. It is such a weird feeling to be walking into the hospital to be admitted as a patient; suddenly my adrenaline is pumping and holding Josh's hand is a necessity. We start with a quick stop at Radiology for an ultrasound to make sure Baby P. is still breech. And yes, he is. We also ask for a quick check to make sure his male genitalia is still present. Thankfully, it is. I would've been a nervous nelly to find out he'd lost them somewhere in my uterus. :)
Next we ride the elevator up to my home base- the birthing center. But, like I said, it's not quite as relaxing when you are the patient. After a quick check in, I get to change into a hospital gown- wow those things are breezy on the backside- and hop into the hospital bed to watch some cable while they start an IV. (They set everything up as if we will need to do a c-section, as this is one of the possible negative outcomes of a version.) After my IV is in, they hook me up to the baby's heart monitor- his heart rate is running in the very decent 140s and my uterus is irritable. After around 30 minutes of monitoring, the nurse gave me an injection of terbutaline to relax my uterus and the ladies with the baby turning hands show up. Another quick ultrasound, baby powder dusted all over my belly, and it's time to convince this little man that he wants to go head down.
I have heard versions described in completely different ways. Everything from 'slight discomfort' to 'I would've never had one if I knew it was going to hurt like that. Just give me a c-section.' I found it to be the combination of someone giving you a deep tissue massage and an Indian burn at the same time. With Josh holding my right hand, my nurse holding my left, and the doctor and midwife shoving on the baby, all I could really think about was my breathing and trying to relax. I do remember hearing Josh telling me what a good job I was doing. And I remember when the doctor couldn't find the baby's head again halfway through the turn. I remember saying, "Oh dear, we've lost his head." And hearing everyone laugh. I remember my left leg flexing as the midwife's hands pushed across my tight left round ligament. I remember thinking they must almost be done and then them questioning if he had moved at all. A quick ultrasound showing that not only was he heading down, they were about to start pushing his head back up to the top! So they stopped that idea really quickly. We were done! He was head down and we simply needed to be monitored for the next hour to make sure everything still looked wonderful. What a feeling.
After arriving at home, I got to climb back into bed and sleep for the next 5 hours. Which was kind of fantastic, as the terb injection made me jittery and exhausted. And I'm probably going to go climb back into our king bed of comfort as soon as I finish writing this.
So, besides a successful version, what else could make this day better? We found out the new Chipotle is open- OH YEAH. We have been waiting oh so (im)patiently. So that was the second part of the day to celebrate. But wait, it gets better.
We went to the mall after Chipotle and found our third thing to celebrate. We finally found a back massager!!! So, this may come as a surprise, but these suckers are difficult to find. Target doesn't carry them until Christmas (come on! Tell me who only wants back massages near the holidays!?). Walmart doesn't carry them. No one carries them. Enter stage right: Bath and Body Works. Highly overpriced, but there they were in a little basket in the very back of the store. SOLD! Our hospital bags are now complete. Whew.
Today was: an exceptionally good day.
That is what I feel right now.
Today we had our external version- the procedure where the OB doctor and midwife try to push a baby into the head down position when he or she is breech. It is such a weird feeling to be walking into the hospital to be admitted as a patient; suddenly my adrenaline is pumping and holding Josh's hand is a necessity. We start with a quick stop at Radiology for an ultrasound to make sure Baby P. is still breech. And yes, he is. We also ask for a quick check to make sure his male genitalia is still present. Thankfully, it is. I would've been a nervous nelly to find out he'd lost them somewhere in my uterus. :)
Next we ride the elevator up to my home base- the birthing center. But, like I said, it's not quite as relaxing when you are the patient. After a quick check in, I get to change into a hospital gown- wow those things are breezy on the backside- and hop into the hospital bed to watch some cable while they start an IV. (They set everything up as if we will need to do a c-section, as this is one of the possible negative outcomes of a version.) After my IV is in, they hook me up to the baby's heart monitor- his heart rate is running in the very decent 140s and my uterus is irritable. After around 30 minutes of monitoring, the nurse gave me an injection of terbutaline to relax my uterus and the ladies with the baby turning hands show up. Another quick ultrasound, baby powder dusted all over my belly, and it's time to convince this little man that he wants to go head down.
I have heard versions described in completely different ways. Everything from 'slight discomfort' to 'I would've never had one if I knew it was going to hurt like that. Just give me a c-section.' I found it to be the combination of someone giving you a deep tissue massage and an Indian burn at the same time. With Josh holding my right hand, my nurse holding my left, and the doctor and midwife shoving on the baby, all I could really think about was my breathing and trying to relax. I do remember hearing Josh telling me what a good job I was doing. And I remember when the doctor couldn't find the baby's head again halfway through the turn. I remember saying, "Oh dear, we've lost his head." And hearing everyone laugh. I remember my left leg flexing as the midwife's hands pushed across my tight left round ligament. I remember thinking they must almost be done and then them questioning if he had moved at all. A quick ultrasound showing that not only was he heading down, they were about to start pushing his head back up to the top! So they stopped that idea really quickly. We were done! He was head down and we simply needed to be monitored for the next hour to make sure everything still looked wonderful. What a feeling.
After arriving at home, I got to climb back into bed and sleep for the next 5 hours. Which was kind of fantastic, as the terb injection made me jittery and exhausted. And I'm probably going to go climb back into our king bed of comfort as soon as I finish writing this.
So, besides a successful version, what else could make this day better? We found out the new Chipotle is open- OH YEAH. We have been waiting oh so (im)patiently. So that was the second part of the day to celebrate. But wait, it gets better.
We went to the mall after Chipotle and found our third thing to celebrate. We finally found a back massager!!! So, this may come as a surprise, but these suckers are difficult to find. Target doesn't carry them until Christmas (come on! Tell me who only wants back massages near the holidays!?). Walmart doesn't carry them. No one carries them. Enter stage right: Bath and Body Works. Highly overpriced, but there they were in a little basket in the very back of the store. SOLD! Our hospital bags are now complete. Whew.
Today was: an exceptionally good day.
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