So as parents we can't help but compare children. We compare our own children to each other. We compare ourselves or our siblings to our own children. We compare our children with children of friends and relatives. And this time around, with my second child, I can't help but appreciate my time with my first daughter, and how easy it was with only one.
My first daughter was a pretty easy baby from the time we took her home to when she officially became a "toddler." The major "problems" we had with her was that she came out face up when born, so she gave her mother a hell of a tear, and she ended up with both bruises on her head and a cone head from the forceps. She was also slightly jaundiced, had a heart murmur that cleared up later, has a milk allergy and had acid reflux. Even though this seems like a lot, when it came to breastfeeding she sucked, literally. She sucked for 30 to 45 minutes at a time and I, knowing nothing about breastfeeding, let her. Boy was I stupid.
My nipples cracked and bled for weeks. I had what looked like a rug burn around my nipples. I cried when she nursed but I was determined to feed her. When we took her to her first appointment, she had lost a lot of weight, more than usual. So, I had to feed her in the office and found that she was latching wrong, and was not eating but "love sucking." It seems I birthed a suckerfish and not a baby.
After resolving that problem with correct latching, pumping and LOTS of creams and ointments, she was the "perfect" baby. She fed every two to three hours and by one month old was sleeping six hours a night. Once we figured out she had acid reflux she rarely cried. She was easily soothed with a pacifier and some snuggle time with daddy. I was lucky she was so easy since my recovery was so tough. I cherished the hours at home to cook, eat lunch and dinner, watch t.v. and do laundry on my own time while she slept. How I long for that now... I didn't know how easy I had it!
Now that I have two children, one who is two and one who is 20 days, I realize how much time I spent just staring at my first daugher, watching her sleep. I got to exercise and play with the dog. I got to do all the things I normally did, but because of my slow recovery I just did them, well, slower. This second time around, I have little time to do any of those things.
This time, when my newborn sleeps, I scramble to eat something, play with my toddler, get dressed and sometimes put on deodorant and do my hair. When she isn't sleeping, she is eating constantly, at least every hour. She has no health problems, but she is definitely a diva who wants what she wants and will not settle for less. If she has a burp or is generally gassy, she will fuss until I take care of it. If she has hiccoughs or is tired, she wants to be cuddled and will fuss until I take care of it. If she has to poop or fart, she wants to be on her stomach and wants me to pat her butt and will fuss until I take care of it. I think the only person with a longer list of wants is probably making millions more than her. But, she is a diva nonetheless, and I have to laugh and cherish that when I am not crying and exhausted.
Yes, a few things are very different with two children and with the second child. However, I am glad with the second child I have the knowledge gained from the first. I am a more confident mother this time and I don't feel the need to panic or call the doctor or family when the slightest thing is wrong. Having a second child makes it easier to laugh and say "Been there, done that, got the t-shirt stains to prove it."
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Running Scared
So the first question I ask my doctor anytime I am sick or injured is, can I still work out and run? Frankly, most of the time, working out makes me feel better as long as I can breathe okay. When I developed low platelets, inhibiting my body's ability to sustain new platelets, I asked the doctor about working out and he said "No bungee jumping, but if you work out just make sure it is low impact and someone knows where you are, and you take your phone. If you got injured, even a small cut, you could bleed to death before anyone got to you." That was a stupid question in that situation, but I met him in the middle and I did go walking, making sure someone went with me. With postpartum recovery, however, many times the answer is not so direct. Women are so worried about getting the "pre-baby" body back, we sometimes forget that sadly, our bodies change shape after childbirth. So, even though we may lose the weight, the clothes may not fit our new bodies. Here I am 10 days after my natural birth, discussing with myself whether or not to start working out again. I feel great, I am not bleeding, and my breasts are feeling better as my daughter gets more skilled at latching. I definitely believe in listening to my individual body's needs, but am I just wanting to run out of fear of fat?
Experts say it takes two years for a woman's body to fully recover from childbirth and I agree. About seven months before my daughter turned two, I had almost gotten back down to what I was when I got married. I was training for a half marathon and was running at least 3 times a week for at least an hour. It was then that I found out I was pregnant with number two. Somehow, I knew I was pregnant (as most women do), but I was in denial for about six weeks. I had been on birth control and had just gone through a round of chemo for my platelet disorder. My doctor explained that researchers did not know the effect the chemo would have on a fetus, so I should make sure I was on birth control. I was and had been for about a year. Then, I suddenly couldn't remember when my last period was. I figured it was because of the chemo, but that side effect was not listed on their website. Slowly, the weight I lost from my first pregnancy came back and in retaliation I just added more running to my workout schedule. I took three pregnancy tests and they were all positive. Surprise.
This pregnancy I gained about 30 pounds eating pretty much what I wanted and not really following an exercise routine, other than chasing my toddler. I've so far lost all but about 10 pounds, but since I am convinced this is my last baby, I would like to lose 15 pounds to get back to my ideal weight. However, that is still no guarantee that my old clothes will fit. My old clothes are for my old body. Some may fit, but some of my favorites I may have to part with because my hips are wider, or my waist is smaller. Each child molds a woman's body differently. And, while I do embrace that, I do not want to be the woman carrying around weight from pregnancies. I want to be fit, healthy, and look good for me (and my husband too I guess).
In talking with my husband, who is the medical consultant in our family (as I am the educational and financial consultant), he agrees that I should wait until two weeks postpartum, and then just start slow and easy to build back my body. While I agree, my body FEELS like it did before I was pregnant, other than my ab muscles. I honestly feel like I could run a 5K or 10K in the same amount of time I used to. However, some things are easier said than done, and I don't know if I want to risk a permanant injury to find out. Walking, an ab workout, and maybe some yoga are things I want to start out with, and maybe a little weight lifting. I don't want to let my fear of fat dictate the pace of my workout, but at the same time my body is telling me that it is ready and willing to be pushed. It told me the same thing about natural birth, and that turned out great. Maybe I won't be running out of fear, but out of the committment I made to myself when I chose natural childbirth. I chose to let my body make the decision for me, and it made the right one. Maybe, just maybe, my body knows itself better than any other outsider could, even doctors.
Experts say it takes two years for a woman's body to fully recover from childbirth and I agree. About seven months before my daughter turned two, I had almost gotten back down to what I was when I got married. I was training for a half marathon and was running at least 3 times a week for at least an hour. It was then that I found out I was pregnant with number two. Somehow, I knew I was pregnant (as most women do), but I was in denial for about six weeks. I had been on birth control and had just gone through a round of chemo for my platelet disorder. My doctor explained that researchers did not know the effect the chemo would have on a fetus, so I should make sure I was on birth control. I was and had been for about a year. Then, I suddenly couldn't remember when my last period was. I figured it was because of the chemo, but that side effect was not listed on their website. Slowly, the weight I lost from my first pregnancy came back and in retaliation I just added more running to my workout schedule. I took three pregnancy tests and they were all positive. Surprise.
This pregnancy I gained about 30 pounds eating pretty much what I wanted and not really following an exercise routine, other than chasing my toddler. I've so far lost all but about 10 pounds, but since I am convinced this is my last baby, I would like to lose 15 pounds to get back to my ideal weight. However, that is still no guarantee that my old clothes will fit. My old clothes are for my old body. Some may fit, but some of my favorites I may have to part with because my hips are wider, or my waist is smaller. Each child molds a woman's body differently. And, while I do embrace that, I do not want to be the woman carrying around weight from pregnancies. I want to be fit, healthy, and look good for me (and my husband too I guess).
In talking with my husband, who is the medical consultant in our family (as I am the educational and financial consultant), he agrees that I should wait until two weeks postpartum, and then just start slow and easy to build back my body. While I agree, my body FEELS like it did before I was pregnant, other than my ab muscles. I honestly feel like I could run a 5K or 10K in the same amount of time I used to. However, some things are easier said than done, and I don't know if I want to risk a permanant injury to find out. Walking, an ab workout, and maybe some yoga are things I want to start out with, and maybe a little weight lifting. I don't want to let my fear of fat dictate the pace of my workout, but at the same time my body is telling me that it is ready and willing to be pushed. It told me the same thing about natural birth, and that turned out great. Maybe I won't be running out of fear, but out of the committment I made to myself when I chose natural childbirth. I chose to let my body make the decision for me, and it made the right one. Maybe, just maybe, my body knows itself better than any other outsider could, even doctors.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
The Crying Game
One post partum side effect I despise is the emotional rollercoaster. I would imagine it is similar to having a severe form of bipolar disorder; sometimes my hormones are a pendulum of crazy ideas and crying fits. What is really funny is my newborn has the same problem, just a different root.
So far I have not been very tired for a few reasons. First, my daughter has been a good night sleeper, sleeping 3 to 3.5 hours before wanting to feed at night. So, I end up with about 6 hours. Second, my toddler still takes naps during the day for about 2 to 3 hours, and I have been able to get my newborn to sleep while she sleeps, so I get a nap during the day. Third, I have not been taking any pain medication that will make me drowsy during the day or disrupt my sleep at night, nor have I had any pain. When I have slept, it has been good, deep sleep. My toddler has also been so worn out that she is sleeping almost 10 hours a night, through the night. Lastly, I have been on such a natural high because the birth went so well, the baby was so healthy, and my toddler so easily content with the baby that worry has not kept me up at night, and during the day I have energy. However, the one thing that has made me tired is the emotional rollercoaster of hormones that puts outrageous thoughts in my head and makes me cry over spilled milk, literally.
Breastfeeding has definitely been easier this time around than with my last child. Abby was what the lactation consultant called a "love sucker" because when she was upset she wanted to use my nipple as a comfort item. As a result, my nipples became extremely raw and bled. This time, although MacKenzie had a little trouble with latching, she did not do any extra sucking. My nipples are sore, but only when she latches on at first; it doesn't hurt the entire feeding. However, the fourth night Kenzie was home she stayed up until 2:00 in the morning, and the crying game began.
She had slept on and off all day, but around 9:00 she was awake and alert. She stayed that way, fussing about every 10 minutes or so. She had eaten, wasn't wet or dirty, and we had given her gas drops since she had been gassy. However, she kept wanting to eat. All I could think to myself was "oh no, not another love sucker." I figured she was tired and trying to put herself to sleep, or her belly was upset since newborns don't really know the difference between hunger pangs and gas pain. But, I had already given her gas medicine. My husband was busy putting our toddler to bed around 10:30, and Kenzie was still not going to asleep or even being remotely content. I was not content either since one nipple was sore and scabbing; I had let it get engorged and let her feed on it, so she couldn't latch well and caused the scab and pain. I was trying to pump that one off for at least a day to give it time to heal, but that night Kenzie wouldn't give me the five minutes I need to pump. I could feel the breast getting fuller and by midnight it was completely uncomfortable. My husband was on the sofa sleeping since Kenzie was being fussy and he was trying to reduce her stimulation. By 1:00, deliriously tired due to lack of a nap that day, I broke down and cried. I cried that my breast hurt. I cried that she wouldn't go to sleep. I cried that my husband wasn't able to feed her. I cried that I was tired. I cried that I was completely alone in my bed. I cried that my daughter must have some crazy health problem and that this would be a permanant state of my life. I cried that I was crying and didn't know why, and that I must have postpartum depression. I cried thinking about all the women who hurt their babies when they are recovering postpartum. I cried at the thought of hurt babies. The pendulum was swing hard, hitting every fear a new mother has.
Crying, I walked into the living room, sat on the loveseat, and turned on the t.v., forgetting my husband was there. My husband looked at me like I was a hallucination, probably confused that the baby was not asleep. I told him she wouldn't sleep, she was whiney and I had exhausted all of my resources. He took her, walked around with her, bouncing her and trying to burp her. After gaining my composure, I pumped the sore breast, applied some lanolin, and stretched out in the bed, not asleep but on edge that I would have to let her suck all night just to sleep. My husband walked in about 15 minutes later, reporting she burped a tiny, princess sized burp, flopped her head to the side and went to sleep.
The next morning I thanked him; even though he is my husband and Kenzie is his daughter, I still thank the ones who deserve it. As women we often take on too much because we feel like our children come out of our bodies, so we must be the only ones with the remedy to fix them. But, sometimes, to win the crying game, you need an outsider's perspective.
So far I have not been very tired for a few reasons. First, my daughter has been a good night sleeper, sleeping 3 to 3.5 hours before wanting to feed at night. So, I end up with about 6 hours. Second, my toddler still takes naps during the day for about 2 to 3 hours, and I have been able to get my newborn to sleep while she sleeps, so I get a nap during the day. Third, I have not been taking any pain medication that will make me drowsy during the day or disrupt my sleep at night, nor have I had any pain. When I have slept, it has been good, deep sleep. My toddler has also been so worn out that she is sleeping almost 10 hours a night, through the night. Lastly, I have been on such a natural high because the birth went so well, the baby was so healthy, and my toddler so easily content with the baby that worry has not kept me up at night, and during the day I have energy. However, the one thing that has made me tired is the emotional rollercoaster of hormones that puts outrageous thoughts in my head and makes me cry over spilled milk, literally.
Breastfeeding has definitely been easier this time around than with my last child. Abby was what the lactation consultant called a "love sucker" because when she was upset she wanted to use my nipple as a comfort item. As a result, my nipples became extremely raw and bled. This time, although MacKenzie had a little trouble with latching, she did not do any extra sucking. My nipples are sore, but only when she latches on at first; it doesn't hurt the entire feeding. However, the fourth night Kenzie was home she stayed up until 2:00 in the morning, and the crying game began.
She had slept on and off all day, but around 9:00 she was awake and alert. She stayed that way, fussing about every 10 minutes or so. She had eaten, wasn't wet or dirty, and we had given her gas drops since she had been gassy. However, she kept wanting to eat. All I could think to myself was "oh no, not another love sucker." I figured she was tired and trying to put herself to sleep, or her belly was upset since newborns don't really know the difference between hunger pangs and gas pain. But, I had already given her gas medicine. My husband was busy putting our toddler to bed around 10:30, and Kenzie was still not going to asleep or even being remotely content. I was not content either since one nipple was sore and scabbing; I had let it get engorged and let her feed on it, so she couldn't latch well and caused the scab and pain. I was trying to pump that one off for at least a day to give it time to heal, but that night Kenzie wouldn't give me the five minutes I need to pump. I could feel the breast getting fuller and by midnight it was completely uncomfortable. My husband was on the sofa sleeping since Kenzie was being fussy and he was trying to reduce her stimulation. By 1:00, deliriously tired due to lack of a nap that day, I broke down and cried. I cried that my breast hurt. I cried that she wouldn't go to sleep. I cried that my husband wasn't able to feed her. I cried that I was tired. I cried that I was completely alone in my bed. I cried that my daughter must have some crazy health problem and that this would be a permanant state of my life. I cried that I was crying and didn't know why, and that I must have postpartum depression. I cried thinking about all the women who hurt their babies when they are recovering postpartum. I cried at the thought of hurt babies. The pendulum was swing hard, hitting every fear a new mother has.
Crying, I walked into the living room, sat on the loveseat, and turned on the t.v., forgetting my husband was there. My husband looked at me like I was a hallucination, probably confused that the baby was not asleep. I told him she wouldn't sleep, she was whiney and I had exhausted all of my resources. He took her, walked around with her, bouncing her and trying to burp her. After gaining my composure, I pumped the sore breast, applied some lanolin, and stretched out in the bed, not asleep but on edge that I would have to let her suck all night just to sleep. My husband walked in about 15 minutes later, reporting she burped a tiny, princess sized burp, flopped her head to the side and went to sleep.
The next morning I thanked him; even though he is my husband and Kenzie is his daughter, I still thank the ones who deserve it. As women we often take on too much because we feel like our children come out of our bodies, so we must be the only ones with the remedy to fix them. But, sometimes, to win the crying game, you need an outsider's perspective.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
On the Sixth Day...
I have been thoroughly surprised at how quickly I have recovered from my medication-free childbirth. It is amazing what the body can do when it is allowed to do it. So far it has been 5 days and 12 hours since I gave birth to my daughter, and I have honestly begun to get bored at home. I love my daughters, but it somehow seems, dare I say it, too easy.
I have found myself with lots of energy, even 24 hours after the birth. I have been able to do dishes, laundry, cook and pick up after my toddler. Yes, realistically I should be pampered and get my rest, but I'd rather start establishing my routine right off the bat. My husband works 24 hour shifts, and is not taking any time off for the baby, so I am going to be on my own with a toddler and an infant most days. The sooner I start this routine and the more I move around, the better my body and mind will feel and the easier my days will be.
This time around I really was able to do the birth AND the recovery with no medication. With my last delivery, I was on codeine and other pain medications for two weeks after the birth of my baby due to an episiotomy and hemorrhoids. However, this time I took ibuprophen for general muscle aches, similar to aches and pains after a really tough workout (which labor is) and was done with it by day three. By day four I was done with the dermaspray and today, going on day 6, my bleeding has pretty much stopped and I have no more afterpains. I pretty much bled after birth as long as I would have on a menstual cycle. With my last delivery, I bled the entire six weeks I was on maternity leave. And, I have lost twenty two of the thirty two pounds I gained during pregnancy and it hasn't been a week since I bore my daughter. Those are only a few of the benefits I have experienced with this childbirth that I attribute to using no medications.
My toddler has also benefited from my energy level. Today we danced to Imagination Movers, which involved turning around and jumping up and down. I did the dance at LEAST three times today. I couldn't do that the last two months of my pregnancy. I also, on day four, took my toddler outside and I hid easter eggs and helped her find them. We also kicked around her ball. I was so worried about being able to be a mom to her, and with my quick recovery was able to immediately return to my pre-pregnancy mommyhood.
Sleep has also been wonderful after recovery. My newborn has been sleeping in three hour stretches, so I have gotten close to six hours of sleep every night, which is more than I was getting while pregnant because of acid reflux, restless leg and back pain. I have no afterpains, heavy bleeding or pain keeping me up or limiting my sleeping positions like my last birth recovery. I slept on my stomach my first night back home for the first time in 6 months.
I am religious; I am deeply interested in my connection with nature as well. So, maybe there is something to that seven day rule in the Bible. Maybe a world can be created in just seven days. I feel like mine has. In only six days my body has recovered from childbirth, and a whole new world with two tiny inhabitants is depending on me.
I have found myself with lots of energy, even 24 hours after the birth. I have been able to do dishes, laundry, cook and pick up after my toddler. Yes, realistically I should be pampered and get my rest, but I'd rather start establishing my routine right off the bat. My husband works 24 hour shifts, and is not taking any time off for the baby, so I am going to be on my own with a toddler and an infant most days. The sooner I start this routine and the more I move around, the better my body and mind will feel and the easier my days will be.
This time around I really was able to do the birth AND the recovery with no medication. With my last delivery, I was on codeine and other pain medications for two weeks after the birth of my baby due to an episiotomy and hemorrhoids. However, this time I took ibuprophen for general muscle aches, similar to aches and pains after a really tough workout (which labor is) and was done with it by day three. By day four I was done with the dermaspray and today, going on day 6, my bleeding has pretty much stopped and I have no more afterpains. I pretty much bled after birth as long as I would have on a menstual cycle. With my last delivery, I bled the entire six weeks I was on maternity leave. And, I have lost twenty two of the thirty two pounds I gained during pregnancy and it hasn't been a week since I bore my daughter. Those are only a few of the benefits I have experienced with this childbirth that I attribute to using no medications.
My toddler has also benefited from my energy level. Today we danced to Imagination Movers, which involved turning around and jumping up and down. I did the dance at LEAST three times today. I couldn't do that the last two months of my pregnancy. I also, on day four, took my toddler outside and I hid easter eggs and helped her find them. We also kicked around her ball. I was so worried about being able to be a mom to her, and with my quick recovery was able to immediately return to my pre-pregnancy mommyhood.
Sleep has also been wonderful after recovery. My newborn has been sleeping in three hour stretches, so I have gotten close to six hours of sleep every night, which is more than I was getting while pregnant because of acid reflux, restless leg and back pain. I have no afterpains, heavy bleeding or pain keeping me up or limiting my sleeping positions like my last birth recovery. I slept on my stomach my first night back home for the first time in 6 months.
I am religious; I am deeply interested in my connection with nature as well. So, maybe there is something to that seven day rule in the Bible. Maybe a world can be created in just seven days. I feel like mine has. In only six days my body has recovered from childbirth, and a whole new world with two tiny inhabitants is depending on me.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
It's Not Delivery, It's Birth
When I say the word "delivery" I think pizza, chinese, UPS. I don't think babies. However, many babies in the United States are truly "delivered," pulled or cut from a women and served up like Simba amidst the glow of surgical lighting. Or, in the case of my first child's forcep fiasco, a doctor will go in and serve a child up with two spoons, like a tossed salad. And to further this connotation of delivery, the first of many questions a new mother is asked is "who delivered your baby?" If ONLY the pizza man got paid what a doctor does.
When I discovered I was pregnant again, I had to reevaluate my first experience of birth. And, I realized among many things that it was not a birth experience, but a delivery. I laid in bed for 10 hours after putting up with a rude admitting nurse, a labor nurse with a foreign accent whose directions I could not understand, and a doctor who not only yelled at me while putting in my epidural but gave me too much or gave it the wrong way leaving me too numb for too long. So, needless to say when the doctor wanted to speed up labor and gave me pitocin I said "eh, whatever." After pushing for two hours my daughter was face up and would not come out. I honestly did not even know how to push because I could not feel contractions or anything below my waist. I got a third degree tear and hemheroids but avoided a Cesarean and thought "wow, what a successful birth!"
That is, until the pain medicine wore off after 48 hours in the hospital. I got home and was still uneasy on my legs, bleeding heavily, sore when moving up and down, and overall overwhelmed. It took me the entire six weeks to stop bleeding, and an entire week to really get my balance back. I thought to myself "I don't think I can do this twice. I guess my daughter will be an only child." Lucky for her, I am an avid reader and researcher.
This pregnancy, I was committed to figuring out what went wrong the last time. I ate well. I exercised regularly. I took all my vitamins. I didn't gain too much weight. The only health problem I had was a slightly high blood pressure the last two weeks of my pregnancy. Upon reading, I learned that what went wrong was the labor and birth. Everything I was doing was working AGAINST my body, not with it. I decided to try a natural birth. Yes, that means no pain medication and minimal medical interference. This did not sit well with my husband... at first.
My husband is in the medical field, so I had to be careful about being critical about the industry. Also, I was an incubator so to speak for his offspring, so I felt he deserved 50% of the decision making and input. I read books on the Bradley Method, and statistics from midwife and doula websites. I consulted friends and other medical personnel. I decided I could do it, with my husband's help.
I explained to him the benefits of recovering from a natural birth. I compromised on the things that were important to him. I let him know how important it was that he believe in me and not let me give up. We made a committment to it.
When I went into labor, it was about 1 p.m. and my husband was at work. I was laboring at home, perfectly content to shorten my hospital stay as much as I could. When the contractions were 5 minutes apart, I called him at 4:30 and told him to come home. When he got home, we timed a few more then agreed I was in labor. I called my friend to come watch my 2 year old. I packed more stuff in my bag. I had a snack. The contractions were 4 minutes apart and more intense. We left at 6 a.m. for the 1.5 mile drive to the hospital.
They check me in and wheel me to the floor. I want to walk, but something about policy. A polite nurse weighs me, hooks me up to a monitor and tells me to click during a contraction. I have to labor laying down. I am upset already.
I ask who the doctor is. I realize he is one of the few I liked, but I am unfamiliar with his preferences. I start to get nervous. Shift change.
My new nurse comes in and my husband knows her husband. Good sign. I ask if I can walk around, she says I can use the birthing ball. Things are looking up. She checks me and I am almost five centimeters and my bag is bulging. She says the doctor will decide when he gets here if I am to be admitted. I am still on the monitor.
The doctor admits me at 8:00 a.m. He checks me and I am still about 5 cm. He suggests breaking my water since it is bulging anyway and upon weighing the pros and cons we break it. It is 8:20 and I tell my husband to cover the clock.
I still have to be in the bed or on the ball since my water was broken, so I stay on the ball. My husband is behind me, telling me I got this and this is nothing. I am burning up and feel nauseous. He looks for the thermostat but finds cool rags and ice instead. The contractions are steady getting closer together and more intense. I doubt myself.
I think I have to push and so my husband calls the nurse. She checks me and says I am only 6.5 cm. I ask about other positions and she shows me a few. I stay on the ball with my husband supporting me on a chair behind me. They keep losing the baby on the monitor because she is moving. I wonder the point of the discomfort if she keeps moving.
I ask for drugs. My husbands tells me I don't need them. I suddenly feel the urge to push and tell my husband I am pushing. A frantic nurse tells me to get on the bed, close my legs and breathe. I have to wait for the doctor. I wait forever, and amid the scurrying nurses and my begs to push, he appears and while putting on his left glove I push and he catches the head. I push again and he grabs her body. My husband and I laugh that it is so easy, and cry that we did it together. She is out and I feel my normal body sensations again. I push out the placenta, he gives me one stitch, I nurse my daughter and I get up and go to the bathroom with the I.V. my husband wanted. I think that had I not had the I.V. and saline I wouldn't have to pee, but I am gracious I can. It is 10:30 a.m. That night, the pediatrician comes in and after examining my daughter, says plainly "I can't find a thing wrong with her. She is perfect." My first daughter had a heart murmur, slight jaundice, marks from the forceps and a conehead. What a difference!
That morning, I get a shower and eat breakfast while the baby is being examined one last time. I walk the halls and pack. It is 8:30 a.m. and I wonder when I am getting out of here. The doctor comes in and tells me I can be discharged at 10:30 a.m., 24 hours after giving birth, along with my baby pending the pediatrician's assessment. Based on last night, I think he will let her go home with me.
The day after I came home, 48 hours after giving birth, I got up and cooked breakfast for family staying with us. I felt like I had run a marathon; every muscle ached but I was on such a natural high I strutted around doing my normal household chores. I felt no pain or discomfort. I could use the restroom with no problems and was bleeding like a light period. It felt like a regular day in the life of a mother.
I have not only experienced birth, but a rebirth as well. My husband and I were reborn as parents and partners. I was reborn as a woman who can truly say she performed her job as a woman, on her terms. And when I want a delivery, I simply call Papa John's.
When I discovered I was pregnant again, I had to reevaluate my first experience of birth. And, I realized among many things that it was not a birth experience, but a delivery. I laid in bed for 10 hours after putting up with a rude admitting nurse, a labor nurse with a foreign accent whose directions I could not understand, and a doctor who not only yelled at me while putting in my epidural but gave me too much or gave it the wrong way leaving me too numb for too long. So, needless to say when the doctor wanted to speed up labor and gave me pitocin I said "eh, whatever." After pushing for two hours my daughter was face up and would not come out. I honestly did not even know how to push because I could not feel contractions or anything below my waist. I got a third degree tear and hemheroids but avoided a Cesarean and thought "wow, what a successful birth!"
That is, until the pain medicine wore off after 48 hours in the hospital. I got home and was still uneasy on my legs, bleeding heavily, sore when moving up and down, and overall overwhelmed. It took me the entire six weeks to stop bleeding, and an entire week to really get my balance back. I thought to myself "I don't think I can do this twice. I guess my daughter will be an only child." Lucky for her, I am an avid reader and researcher.
This pregnancy, I was committed to figuring out what went wrong the last time. I ate well. I exercised regularly. I took all my vitamins. I didn't gain too much weight. The only health problem I had was a slightly high blood pressure the last two weeks of my pregnancy. Upon reading, I learned that what went wrong was the labor and birth. Everything I was doing was working AGAINST my body, not with it. I decided to try a natural birth. Yes, that means no pain medication and minimal medical interference. This did not sit well with my husband... at first.
My husband is in the medical field, so I had to be careful about being critical about the industry. Also, I was an incubator so to speak for his offspring, so I felt he deserved 50% of the decision making and input. I read books on the Bradley Method, and statistics from midwife and doula websites. I consulted friends and other medical personnel. I decided I could do it, with my husband's help.
I explained to him the benefits of recovering from a natural birth. I compromised on the things that were important to him. I let him know how important it was that he believe in me and not let me give up. We made a committment to it.
When I went into labor, it was about 1 p.m. and my husband was at work. I was laboring at home, perfectly content to shorten my hospital stay as much as I could. When the contractions were 5 minutes apart, I called him at 4:30 and told him to come home. When he got home, we timed a few more then agreed I was in labor. I called my friend to come watch my 2 year old. I packed more stuff in my bag. I had a snack. The contractions were 4 minutes apart and more intense. We left at 6 a.m. for the 1.5 mile drive to the hospital.
They check me in and wheel me to the floor. I want to walk, but something about policy. A polite nurse weighs me, hooks me up to a monitor and tells me to click during a contraction. I have to labor laying down. I am upset already.
I ask who the doctor is. I realize he is one of the few I liked, but I am unfamiliar with his preferences. I start to get nervous. Shift change.
My new nurse comes in and my husband knows her husband. Good sign. I ask if I can walk around, she says I can use the birthing ball. Things are looking up. She checks me and I am almost five centimeters and my bag is bulging. She says the doctor will decide when he gets here if I am to be admitted. I am still on the monitor.
The doctor admits me at 8:00 a.m. He checks me and I am still about 5 cm. He suggests breaking my water since it is bulging anyway and upon weighing the pros and cons we break it. It is 8:20 and I tell my husband to cover the clock.
I still have to be in the bed or on the ball since my water was broken, so I stay on the ball. My husband is behind me, telling me I got this and this is nothing. I am burning up and feel nauseous. He looks for the thermostat but finds cool rags and ice instead. The contractions are steady getting closer together and more intense. I doubt myself.
I think I have to push and so my husband calls the nurse. She checks me and says I am only 6.5 cm. I ask about other positions and she shows me a few. I stay on the ball with my husband supporting me on a chair behind me. They keep losing the baby on the monitor because she is moving. I wonder the point of the discomfort if she keeps moving.
I ask for drugs. My husbands tells me I don't need them. I suddenly feel the urge to push and tell my husband I am pushing. A frantic nurse tells me to get on the bed, close my legs and breathe. I have to wait for the doctor. I wait forever, and amid the scurrying nurses and my begs to push, he appears and while putting on his left glove I push and he catches the head. I push again and he grabs her body. My husband and I laugh that it is so easy, and cry that we did it together. She is out and I feel my normal body sensations again. I push out the placenta, he gives me one stitch, I nurse my daughter and I get up and go to the bathroom with the I.V. my husband wanted. I think that had I not had the I.V. and saline I wouldn't have to pee, but I am gracious I can. It is 10:30 a.m. That night, the pediatrician comes in and after examining my daughter, says plainly "I can't find a thing wrong with her. She is perfect." My first daughter had a heart murmur, slight jaundice, marks from the forceps and a conehead. What a difference!
That morning, I get a shower and eat breakfast while the baby is being examined one last time. I walk the halls and pack. It is 8:30 a.m. and I wonder when I am getting out of here. The doctor comes in and tells me I can be discharged at 10:30 a.m., 24 hours after giving birth, along with my baby pending the pediatrician's assessment. Based on last night, I think he will let her go home with me.
The day after I came home, 48 hours after giving birth, I got up and cooked breakfast for family staying with us. I felt like I had run a marathon; every muscle ached but I was on such a natural high I strutted around doing my normal household chores. I felt no pain or discomfort. I could use the restroom with no problems and was bleeding like a light period. It felt like a regular day in the life of a mother.
I have not only experienced birth, but a rebirth as well. My husband and I were reborn as parents and partners. I was reborn as a woman who can truly say she performed her job as a woman, on her terms. And when I want a delivery, I simply call Papa John's.
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