the first week

Britton is now a week old. This week has flown by, and my overly-hormonal self is tired but happy. My sister Jessica came to visit last Monday, the day we left the hospital. Suffice it to say, last Monday night was the most interesting night, as I really had no idea what I was doing. Since then I have been averaging anywhere between 4 and 6 hours of sleep per 24 hour period, and I can feel that pretty soon it will hit me. I can honestly say that without Jessica's help I may not have made it through that first night. Britton is happy to feed at 1:00 a.m., then stay up wide-eyed until 4:00 a.m., with a few more feedings in the meantime. She may have her day and night mixed up, but it is up to me to adjust to meet her schedule. Me, the hub, and Jessica made such a strong team. But Jessica left today, and the hub goes back to work tomorrow. Tomorrow starts the first week where it will be just me and the baby all day.

Breastfeeding is going well. Jessica helped me through the difficulties, and without her I may have already turned to bottles. But now that I have gotten the hang of it, and Britton has proved to be a strong eater, I am finding myself addicted to breastfeeding. It is our special time, and I really do treasure it.

We have another doctor's appointment this week to make sure Britton is gaining weight. I have been pumping between feedings, getting a good amount of milk, so I know that she is getting enough to eat. Jessica taught me to swaddle her, which makes her so content.

I find myself so utterly and completely in love with this little person. I miss her when I am in a different room. I had no idea what this process was all about, and now I find that it is even better than I could have ever imagined. I feel like the words to describe this haven't been invented yet.

the baby

My water broke on Saturday night at 10:31 p.m. I was pretty sure I hadn't peed my pants, if only because I haven't been able to pee more than a trickle at a time in three months. But, I changed underwear and laid on the couch to see if it happened again (as per instructions from google). It happened again, and off we were to finish packing the hospital bags.

We arrived at the hospital and were seen in the temporary room, and once the fluid was determined to be my water, we were moved to a birthing suite. Now, I had broken my water, but I wasn't in labor. No contractions, still one centimeter dilated. So, I was given pitocin, which I knew was going to make an epidural-free labor difficult, if not impossible. My doctor predicted a 24-hour labor. The hub and I walked the halls, swayed, he massaged my back - anything to get it going on its own.

I'll provide the in-between later, with more coffee and more sleep, but skipping to the end, I was ten centimeters by 10:00 a.m. the next morning, pushed for thirty minutes, and Britton August Bogle was born at 10:56 a.m., a mere twelve hours and twenty-five minutes after my water breaking. While waddling the halls, I compared the whole thing to planning a wedding - months of waiting and planning for something that lasts minutes. You just hope you remember every detail, and that less important memories will fade so you have the gift of reliving the moments. The birth was surreal, it was world-changing, it moved me in a way I had no idea any other person could. I am forever changed by what I actively created and experienced, and the whole thing - the conception, the nine months, the labor, the birth, and the baby - all perfect.

Daddy:

Proud grandparents:

Four generations:

Arriving home:



Auntie Jessica:

My baby girl:

Look at that mouth:

She works her magic on Jessica and makes her pass out:

First (of many) Diaper Genie trash runs:

First bath and massage:

Heading to the pediatrician on Wednesday morning:

Flowers from the hub's work:

stripping

Who doesn't love a good stripping? Of the membranes, I mean.Here's how that one goes. The hub and I went to my doctor's appointment today, finally getting into the exam room almost an hour after my appointment time. But, whatever, I'm supposed to be understanding and accommodating. So, after the doctor comes in, we discuss any issues I may have. She likes my blood sugar numbers, but points out that yes, I will get a 168 when I eat pizza. I want to point out that I could have lied, but I didn't, and I just nod. I point out my swollen legs and pitting edema, and she's not worried because my protein levels are good and my blood pressure is freaking consistently awesome. Then she measures my belly, and gets the coy look when I ask if I'm measuring big, which I have been for months, and so she nods and says, "Forty weeks." This is my brilliant segway into the fact that the ultrasound I have seven days ago says the belly is 39 weeks, and that the baby is 7 pounds, 11 ounces. She repeats the numbers I've just given her and turns towards my chart to see what the hell I'm talking about, and the hub sees her eyes get big. Uh oh. I asked her if we'd need another ultrasound, and she gets vague about how maybe after next week's appointment we'll see. Then she goes in for the internal.

This time I know something is different because she camps out for a bit. And I told her that the hub was going to hit me if my cervix wasn't dilated and how I didn't think her nurse thought my joke about domestic violence was funny when I said the same thing to her. Well, my doctor goes into a story about how a longtime patient had come in beat to shit that day and that her nurse was probably thinking of that poor girl when I made the joke. The entire time she is looking at the hub, never at me, and she proceeds to cause me agony and pain. I start whimpering and she never breaks in her story to the hub. Afterwards, when I'm feeling used and alone on the table, she says she "roto-rootered" me, never once using the term "stripping the membranes," which is in fact the medical procedure she did. I am officially 1 centimeter dilated and 30 percent effaced, and now my membranes are stripped, which I had to google once I got home because I didn't really know what that meant.

All this after last night's fiasco of the non-stress test. Seems even though I can't feel the baby, everyone else can. When the nurse was putting the heart rate monitor on, she said, "Oh! She kicked me. Twice!" I never felt a thing. So, the NST confirmed that the baby is fine and that I'm paranoid, and also that I was a bit dehydrated. Now, filled to the gills with water, I'm still feeling Braxton-Hick contractions, still crampy from the stripping, and excessively sweaty from the high humidity I've had to deal with for the last couple of days.

the last page

As you know, I've been keeping a scrapbook of my entire pregnancy. My niece Caroline inspired it, since she gets such a kick out of pregnant pictures of my sister and her own ultrasound photos. Plus, this is my chance to really document everything as it is happening. Unfortunately, the refill pages for my scrapbook are no longer being carried by any retailer I can find. I even called the company and they were essentially useless. "Michaels carries them, but hasn't put in an order in over one year." Thanks, that was helpful. So, as I wind down to the end of my pregnancy, I have accepted that I have one last page in this book. And for my last page, I decided against more pregnancy photos (there must be one for every week in there) or another story about a doctor's appointment or baby class. I decided it was best to tell her everything I'll wish I had said or thought of or written down before she was here. And here's how that last page looks:


Your daddy and I have now waited 231 days to meet you, and we have another two weeks to go. Because my doctor visits have shown that I am not dilated or effaced, Dr. Doeden is pretty sure you don’t have to come out on your own. If that is the case, you will be induced on August 12th, which is Sadie’s birthday, and one week exactly before our third wedding anniversary. We are ready. I promise that we’ll try our hardest to be good parents, to do what is right, not necessarily what is easy. And, above all, we will always love you, no matter what. Always remember to treat other people as you would like to be treated. Do something because you want to, not because you fear you will regret not trying it. Never settle on love. Animals and children are vulnerable and innocent – protect them. Do nice things without the expectation of thanks and appreciation. Don't base someone's worth on wealth. Never stop learning and doing and trying. Order off a menu based on taste, not price. Spend your twenties selfishly – go to school, travel, live, learn, sleep late. Choose your vices wisely. Learn the art of sarcasm (ask your aunt Jessica for help on this one). Know one really good clean joke. Believe in fate, but don’t rely on it. Learn how to give a handshake correctly. Always call your parents on their birthdays.

I hope Baby B gets a kick out of this book as much as I do. And I hope we look at it together, years from now, and it reminds me of exactly how it felt the first time I ever became someone's mommy. Not just the act of birth, but the long nine month journey to get to that one moment where she becomes real. When I become mommy and the hub becomes daddy and she becomes our daughter.

the 37th week

We have reached the point in this pregnancy where the hub is now accusing me of purposefully keeping his daughter from him, as I am apparently refusing to go into labor. Really, we're both getting anxious, albeit for different reasons. The hub is ready to hold her, to break my nine month solitary knowledge of our child, and he is ready to embrace this parenthood thing wholeheartedly. He has even downloaded apps to his iPhone for the baby - one to keep track of feedings and diapers, one that plays 40 soothing sounds for the baby, and one that acts as a stethoscope (we couldn't detect the heartbeat with it. Ugh).

Me, on the other hand, I have been realizing over the last few weeks that I must now embrace the idea of forever. Seriously, it has not hit me until now, and pointing out to me that having a child falls under the "forever" category doesn't score you smart points. Want to walk away from school? Drop out. Tired of being married? Get a divorce. Sick of your job? Quit. Don't like what you've chosen? Change your mind. But a child? That is forever. Unless you're Andie's mom from "Pretty in Pink" and then you just up and bailed on your family and you're an ass. But I don't have a meth addiction that keeps me from being a good mom, then years later get sober and beg my kids for another chance, because this isn't Lifetime television for women people!

Physically, I'm pretty much the same as last week. The baby has dropped, leaving my stomach a little more room to digest my healthy food. Gross. My gestational diabetes numbers are surprisingly good, since I've added ice cream to my night snack. I still occasionally get heartburn, especially at night, and especially if I drink too much Crystal Light during the day. My Braxton-Hicks contractions are at their worse at nighttime, and get stronger when I am exercising. I believe I am now waddling more than ever, and the fatigue has finally set in. My back, hips, thighs, abdomen, bubbies - everything aches. And I have become obsessed with my sea sponge, scrubbing myself almost raw with it. I don't know - maybe it's a nesting thing? I just want to squeeze them full of soap. Really, no sponge is safe.

The hub and I have Infant CPR class tomorrow night. We're not excited, and that's probably because you don't want to think about having to use it. But since my last CPR training was in the 6th grade, it is pretty mandatory. Also, our next doctor's appointment is Thursday, and we're crossing our fingers I have made some progress on the dilation/effacement front. But if you're placing bets? My hunch is that she is already being an ornery stubborn child much like her mama and she will have to be forced from her comfortable surroundings. Hey, I don't like cold weather either!

the birth plan

Today I had a doctor's appointment, except this one was with Dr. Doeden's physician's assistant, Yolanda, as Dr. Doeden is in Canada on vacation. Who goes to Canada for vacation? Anyways, I got my results for the Strep B test, and they are negative. Yolanda couldn't figure out why I was there if I had already had the Strep B test, and I pointed out that I usually get seen on Mondays, but everyone was full on Monday so they threw me back to Friday. Yolanda checked my cervix while the hub and I held our breath and......no change. At all. Nada. My cervix is as hard as a rock, a brick, a lump of concrete. But on the bright side, I am now getting Braxton-Hicks contractions every day, and I have a low achy period-like cramping across the lower middle of my belly, which means my body is warming up.

So the hub and I keep on keepin' on, truckin' towards an eventual induction (August 12th) or labor, whichever comes first. We wrote up the birth plan last night, which I'm wondering if anyone will even look at, let alone defer to. See, back around June 22nd, when I went to go visit my mom, I was trying to get ahold of the movie "The Business of Being Born," to see what the whole process was like. I couldn't find it for sale in any retail shops in Oklahoma, so I figured I'd be left to order it from Amazon. Well, after my trip, my mom surprised me by ordering some books from Amazon for me, including the movie. Well, in fact she had ordered Ricki Lake's book, "Your Best Birth," and not the movie. I read it anyways*, since my other birth books are getting boring (do I really need a chapter on possibly dealing with loss? No). The book was amazing. And I so wanted to hate it. I'm not a granola gal - I don't eat health foods except when forced to by gestational diabetes, I don't hike, I don't follow Phish and DMB around the USA, I don't own Birkenstocks or bamboo socks. And I really don't want to give birth in a tub in the middle of my living room with candles lit and a doula chanting in the corner. But this book got me thinking about what I do want, and I hadn't gone there in my thinking up to that point. In all reality, my thoughts on birth had extended as far as "I think I'll probably get an epidural." End of story.

Well, after reading the book, I ordered the movie and the hub and I watched it together this week. Let me tell you people - don't watch this movie 36 weeks pregnant. Because at 36 weeks pregnant, you can't change doctors, you can't change hospitals, you are basically glued to the plan in place. And watching the movie was like cutting the tags off your wedding dress as you see the perfect dress in a store window across the street. Please don't misunderstand me. Nothing has changed to where I want to make any drastic changes, and with gestational diabetes, I am still at risk when it comes to birth. I still intend to labor at home with my iPod and a warm bath, and to be in a hospital to give birth. And I don't control if I get induced, because with the baby's large size I will end up with a c-section if I don't. But I no longer desire an induction and it's too long to get into here, but the methods just leave a bad taste in my mouth.

The hub and I have decided to labor as long as possible without intervention. I'm not going to say I will never get an epidural because I don't know what will happen with the birth or if I might need one. I am going to do everything possible to not rely on an epidural, and narcotics (stadol) are completely out of the question. I'm not being a martyr or a hero - I want to experience the birth process, pain and all, to really understand what it is.

So, the birth plan is complete, and ready to be turned in to my doctor at my next visit. I expect she will raise eyebrows since we have never discussed my birth plan in detail, beyond the facts that I don't want a c-section and I prefer to not get an episiotomy, and she has never uttered the words "birth plan" to me. We shall see next Thursday.

*Some of you, like me, may be fans of dooce.com. I just read her blog about her birth experience, and we have oddly ended up in the same place, after reading the same book, and it was creepy how alike our reactions were.

ultrasounds don't get old

The receptionist this morning at the ultrasound office asked me if I was tired of $50 co-pays for all my many ultrasounds, and I responded that it was the price for more pictures of my little girl. Unfortunately, I do not have any new pictures to post. Yes, they took some, but they are all fuzzy and Baby B isn't cooperating and she still has that hand in front of her face.

Good news! My amniotic fluid is at 11.1 cm - much higher than last week's 8.5 cm, and now I no longer have to go get non-stress tests. I have no idea what made the fluid fluctuate, so admittedly it could go down again, but for now everything is working well. For the first time, Baby B's belly is measuring bigger than her head. It is common before the 36th week for the head to measure larger than the belly, and common after the 36th week for the measurements to sort of "even out." But her head is now measuring 37 weeks, 1 day, and her belly is measuring 39 weeks. I don't know what the implications of this are, and my doctor is out of town until the week I am 38 weeks. So, my appointment tomorrow is with her physician's assistant, who I intend to grill to no end with my "what ifs." Dr. Doeden has always said that the head can be bigger than the belly because the head needs to come out first - if the belly is bigger than the head, you can have issues with her being stuck. Hmmmmm..... She has also gained over a pound and weighs 7 pounds, 11 ounces (average of different weight samples taken). The tech pointed out that the weight can be off by a pound, so perhaps Baby B is not on the road to weighing over 10 pounds at birth. Or maybe she is?

At my appointment on Monday, when I was not effaced or dilated at all, Dr. Doeden asked if I had been having Braxton-Hicks contractions, and I told her no. Well, since Monday I have *gross details up ahead* lost a big portion of my mucous plug (which I have been steadily losing for weeks), and I have been having Braxton-Hicks contractions, some lasting for minutes. So, perhaps the tide has turned? Maybe my body really doesn't want to give birth to a 10 pounder?