Pictures of Paul

A week ago

At 3:51 in the morning I had my son. I've learned a bit about him since then. He sleeps a lot (very normal for a baby his age) but he tolerates gas less than his sister did. He loves his pacifier, preferring it to me when he isn't hungry, which is very unlike his sister. Also unlike her, he likes to be swaddled, sometimes seeming quite distressed when his arms and legs are allowed their freedom. After a couple of rough nights, though, he's proven to be a champion sleeper, letting me get plenty of rest (oh so wonderful, and oh so necessary for recuperating).

I've also learned that, impossible as it seems, I love him every bit as much as I love his sister.

All around the world

When Derrick closed the door to the car, he said to the newly named Paul Stefan, "now we can introduce you to some real music." The Red Hot Chilli Peppers, "All around the world" blared as we drove to the 163; then it was Jimmy Eats World, "The middle." Somewhere along the way I realised I just wanted to cry and chalked it up to the hormones.

Monday I showed up at my OB's a couple of hours early, having looked at last week's appointment card. After a quick check (2 cm, 60-70% effaced), Dr. Melin asked if I'd like to be induced. I said I would, so she set up an appointment for me for 2 that afternoon. I was a ball of nerves the rest of the afternoon, barely able to pack, or even think about what to take. Fortunately, a friend

Derrick took me to the hospital at about 2:30 pm. We got checked in and settled in and I was hooked up to an IV and monitors, and then I just sat around for about an hour being monitored. I was having a few contractions, and the baby was responding to them, but I could barely feel the tightening. Finally, around 4:30 they started me on pitocin, on the lowest setting. For the next six hours or so they increased my pitocin in excruciatingly small increments until I was finally having regular (2-3 minute apart) contractions that were mildly uncomfortable (and by mildly uncomfortable I mean I've had worse gas discomfort). Derrick slept and I read "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep" until about 11:30, at which point Dr. Melin showed up and broke my waters.

Once my amniotic sack was broken, the contractions became pretty painful (as expected). Dr. Melin and the nurse (Sharna) both suggested before that I might want to dial back the pitocin or get some pain relief, i.e.--get an epidural. Being stubborn and still too freaked out by the thought of a needle going into my spine to consider an epidural, I sucked it up and just dealt with the pain. This time I tried a bunch of different positions--squatting, kneeling, standing (really, marching during contractions. I'm sure I looked ridiculous, but Derrick was smart enough to not even crack a smile in front of me) and, of course, the exercise ball). I didn't use Derrick as much this time around, which I'm sure his hands appreciated! He did give me a few back rubs, which felt really quite good, at least for a few minutes. I think because I'd been through labour before I had more confidence in my ability to deal with the pain, so this time I tried more positions and did more self-comforting (which is what I'm going to claim my "vocalising" and yelling at myself, "this isn't that painful!" really was). Having Sharna as my nurse was wonderful. She was supportive, telling me I was doing well and that the pain was normal and natural, and I don't think she ever offered me an epidural.

At around 2:45 I started feeling the need to bear down (not just to poop) and was pretty sure I was close. We were also having a hard time keeping the monitor over the baby's heart at that point. I don't remember having to move the monitor as much with Sylvia, but this time there was a definite progression of the position of the heartbeat from the middle of my belly to the top of my pelvis. Eventually the monitor was just about useless for monitoring the heartbeat because it would not stay in place for more than a couple of seconds unless I was holding it, and even then I was moving it around to find the heartbeat. Anyway, by that point I was pretty sure I was close, so I told Derrick to get the nurse and have her check me. Sharna came in and waited through a contraction and then checked me and said I was fully effaced but only dilated to about 5 cm, and said it could be anywhere from another hour to another four hours. At that point my heart just sank. I was so sure I was at the very least further along and the thought of another four hours of potential labour made me question whether or not I could get through the rest of the labour, at least without pain medication.

I got up and moved between positions again and, during a couple of contractions on the birthing ball, again felt the urge to bear down. This time when I got off the ball there was blood on the towel, so Sharna checked me again at about 3:20. She seemed quite surprised to find that I was fully dilated; I was very relieved. She turned off the pitocin and called Dr. Melin and then had me get into position...and then wait for the doctor to arrive.

Waiting through contractions, trying *not* to push is definitely not my favourite activity. I did a lot of heavy breathing and a lot of yelling, "don't push, don't push, don't push!" as if I could control what my body was doing (hah! I did manage to only push a little). I think crossing my legs would have been about as useful. I did have everyone in the room in stitches a couple of times at my very exaggerated sighs of relief at the end of contractions. Oh, was I relieved when Dr. Melin walked into the room. I pushed on the next contraction (which came pretty quickly) and screamed and swore as I pushed out the baby's head. Once his head was out, I pushed out the shoulders, then Dr. Melin told me to pull out my baby. So I did. I pulled his slippery body out of mine (let me tell you, that's a weird sensation) and plopped him down on my belly. and said, "hello there." Paul just squinted and squirmed in response, and cried his little mewing cries.

It was 3:51 in the morning.

They left Paul on me for several minutes while cleaning me up a little and letting the cord finish pulsing. Dr. Melin asked Derrick if he'd like to cut the cord. He said no, then did it anyway. His duties over, he went off to rest. Dr. Melin commented that he didn't look at all overdue, which makes me think the later, ultrasound based due date (8 August) was the more accurate one. After I pushed out the placenta, Dr. Melin stitched me up, mildly chastising Sharna for not turning down the pitocin and reminding her to pull out local anesthetic for the stitches. Apparently it's very unusual for women to give birth with no anesthesia at all around here--maybe so unusual even my very supportive nurse midwife forgot to pull out a local for me (though it's not like it really matters. There aren't many nerve endings in the vagina, so it's not like a local is truly necessary). I have to say, as bad as the labour pain was (and Derrick is probably right that the pain was worse this time than last time) my fatigue was worse. If I hadn't given birth as quickly as I did, it's much more likely I would have opted for an epidural, just so I could rest. So, I'm glad we didn't turn down the pitocin.

After I was cleaned up and peed, I was taken to a recovery room, offered some solid foods (if yoghurt can be considered solid food), and left alone with my baby and my husband. Nobody woke me for meals or for checks of my vitals; all of that was taken care of when I woke naturally. Sleep makes such a difference in recovery. Dr. Melin told me this would be an easier delivery and an easier recovery, and she wasn't kidding. I'm sure that experience played a part in that I knew what to expect and how to minimise some of the unpleasantness, but hospital policies (especially letting me sleep!) were also helpful. I loved my nurses--helpful and friendly and caring, and just so good with my baby and with me. I doubt I'll ever be as good at swaddling as the first nurse, Rosie.

Derrick's parents brought Sylvia in to meet her brother, which was a little exciting. She really wanted to hold him, and really wanted to nurse like he was nursing. It's more than a little nerve-wracking to have the older child near the younger one, especially one who is so interested in her sibling. It's also interesting how different Sylvia feels now that I have Paul for comparison. Her body is so much bigger, so much sturdier, and, skinny as she is, has so much more heft and so much more fat under her skin. I was tired out by the visit pretty quickly, so Derrick's parents took Sylvia out, and Derrick went with them to rest some place more comfortable. My mom showed up just a few minutes after they all cleared out. Apparently she was awake when Paul was born because Wayne's day started at about the same time I was having Paul. I let her hold Paul for a while, then kicked her out so I could sleep.

I spent most of the day sleeping or feeding Paul, and really, I felt pretty good by the end of the day. I didn't sleep too much that night, though I got more sleep than I did the first night with Sylvia. The night nurse told me Paul was jaundiced enough he'd probably have to be checked in 12 hours (or at about 4 pm) before he could be released. A few hours later he was released though, as was I. We spent the bulk of the morning going through the paperwork to be released (which was annoying, but far less annoying and shorter than Indiana's). The major hold-up was actually naming him. We got down to two names--Paul Stefan and Paul Frederick Lewis. Both Derrick and I liked the two names about equally, so we flipped a coin and named him Paul Stefan.

Welcome home, kid.

Ready or not

Here he comes.

Three

Three years ago I was getting acquainted with a little girl whose name we still hadn't quite decided on. I remember the nurse who came on duty shortly after we were cleaned up cooing effusively over my daughter's pale, alien-like body, telling me she was so beautiful we should have a dozen. I remember her helping me into the bathroom and the wheelchair because, in spite of going without an epidural I still couldn't walk. I remember holding my bundled baby as the nurse wheeled me into the small recovery room.

I remember spending much of the day trying to sleep between feedings and all of the lovely testing--the blood pressure readings and blood draws and temperature checks--that are done the day after giving birth. I remember eating one complete meal--breakfast--and then failing to finish two others, largely because there was just so much food. I remember sending Derrick home to sleep because he was as tired as I was, and the squeaky green recliner in the corner very simply wasn't going to cut it. I remember sharing onion rings from the South Street BBQ place that evening, and then dutifully returning to the unremarkable, but certainly nutritious meal provided by the hospital.

I remember spending that night, after all the business of that day, foggily holding my newborn, nursing her until she fell asleep (and usually me as well), then carefully setting her in the clear tub hospitals use as bassinets, only to have her wake up every time. Finally, at probably 5 or 6 in the morning, I allowed myself to sleep with her on my chest. Those precious couple of hours were the only sleep I got that night. My doctor woke me as the sun rose. I remember how his hushed tones spoke of the sacredness with which he saw his work as he explained to me that, "everything is different now."

And so it is. Wonderfully, beautifully different.

Diminished ambitions

Although Sylvia's birthday isn't until Sunday, we're starting the celebrations today. I made cupcakes for Sylvia's class, though this year I was decidedly less ambitious than I've been in previous years. Basically, I made cupcakes from a box, frosted them with frosting from a can, and decorated them with plastic animals from the store and some old colored frosting I had on hand.

It's not just that I'm pregnant and could go into labour at any point (hah!); it's also that the in-laws show up today and I have a messy house (which I really should be cleaning rather than blogging about).

Speaking of Sylvia, I just learned that there's an asteroid named Sylvia and she has two moons: Romulus and Remus. Perhaps I'll make my Sylvia some moon pillows for Christmas this year...

Ambitions for projects far into the future are so much more appealing right now.

Yep, still pregnant

Sylvia was two weeks overdue and had to be shown the door before she'd make her entrance to the world. Thus, it's not all that surprising to me that I'm still pregnant the day before my official due date (and a week before the early ultrasound-based due date, which is the one I consider more accurate).

Apparently I'm about the only one, though. Even though I'm still small enough people are surprised to hear I'm just about due (and I'm definitely bigger than I was with Sylvia) a number of people expressed surprise to see I'm still pregnant--like the due date is some deadline and I should have given birth before it or something.

Unless I'm needed in primary, I think I'm going to skip next week. I could go around educating everyone I talk to about how only about 40% of women go into labor naturally before their due date, and only something like 67% before a week after the due date, but really, I get tired of the glassy-eyed stares and the quick exits to more mundane conversation. I know people are just making conversation and there's no actual meaning to their supposed astonishment at the continuation of my gravid state, but I'm a weirdo and I have this awkward tendency to take small talk too seriously.

Who knows, perhaps tomorrow I'll have my baby boy. I see the doctor again tomorrow, and perhaps stimulating my cervix will actually do something this time. I saw her last Thursday, at which point she stimulated my cervix. Later that evening, while walking through the SD zoo with Sylvia, Derrick, and a friend and her kids I had one good contraction that reminded me that yep, labor's painful. It was a really long contraction, too--we'd just gone into the Panda exhibit and the contraction lasted pretty much the whole time I was walking through. Admittedly, it's a pretty short exhibit, but I did take it slowly because I was in pain. Other than that I've had some contractions, but they've all been pretty weak and I'm guessing aren't doing all that much for me.

Ah well. One of these tomorrows I'll meet my little boy. In the mean time, I'm doing my best to enjoy the last few days (or weeks) of our family having only three people in it. Sylvia's excited about her brother, or at least about his arrival (she keeps telling people her brother will come out and then it'll be her birthday). This week we did spend a few good, quality evenings together as a family. Monday night I picked up Derrick and we got good Mexican food for dinner, then ate it at a beach in La Jolla. Sylvia wouldn't go into the water on her own (which was probably a very good thing at that beach. I don't think I've ever seen a beach as steep as the one we were on, and the waves were correspondingly powerful--probably too much for a small child) but she loved holding on to one of us as we dunked her into the oncoming waves. I was grateful my bikini still fit (though I look like a bloated, pasty whale), but I got cold pretty quickly, so Derrick did most of the dunking. Sylvia would yell, "no, no, no!" as the waves would come in and try to climb as far up Derrick as she could, and then, after each wave passed she'd just grin.

Thursday we went to the zoo (as I mentioned earlier). I took a rather long nap that afternoon and didn't even wake up until 5:10, and then Sylvia had to be fed before we could leave to pick up Derrick (who had sore tendons in his knee from starting biking back up). We stopped at In n' out for dinner for the adults (which was subsequently shared with the kiddo anyway) and finally showed up at the zoo around 7:30. That only gave us about an hour and a half at the zoo, but the cool thing about being there that late is that a lot of the animals are relatively active about then. Other than the koalas that are phase-shifted specifically to let people see them move, I've never seen one active. Several were quite animatedly chewing on eucalyptus leaves when we went past there. The wombats were also moving around, which again, I've only seen sleep before. Sadly, being a diurnal primate myself, the light faded quickly past the point when I could effectively see much. Still, walking around with my family and with my friend and her family was very enjoyable. Sylvia was particularly excited, and spent much of the time shrieking like a happy little monkey. I think she would gladly have stayed at the zoo all night long.

Last night Derrick finally got to see what my belly does when the little boy decides to be REALLY active. He said it reminded him of the scene in Spaceballs where the alien jumps out of the guy's belly (which is ripped from the movie Alien, but whatever). Apparently Derrick did that before he was born, at one point causing his father to laugh so hard he fell out of bed. Since baby boy is currently up to the same antics, I'm going to go find a more comfortable spot to spend the rest of my evening!