Our Son's Christmas Gift

Yesterday, for the first time, our son formed and held a smile for more than 5 minutes--long enough to catch the moment on film. I'd like to think that it was prompted and encouraged by our smiling faces, since we were both leaning over him at the time. But I realize it might have just been a really bad case of gas. Still, we were thrilled and immediately sent the evidence out via email to all our relatives.
Merry Christmas!

The Tao of Poo

I remember when my daily life used to be dictated by work deadlines and social engagements. Now it revolves around bowel movements and breast feedings.
Welcome to mommyhood.
Another change: I'm still apt to forget to record transactions in my checkbook. But for the past three weeks, I have diligently kept track of every single one of our newborn son's poopy diaper changes and his feedings. I started the log initially to make sure he was doing enough of each activity. Let me explain...
In the days after I gave birth, I kept getting these throbbing headaches and shooting pains in my neck and shoulders. Initially, I figured it was the result of some combination of sleep deprivation, exposure to high-decibel baby screams, and the aftermath of delivering a new life into the world. But by the third day, I was unable to consume anything without throwing it back up minutes later. Finally, I called my OB and described the symptims. Worried that I had preeclampsia, she ordered me to go back to the hospital immediately. The doctors took urine and blood samples, and I was hooked up to a bag of fluids and anti-nausea medication via IV for 5 hours before I was finally able to drink a 20 ounce Starbucks latte--prescribed by the doctor on call, who diagnosed a spinal dura puncture, after ruling out more than a dozen much more troubling possibilities. (The dural puncture, apparently a not so uncommon event--occurring in 1 out of every 100 epidural insertions, according to Wikipedia--that heals itself in 7-10 days, can cause debilitating headaches and even vomiting in some women, which can be alleviated by pain pills and, yes, coffee). By this time, I'd been dehydrated and malnourished for hours, so I had trouble producing milk and was worried that I'd been unintentionally starving our son until we gave him some hospital-issued formula.
It's kind of a guessing game when you're breastfeeding, which I'd been trying to do--with mixed success and the help of a $200-a-visit lactation consultant (now that is a lucrative business)--since he was born. The best way to know if our baby was eating enough, according to our pediatrician, was by inspecting the color of his poo and by counting the number of poo-filled diapers my husband and I changed per day. I'm embarrassed to admit now how excited we were when my husband changed that first diaper filled with mustard-colored poop and again when our son achieved six poops a day. Once he'd gained some weight and my breasts had recovered from the initial "latching" issues (all I can say is: I dread the day he gets teeth!), I relaxed even more. Still, I kept the log going to remember which side he'd last fed on--a particular challenge during groggy overnight feedings. Then, after I'd gotten better at keeping track mentally, I figured I'd maintain the log to track our son's eating and sleeping habits, so I could plan my days a bit better. Of course, every time I discern a pattern, he changes it. Yet I still feel compelled to record every diaper that I change and every breastfeeding. Maybe I do it now to feel like I have some semblance of control over my schedule, or to remind myself why I wasn't able to clean the apartment or respond to emails or get out those holiday/birth announcement cards or any number of other items on my to-do list. Or maybe I do it just to assure myself that I am doing something worthwhile each day, even if it's no longer reflected in a paycheck.

Posting Regularly is a Challenge...

when you have a newborn--as is just about anything else that might require more than 10 minutes of your time. When our son sleeps, which could happen (or not happen) at any time of the day or night, his naps range from-oh-about 2 minutes to 2 hours. And in that time, I scurry around trying to catch up on the mental to-do list that I can never seem to finish. Should I try and catch up on my sleep? Take a shower? Put away the laundry? Vacuum? Sneak in a snack? Check my email? I remember our baby care instructor advising us to sleep when the baby does. But there always seems to be so many other things I want, or need, to get done, that I never catch up on sleep. Fortunately, every few nights, our son bucks the newborn trend and sleeps for a full 3 or more hours. So we only have to get up twice during the night, and I can cobble together something like 7 hours of sleep, if you add it all up. I remember when that used to be the norm. That seems like a very long time ago now.
I've tried to update this blog a couple times, when our son was sleeping. But I would barely open the page when he would wake up again. By the time I returned to the computer, it had gone to sleep (and I was wishing I was too).
So I'll keep this post short. I'd hoped to update it every day so I could record any milestones. But he's still just 3 weeks. He doesn't do much more than sleep, eat, and poop--and a lot of each. But a couple days ago, I put a pyramid-shaped rattle near his head and gave it a couple shakes to try and distract him so he'd stop crying. I went to wash my face, and a few minutes later, I heard the rattle. I thought he must have punched it with one of his involuntary Frankenstein moves. (He has this odd habit of shooting both arms straight out, fists clenched, at random moments--usually when he's sleeping and I least expect it. In the process he's managed to punch me, his father, and even-once-himself. Fortunately there's not much force behind them).
But this time, he'd actually wrapped his arm around the rattle and was shaking it. He's repeated this trick twice since then--though never on command, unfortunately, so my husband has yet to witness it. But I was so thrilled that I actually called him at work the first time I saw it. It's just the little things now. A tiny fist wrapped around my finger. A flicker of recognition when his eyes scan my face (of course, I could be imagining that one). And a smile (even if it's only the result of some gas, as our pediatrician warns).
I can't wait until I'm the reason that he's smiling.

So you may have guessed...

The wait is over! I went in to the hospital on November 22nd for a check-up, and less than 24 hours later I was holding our new son in my arms. At 11:30 a.m., when I was hooked up to the machine that monitors the baby's heartbeat and the mommy's contractions, the doctor said I was already in early labor. Of course, I didn't feel a thing--beyond excitement--at that point. But the doc said the contractions were so small and so far apart that he was going to send me home to wait it out. Before he did though, he thought I should have one more Ultrasound to check my amniotic fluid levels. When I looked at the screen, even I could tell that our son was reaaaally cramped in there. The fluid levels had dropped to about 2 centimeters (or about 3 below the level at which they tend to induce). The doctor took one look at the image and sent me straight to labor and delivery to be induced. Of course, I hadn't brought my hospital bag this time. I just had a purse, one well-read magazine and a still-warm currant scone I'd picked up en route. I'd barely bitten into it when the nurses took the scone away and informed me that my diet would now be limited to... ice chips.
*Advice to pregnant women: If you are going to be induced, make sure to eat a good meal before you get admitted because it may be the last one you have for awhile.
If there is a chance that you may need an emergency C-section, the doctors don't want you to have anything in your stomach that could be thrown up during surgery (and potentially choke you). I was eventually allowed to indulge in water and hard candy--and let me tell you, Jolly Ranchers never tasted so good! But I stopped thinking so much about my dietary needs within a few hours. At 5pm, I was given a hormone called Cervidil , which I was told would "ripen" my cervix. Still, the doctor on call warned me that our son probably wouldn't arrive for another 24 hours. But by midnight, I was well into labor. My contractions were coming fast and furious. I finally asked for pain medicine, which made me woozy and slurry-speeched but allowed me to get about 2 hours of sleep (filled with some really wacky dreams). When it wore off, the pain was so intense that my moaning woke my husband, who was stretched out on a Lazy-Boy chair beside my bed. Of course, I still thought that it would be hours before I hit the "transition" state that our childbirth instructor had warned us about. (Unfortunately, at this point, everything else she'd told us about breathing and relaxing techniques to use during labor became a complete blur to me. Focal point? Relaxing music? Candles? I could barely remember to breathe.) And I was wary about asking for more medicine or for an epidural if I was still hours from delivery. But when a nurse came in to check on me, I asked her about the contractions. She looked at the chart pouring out of the machine that monitored my contractions and her eyes grew wide. I was having them every 2 minutes and they were literally off the charts. I tried to remember what this meant. "Am I having the baby soon?" I asked. "Oh - I think so," she said and went to get the doctor. It was now about 4 a.m.
By 5 a.m., when the doctor on call arrived to remove the Cervidil and administer Pitocin (not so necessary at this point, I thought - but I was in no state to argue), the contractions were coming about every 60 seconds and I was begging for an epidural. Mercifully, the doctor said it was fine to order one for me. I was already 4 centimeters dilated. I got the epidural at about 6:30 a.m. and, thanks to an extra dose they pumped in right away, it kicked in pretty quickly. Then 20 minutes later, the machine started beeping, and after about a half-dozen attempts to straighten the tube that was pumping medicine into my back, the anesthesiologist conceded that there was a "kink" preventing the medicine from getting to me. She was about to reinsert the needle (ouch!) when she found and fixed the problem. Of course, by now, the pain was back. She said it would be another 15 minutes or so before it kicked in again. In that time, my OB's partner came in to check on me and informed me that I was now fully dilated, my water had broken (I hadn't even noticed the bedding was wet) and the top of my son's head was visible. Within minutes, he was in my arms. As if my eagerness to meet him wasn't enough incentive, my OB also noticed his heart rate was dropping and threatened an episiotomy if I didn't push him out quickly. I had him out in 4 contractions. Zachary was born at 8:31 a.m. on Thanksgiving morning. Perfect timing.
And then.. wow. The image of him being held up, covered in slime, and screaming his head off (a nice preview of what we could expect in the days since), will stick with me forever. The rest is a bit of a blur. I know my husband cut the cord. I remember catching a glimpse of the placenta (yuck). And then my son was on my chest, still a little slimy but I didn't care (I wasn't so clean myself, at that point). Then he was cleaned up and warmed up and came back to me clean and asleep. And the hours that preceded his arrival were already fading.
More on the 2 weeks since soon... Zach is hungry.