Hi Mom

Don't worry, it's  not going to turn into a mommy blog. But now that I've opened the door to this part of me, we might as well delve into it.

I'm in what I like to refer to as the "athletic" part of parenthood. It requires physical stamina, all the way from the labor pains to the sleep deprivation.

Let's start with the labor pains. And before we go too far into the gross, let me just say, I love being a mom. It's hilarious and heartbreaking already, but I love it. I want more. Not today, but you know. Some day.

"Labor is different for every woman." That's true. And don't ever let anyone make you feel guilty for getting meds. Unmedicated childbirth, to me, was a fantasy. I wanted to do it. I psyched myself up for it, and thought, ok, most first births are 24ish hours, and the hardest part is the middle, otherwise known as TRANSITION (ominous music). That's the part where most women puke, shake, scream, become irrational and beg to go home. It's also the part where you are 8 to 10 centimeters dilated and almost ready to push.

Well I never got to transition, ladies and gentlemen, but by 24 hours in and barely a centimeter (Yes. Almost 1. Out of 10. AFTER 24 HOURS OF LABOR.) I could have sworn that I was there. I was nauseated, the contractions were 3-5 minutes apart, I was in tears, I was using all the visualization, breathing and other hippy dippy nonsense I could think of, I gave up on earning a medal for toughest bitch on the block and said "I'll try the morphine."  An epidural scared me, so I wanted to start small.  Morphine, for labor pains, is like giving you an umbrella in a hurricane. It made me dizzy. That's it. Two hours later I asked to speak to the anesthesiologist. I got an epidural. It was an odd feeling when the catheter went in my back, but after that, I was watching my contractions get bigger and closer together on the monitor and not feeling a thing. It was blissful. I could talk to my family and have visitors and not vomit.

I was induced, let me throw that in there. My water broke on friday and labor did not start naturally so to reduce risk of infection (haha, as you'll find out later), they induce you with tiny little pills called Misoprostil. First in your mouth, then directly on your cervix. Yet another thing NOT in my birth plan, which I now consider to be something that the hospital has you do just so they can laugh at it when you come in and thing go horribly awry. But do one anyway when it's your turn, just in case a home tub birth with a shaman is in your future.

Supposedly once your cervix is ripe, they start the Pitocin. So they broke my water the rest of the way (it had only slightly broken) and I started to dilate a little more. So lets cut to my cervix being ripe, at around 6pm Saturday night. 2 centimeters, 85 % effaced (which means the cervix, normally long when your pregnant, shortens and opens as the baby's head bears down on it). They started the Pitocin drip. Suddenly Daniel's heart beat got erratic. 90, 70, 150, 95. I was staring at the monitor, my mom was trying to distract me, but all I could see was that little heartbeat. They rolled me around, trying to see if he liked one side better and it stablized his heartbeat. Oh he doesn't like the right side, wait. Now he does. They did what is called a amniotic infusion, which is where they introduce more fluid into the uterus (after taking it all out), in order to cushion the baby from the contractions. It hurts, even with an epidural. I was so stubbornly against the idea of getting a C-Section, that I let them do all this nonsense, all the while knowing I would probably have to get one. It would have gone differently had I given up the ghost at that point and told them "Get him out of there."

I was beside myself with worry, and an OB finally came in the room (I had only been dealing with nurses and midwives until then, which I kind of liked), was in the process of checking  me out, when Daniel's monitor went off. I lost it. "What does that mean? What's going on?" She says nothing to me, looks at the nurses and said "The baby's heartrate dropped to 50, stat C-Section." 50 is low for an adult. For a baby it's very dangerous. There was an explosion of activity and I burst into tears. My husband and my mother are both over me trying to comfort me, then suddenly the OB is in my face. "Your job is to stay calm," she barks. "Crying won't help." Excuse me, lady, I do apologize for my emotion in the case of my baby's life being in jeopardy.

Let me just paint the picture for you, it was like a movie. Everything slowed down, they were announcing my C-Section over the PA "Stat C-Section, OR 3" over and over again. I was beyond terrified, I was afraid Daniel would die in there before they got him out, and I was afraid for my own life, I had never been cut open before. As I was being wheeled out of the room, I called out for Matt, I asked them why he wasn't coming with me. They told me he had to scrub in. I wasn't there but my mom told me she'd never seen anyone try to put scrubs on so fast. He got dressed and by the time he got to the door, they told him he couldn't come in because they were putting me under.

Inside the room, some well meaning surgeon tells me "Hi mom!" all chipper. They say "Well she's already at 10 for the epidural, we'll just have to give her 10 more and hope it's not too much," topping the chart of "Things You Should Not Say In Front of a Patient You Are About To Cut Into."  They tested my skin to see if I could feel them. I let the doctor know unequivocally that I could, and to please make them stop. He said "Ok, well I'm going to have to put you under." I told him I didn't want that. His response was "I understand, honey, but we aren't going to cut into you with you feeling everything." Point taken, and you know what? Only nice one. Him, and the nurses. I would like to thank them. The rest of the doctors can go to hell. He put the mask on my face and told me that in 15 seconds I would go to sleep and wake up to my baby. I told him I couldn't breathe. He told me that's because I wasn't breathing (ha) and to breathe in the gas. My life flashed before my eyes (not kidding), and then blackness. I woke up so nauseated I didn't know what to do with myself, I couldn't talk and I felt like something was caught in my throat (irritation from the tube that was in my throat during the surgery), my chest felt like it wouldn't move (from that extra 10 of the epidural), and I just pointed at my face, to which a very nice nurse said "You feel like throwing up?" Apparently the face point is medical speak for "I'm going to puke." They pushed Zofran into my IV and I felt better.  They told me Matt had the baby and I looked over to see him holding Daniel. When my arms worked again I held him. They wheeled me out of recovery once I was stable and put me in postpartum.

And I haven't slept a night since. Not all the way through anyway. I get some pretty solid 2 hour increments in there.

Turns out Daniel had the cord wrapped all the way around himself (he was a mover and a shaker in there) so when they gave me the Pitocin, it made the contractions stronger, squeezing and putting pressure on his blood supply with every one. Thus the heartrate drop. He wasn't coming out of there naturally no matter what they did.

I was pretty wide eyed and traumatized for the first few days. Then the baby blues kicked in on day 3 and whoa mama. They are no joke. You are up/down in mood, sobbing, anxious, you want to run, give up, you can't sleep, even when you can, and it's nuts.  But it passed by the second week. Baby Blues are different from PPD, that doesn't usually kick in til 5 weeks, but as of now, at 6, I'm still free of it as well. Take that, naysayers.

C-Sections delay your milk production, so I only had colostrum (concentrated pre-milk in very small amounts) for the first 3 days, and Danny boy was hungry. The hospital had us supplement with formula, basically threatening us that we wouldn't be allowed to go home until his weight loss stopped (by the way, all babies lose weight after birth, and the hospital knows this). I didn't know about milk-sharing or donation, I wish I had. That first night home from the hospital was hell. Daniel didn't sleep and neither did we. 6 am, I woke up from a slight doze and realized my milk had come in. My breasts were rock hard and painful. Thank. Jeebus. I fed Daniel and he slept. Just in time to wake him up for his doctor appointment (yes, they make you take them BACK to the doctor the day after discharge).  I was delirious, and in the midst of the baby blues at that point. At least his pediatrician was great.

That first week is all kinds of crazy. It's not fun, and I couldn't bond with Daniel yet, I was such a mess. Then I was at my in-laws house the next weekend feeding Daniel and I started to feel hot. Matt took my temperature. 100. 5.  I called the doctor, they said to come in. Matt took my temperature again. 101.6. 30 minutes later. By the time we got to the hospital it was 103. They admitted me for another 3 days with a postpartum infection, and we had to leave Daniel with my mother and my in-laws. They told me I shouldn't give Daniel my pumped breast milk because of the antibiotics so I pumped and dumped so much milk to keep my production up. Then the lactation consultant and the doctors came in and told me my milk was fine, that the antibiotics I was on were what they gave to babies with infections in the NICU. Holy conflicting info, Batman. I trusted the lactation consultant and sent milk home. He was fine. I finally left the hospital on Tuesday and we went to pick up Daniel.

After the first week, the fog started to lift, and now I feel like I have a baby. The surreal feeling is passing. I cuddle with him and he watches me, and smiles, and it's beautiful. And all worth it, I don't mean to sound all nutty with that, it really was. Nothing worth having is easy.

The thing is, everyone tries to guilt you into thinking this shit comes naturally. It doesn't, not for one woman I have met on this journey. Breastfeeding, I am still trying to get the hang of 6 weeks later. The rest of the world is vastly uninformed and harasses you about your diet. "You aren't going to eat CHOCOLATE are you? It'll give the baby gas." Heh. No. It won't. Not unless I ate a pound of it. And babies are so gassy in the first two months, how could you tell anyway? So fuck off, yes, I will have this ONE piece of chocolate. I might have two if I feel like it.

Daniel has colic, mild colic as I am finding out, but it doesn't feel mild when they're screaming and sounding like they're in pain. It's heart breaking. But we have figured out what works for him, and it will pass. And when you're in public, guys, and you see a woman with a screaming baby trying to calm him down...don't look at them and go "Awwww, poor thing." It's annoying. Give her a sympathetic glance and keep it moving, nothing to see here. She doesn't need your pity and neither does her baby.

As the journey goes on I am realizing that this is my ride, and I have my hands on the controls. Nobody can tell me how to be a parent, and I do know what's best for my child. The instincts do kick in pretty quickly, and I know that I am a good parent, regardless of what anyone else thinks. It's actually super freeing to realize I don't actually care what anyone else thinks. I get to call the shots. Well, except for the one, three and five am feedings that is, baby still calls the shots on those.