In The Interest Of Clarity

I’m doing better but am still challenged.

A new wrinkle developed a week ago that adds to my challenge somewhat. I pulled a muscle in my mid-back (at bra strap level) that has been made worse by lifting and holding Bean. At first it was a cautionary ache. I moved somehow a few days ago that exacerbated it. Now when I move certain ways a shooting stabbing pain can make me gasp or even cry out. I saw a doctor for it last week and was told to stretch. Not helpful. I’m using heat and Ben-gay.

Of course this means I still can’t drive or lift the stroller or carrier. First it was the C-section, now my back. Husband is off work two more weeks and can extend another two if needed; beyond that I don’t know, and I’m trying to stay present.

Husband and I are exhausted. He was up all night with her and went to sleep at 7 a.m. Bean is in my right arm now asleep. Put her down anywhere (crib, bouncer) and she wakes up and soon fusses herself into a state of Great Upset. We know she needs holding; she’s not aware that she’s even a separate entity. Even if we hold her 12 hours a day that’s still a 50% reduction from what she had before in my cozy womb.

So life is reduced to basics and I’m still fighting this (which isn’t helpful). I want to power through the day, taking walks, getting to the grocery store, keeping the dishwasher emptied and loaded properly, doing laundry, vacuuming. But I cannot do all this. There is no time or energy to think about anything that does not directly affect immediate needs: is Bean hungry, needing a clean diaper? Do we need to mix a new batch of formula, is there a clean bottle? Did we mail the rent? Dinner? There’s a frozen pizza in the freezer; never mind we’ve eaten pizza for the last four days for lunch and dinner. Remembering to get and send birthday cards (hell, even remembering birthdays), opening savings accounts for Pixie’s future, writing thank-you notes, knitting Bean a Christmas stocking, getting the annoying squeak in the Honda checked out — all not priorities. And if you ask us when we’ll get to them, the answer is we haven’t a clue, and that will remain our answer until it changes.

They say the first six weeks are toughest and it gets better and I’m holding Them to that.

Pics

Three fresh Pixie photos up at Flickr. She was three weeks old yesterday!

We had dinner with our friends, whom we have decided to designate as Emergency Backup Parents instead of godparents. We realize it’s a bulkier term to say, but we enjoy the cute humor (if you’ve ever read Dave Barry you will appreciate it), and it’s more accurate. M cooked a yummy pasta dinner. K held Bean to get her baby fix (M got a turn too).

By being with other people who aren’t flustered when Bean begins to fuss, I felt more relaxed with it too. This morning (up at 6 a.m., with her alone until 12:30 p.m.), was peaceful and pleasurable, with a little fussing sprinkled in. I’m also getting better at doing things one-handed — like making my morning coffee or getting a bottle for Bean. (Turns out that she hates the Infantino sling. She wants to be upright and to see stuff, although her neck isn’t strong enough to hold her head up.

I yearn for a nap and may take one since Husband is now up and cuddling with The Bean. I may just join them on the sofa in the loft and doze. Later we’ll take her out in the stroller for a walk.

Forward Motion

Action feels good to me. I realize control of externals (the world, other people) is an illusion, but I can direct my own intentions and behavior.

Friday morning I awoke after admittedly too little sleep, still feeling on the verge of tears, but also feeling less hopeless. (Please note: I think there’s a difference between feeling less hopeless and more hopeful. By the end of the day I felt more hopeful.) I proceeded to act on several fronts. I called my doctor and left a message. Husband had gotten up with The Bean (one of our many nicknames) and experienced how she is in the morning: Alert! Alert! Alert! He wasn’t exactly tuckered out, but it did make him start researching portable swings.

Shortly after noon we got out. We went to Target and purchased a portable swing. She loves the one we have so much; it’s a monster size and not easily moveable in our multi-level home. Plus we figured it would help when we go see friends. Since my aunt and uncle recently sent a money order baby gift, we decided to splurge. We also stocked up on more binkies and diapers. At home Husband assembled the swing and tried it, and The Bean responded positively and immediately.

Then we went to Purlescence, where Sandi and Nathania helped fit me with the Infantino sling for carrying Bean. It’s not an ideal sling, but it will do until I find another that fits my short torso.

After the yarn store, we went to Borders, where I purchased The Happiest Baby on the Block. The book offers strategies for calming crying called the 5 S’s, three of which we’ve been using:

  • Swaddling: wrapping tightly in a blanket because upset babies flail their limbs which contributes to a sense of vulnerability.
  • Side/Stomach: upset babies feel more insecure on their backs, but holding them on their side or stomach short circuits the Moro reflex that panics them. This is not used for sleep but in the process of calming.
  • Ssshhhing: replicating the white noise sounds baby heard in utero.
  • Swinging: jiggling baby on your lap, using a swing.
  • Sucking: offering a breast, finger, or pacifier for calming.

The book also has a lot of interesting tips, such as the need to meet baby at her level of vigor. For instance, if she’s hysterical, the Shhhing sound needs to be louder at first so she can hear it and become calmer. I tried it last night, and it worked.

I joined a Las Madres play group for babies born in 2007 and live in Santa Clara. I just need to find out when and where the group meets.

I’ve also recognized that I need to find a way to alleviate my physical response to Bean’s crying. I’m hard-wired to respond to my baby, but I’ve been surprised at how anxious the crying makes me, and at the physical discomfort I feel. It’s hard to describe. But then I remembered something. I was eight when my brother was born, and I remember for the first couple of years of his life, when he would cry, I would cry — not every time, but often. When he was born, I felt eager and proud to be a big sister, and I vowed (to myself) to protect him from bad things and bullies — a tall order for a petite girl who herself was often bullied by other kids. I adored my little brother. Even now, when I look at photos of him as a kid, my heart clenches at his cuteness. (Sorry if I’m embarrassing you, T.)

Also when I was a child, upon seeing babies in public I felt a rush of love that felt like heartache; I would say a prayer that they never be hurt by a harsh word or act. I realize now that I was projecting my own wishes for myself as well. I just felt so intensely. In my adolescence and early adulthood I toughened myself to the point where I felt negatively toward children and the idea of having them — this was overcompensation. Sometime in my thirties that part of me healed to the degree that it could, and now as a mother, I’m approaching it from a new angle.

(Of course, I wasn’t an ideal sister. When I was a teen, I didn’t play Mousetrap with him as often as he asked, and I considered him a pest sometimes. I also treated him crappily on occasion. I remember one time: I was 19 and still at home, going to community college. He was 11, and we had a fight before he left for school that morning. I did something I should not have, and he ran out of the house screaming I hate you!. I spent the rest of the day on the campus skipping my classes and crying, agonizing over what I’d done and certain that I’d be a horrible, abusive mother. Eventually I forgave myself, but I haven’t forgotten, although my brother probably has.)

So anyway, I’ve concluded that I may simply be acutely sensitive to crying sounds. Last night I used earplugs to take the edge off. I could still hear Bean very well; the plugs muffled just enough of the sound to make her crying bearable. (An aside: Bean also seems to have incredible hearing and we joke that it’s her superpower. She startles and flinches at sounds that aren’t very loud, like someone in the room coughing once. I don’t want to read into this and assume she will have the same sensitivity, but we noticed this reflex within the first day of her life.)

By the end of the day, I felt considerably more solid and brighter. My OB called in the evening and we had a long chat. She provided me with a couple of referrals for support groups. We discussed my medicine dosage and decided that if in a week or two my efforts at social support weren’t enough, we would increase one of them. We agreed what is crucial is that I not isolate. Husband is willing to help with this in whatever way I need. It was also gratifying to hear her tell me I’m a dream patient in this regard, because I’m aware and proactive and willing to take steps.

It also helped that people left such supportive comments, and that my mother-in-law and mom called. I also heard from my siblings. This evening we’ll see our good friends who are Bean’s godparents (for lack of a better term). Intellectually I understand the positive comments and know I’m being a good parent; my task is to internalize it in my core, and this takes time and repetition, as well as acceptance (of this as the truth, of my vulnerability, of the fact that this just is).

One observation was made that I’m flagging for myself. It was pointed out that writing on the blog, while it helps me, may also be risky. I’m in a different role now as a parent. There are people in the world who don’t understand depression, who are judgmental and self-righteous, and (I’m stealing this person’s words) who may feel justified in taking statements out of context and blowing them out of proportion because there’s a child involved. That’s true. It could happen. So I need to be mindful of what and how I write here.

I would like to think that by writing honestly, it helps not only me, but other readers who feel alone in what they experience. I know that my blog presents me in a certain way: as accomplished, multi-faceted, and many other positive things, and that it can be validating for someone to read how even such a “together” person can also struggle. Sharing the ugly helps dispel either/or thinking: you’re either a good mother or a bad one, you’re either professionally successful or a failure, etc. The road to wholeness is understanding that life is more than either/or, it is both/and. Yet I need to protect myself and my family as well. I don’t know exactly what this means in terms of what I share here, but I’m heedful.

Onward…

It All Comes Crashing Down

I thought I was doing well. I thought that knowing about PPD meant it wouldn’t happen to me. I even felt a little smug about this. I thought the fact that my depression is in remission and managed with medication meant I was immune.

But since Bean caught a cold (increased need, fussing, major screaming, increasingly colicky behavior) and my mother-in-law left, and since I’ve been taking the early shift (arising at 6 a.m. and caring for her during her most alert time of day), and because I find myself in physical pain to hear her crying, today I took a deep dive. Postpartum blues is a common problem that subsides about two weeks after giving birth. It manifests in frequent, prolonged bouts of crying for no apparent reason, sadness, and anxiety. Rest and extra household help are usually enough. However…

When you are afraid to take your baby in your arms because you fear you cannot appease her, something’s wrong.

When fears of your baby dying arise even though she’s healthy, something’s wrong.

When you experience mostly anxiety and very little joy caring for your infant, something’s wrong.

When you scream at your husband to fuck off because he’s trying to calm the screaming baby for you and said no to your request to let you try because he’s trying to give you a break, something’s wrong.

When you tell your husband to go to hell and repeatedly say fuck you before raging down the stairs and out of the house (for a walk because you can’t drive yet), something’s wrong.

When you want to lash out physically at someone (I didn’t do it and the urge was targeted at Husband, not the baby), something’s wrong.

When you take a nap and upon waking wish you didn’t have to wake up, something’s wrong.

When you cry and cry (whether it’s hysterical sobbing or rivers of tears quietly coursing down your face), something’s wrong.

When the following idea makes the tiniest bit of sense to you:

When a woman with severe postpartum depression becomes suicidal, she may consider killing her infant and young children, not from anger, but from a desire not to abandon them.

something most definitely is wrong.

I’m not suicidal or about to hurt anyone else at this point. But I am frightened by what’s happening in me.

Tonight Husband drove me to Purlescence with Bean so I could be among my women friends. It was a tonic to be there. They cooed over Bean and were empathetic while I sat and cried. I brightened up over the hour, and laughed. I got some advice. I left feeling more solid. (Soon I will be able to drive again, probably next week.) Husband and I plan to have more outings — to see friends at their home for supper, to go to the bookstore.

I will also call my OB tomorrow to see what she recommends. Maybe I just had a Very Bad Day, but I think it is crucial to act so it doesn’t turn into postpartum depression.

I’m doing the late shift tonight to see if that helps me. Bean will be fed soon (’round midnight) and then at 3 a.m. and Husband will arise at 6 a.m. while I sleep until noonish. Bean sleeps more at night. She’s asleep in my left arm right now. I’ve typed this entire post with my right hand — and I’m a leftie. Aren’t you impressed?

One last thought: I adore Bean. I love her beyond measure or comprehension.

More info on Postpartum Depression:

Postpartum depression is depression that occurs soon after having a baby. Some health professionals call it postpartum nonpsychotic depression.

  • This condition occurs in about 10-20% of women, usually within a few months of delivery.
  • Risk factors include previous major depression, psychosocial stress, inadequate social support, and previous premenstrual dysphoric disorder (see premenstrual syndrome for more information).
  • Symptoms include depressed mood, tearfulness, inability to enjoy pleasurable activities, trouble sleeping, fatigue, appetite problems, suicidal thoughts, feelings of inadequacy as a parent, and impaired concentration.
  • If you experience postpartum depression, you may worry about the baby’s health and well-being. You may have negative thoughts about the baby and fears about harming the infant (although women who have these thoughts rarely act on them).
  • Postpartum depression interferes with a woman’s ability to care for her baby.
  • When a woman with severe postpartum depression becomes suicidal, she may consider killing her infant and young children, not from anger, but from a desire not to abandon them.

Snapshot Crazy

More Bean photos up at Flickr…

I suppose the novelty of this wears off at some point. But she changes so much so quickly! At her doctor visit on Monday, she weighed 7 lbs., 15 oz. and had grown half an inch since birth. By now I’ll bet she’s over 8 pounds. It certainly feels that way when I hold her. 🙂

Too Tender

It begins already: the doubt, the questioning whether I am doing something wrong, the anxiety.

They say that it’s important to help one’s baby learn to fall asleep on her own. They say to put children in bed when they are still awake, and they will learn to self-soothe into sleep and more quickly sleep through the night. Who are They? The book guides to a child’s first year, the pediatrician’s advice on the pamphlet given at the office visit, the websites.

My baby loves to be held. She falls asleep in my or Husband’s arms, and then if we are careful to gently put her in bed, she will usually stay asleep. If we put her down when she’s alert, or even sleepy and dozing, she awakens and fusses. So already I feel anxiety that we are setting ourselves up for frustration and failure, that our child will not learn to sleep on her own.

But she’s only 17 days old, for cryin’ out loud! I can’t leave her to “cry until she settles.” After a few minutes (no more than five) we pick her up. The world is huge. We can only imagine she needs comfort and security.

Also, since last Thursday her head has been congested. She had no fever. The doctor advised us yesterday to put saline drops in her nose prior to each feeding to make it easier to eat, and also to put in drops before a long nap. In addition, we elevated one end of her bed so her head is slightly higher and can drain more easily. Her respiratory rate is at the high end of normal (55-60 breaths a minute), and she is so very small. It’s hard for her to breathe.

Bean is particular. When she is awake, just after eating and changing, she wants to be held in different positions and to see different things. She communicates clearly when she’s bored and it’s time for a change by fussing and crying. Sometimes she enjoys the bouncer or swing, but most often it’s our arms she wants to be in. And it takes time to get her to settle down into sleep; this baby does not take after her father in sleep, she’s a light sleeper like me.

I’m not worried I’m spoiling her. I’m just worried I’m doing something that will set up a habit we have difficulty changing. I’m also worried about my own wants and needs and feel guilty for having them. But how can I eat, shower, etc. with her in my arms?

And to be honest, I’m scared. I was up this morning at 4:30 a.m. By 10:00 a.m., after three feedings, several diaper changes, two brief naps (hers), lots of holding and singing, I cried.

Because her need is relentless. How am I going to meet it, all day every day? How am I going to function once Husband returns to work?

And how will I make peace with her crying? I find that almost unbearable. Yet I also know that’s how babies communicate; it’s their only language. And that crying won’t damage them. And that rushing to stop the crying, especially when I’m driven by anxiety, while it feels like a loving act, also sends a subtle message: Hush. Be quiet. Expression is not acceptable.

I need a tougher heart.

[A side note: Empathy and suggestions are welcome, but please, no strident positions. We are not doing the family bed. We aren’t steeped in attachment parenting philosophy, but neither are we rigid and attempting to structure her life as suggested by the likes of Gary Ezzo (with whom I disagree on so many levels).]

Bits

This post has been updated.

More Bean photos are up for friends and family at Flickr.

My life is managed now in small chunks of time.

5:00 a.m.: Bean awakes and I feed her.
6:00 a.m.: Done feeding, change the diaper, have a little interaction, try to let her sleep again. Use the secret weapon if needed, so I can get my coffee, peanut butter toast, and glass of milk.
7:00 a.m.: Bean stirs awake again and is hungry. Feed her, change her, play with her, lull to sleep again.
8:00 a.m.: Use the bathroom, get dressed. Write one thank-you note.
9:00 a.m.: Feed the baby, change the baby, play with the baby, put the baby down for a nap.

And if need be, put down the half-eaten toast, abandon the coffee, and set the pen aside if she is fussy and requires some TLC.

Lather, rinse, repeat. Husband participates as well, of course. We’re working on a sleep system. The doctor approved us letting Bean sleep for one five-hour span each 24 hours. She seems inclined to do this from around 1 to 6 a.m. or so, and we’re cultivating this habit. I go to sleep at 9:30-10:00 p.m. (and hopefully fall asleep, which can be hard for me) and arise at 5-6 a.m. when Bean awakes. Husband does the 10 p.m. and 1 a.m. feeding and puts her to bed, then he sleeps until about 9 a.m. This way each of us gets 6-8 hours of sleep a night.* This suits his work schedule and sleep habits as well, so we can continue this when he returns to work. I, on the other hand, am a night owl who is learning about an entirely different world that revives in the early morning. As long as I’m rested, I actually don’t mind getting up that early. Good thing, too, because that’s my job!

Grandma (Husband’s mom) left this morning. It was wonderful to have her assistance and to introduce her to Bean. I was sad at her departure. Yet I’m also ready to move forward with building our daily family life, and Grandma will return anytime we ask.

By the way, I neglected to mention this before, but Husband is an awesome man. He’s so loving to Bean and me, and his support of me throughout the labor, birth, and aftermath was steady, patient, and nurturing. I’m learning a new aspect of him, as I’m sure he is with me, as we settle into our life with Bean.

Update: *Of course, as soon as I wrote this post I was proven wrong. She awoke at 3:30 a.m. voraciously hungry. We’re still up and it’s 5:00 a.m. Every day is different; never boring!

Musings On Motherhood (MOM) #1

Update: The title of this post has been changed from Dispatch #1 From Motherland at the suggestion of my sister-in-law, L. Excellent idea, my dear!

Things I have learned:

  • I’m still not ready to visit via phone (I can’t believe I’m so loved by so many), so it’s not personal and I’m not ignoring you. I am depleted and need to give what I have to the one little being who needs me most. In-person visits from select friends are brief and usually involve bringing food or running errands. The only person I want now is my Mommy to talk to (and we do). (And it’s easier to steal a few moments to quietly write my thoughts to share here.)
  • The last ten days have been the hardest of my life so far.
  • My mother-in-law’s presence has been a blessing and I will be ever grateful for this.
  • I have never experienced the present so immediately, relentlessly, and urgently. There is no time to think about past or future.
  • I’m hopelessly far behind in reading other people’s blogs and worry that this makes me a “bad blog friend,” because I’m not as interested in what y’all are doing and writing about and don’t know if I ever will be again. But this is not a primary worry. I just want to let you know I still care.
  • The cat is not overly curious about Bean, but is vocal about her desire for attention (Pet me, I beg you!).
  • Feeding the baby with a supplemental system plus pumping after every feed to stimulate milk production as often as required feels like getting ready to go to the airport eight (or more) times a day. It’s exhausting.
  • I’m aware that even a century ago my labor likely would have resulted in my and/or Bean’s death (pre C-section era). Same with the feeding problem (my body is not producing). I’m thankful for scientific and medical technology.
  • As events, projectile baby spit-ups rival Old Faithful in performance.
  • Sometimes the body can’t provide all that is needed.
  • Mommy’s well-being (especially mental health) may be more important than providing breast milk. I am coming to terms with this.
  • Babies have prolific digestive systems, and I think about poop far more than I ever thought I would.
  • Bean has a sweet disposition and is very alert and interested. (Of course, by writing this I have jinxed myself, and the People in Charge of Irony will cause me to repent my hubris.)
  • She utters little Cindy Lou Who coos that make my heart clench in adoration.
  • The place where Bean’s earlobe meets her head is so tender and kissable.
  • As is the nape of her neck.
  • The incredible lightness of her being makes me love her so hard it hurts.

I’m making an exception to my “no baby photos on the blog” rule.

mommy cuddles

More Photos

A few more photos of Bean are up at Flickr. The light’s been low (autumn coming) so they seem a bit grainy. Grandma has a much better camera and will share her photos later.

You don’t see any photos of me and the baby because, except for feeding attempts (which because of the supplemental nursing system require me to be topless), Husband and Grandma have been taking care of baby. I had an elevated temperature last night and am trying to rest.

I also took a self-portrait of myself nine days postpartum (dressed of course) and that’s up on Flickr as a public photo.

Surfacing

Home at last.

Exhausted beyond comprehension.

Problems with breastfeeding and some weight loss.

A few photos up at Flickr. Not great quality — a hospital isn’t the best setting. Don’t know when I’ll take more or upload more. Responded to contact friend requests.

Pain from incision. Hormonal.

She is our beautiful pixie and the most amazing, miraculous event of our lives. Yes, a person can be an event.

I am in awe of her.

And in love with her.

Thanks for all the well wishes.

Out.

Very Briefly

While the hospital has wireless access, it blocks certain sites, and one of them is Flickr. So until we get home, we are unable to upload photos or approve contacts. I promise to upload asap and will post when they are up.

We likely won’t be going home until Wednesday the 12th. I was in labor for 22 hours, but dilation did not progress well and Bean’s head wasn’t fitting in the birth canal. I ended up with a C-section shortly after midnight on the 8th. This experience was the hardest physical and emotional test of my life up to this point. Someday maybe I’ll want to recount the details, but not anytime soon.

I’m beyond exhausted and in some pain. Husband is wiped out too.

Bean is gorgeous and sweet. She makes cooing sounds and little chirps. She loves to nurse and within an hour after birth was at my breast (while I was in the recovery room).

Thank you for all the well wishes and love. We are in awe of our daughter!

At Last!

We joyfully announce the birth of our daughter!

Bean Harper
Date: September 8, 2007
Time: 12:49 a.m. PDT
Weight: 7 lb, 1 oz.
Length: 20 in

At this time I don’t intend to publish photos of my child on the blog for the whole world. However, I will upload photos to my Flickr account, which is http://www.flickr.com/photos/mindfulone/. (It may take a day or two to get them uploaded.) Photos of my babe will be given a designation so that only friends and family can see them. This means you need to:

  1. create a free account on Flickr if you haven’t already;
  2. designate me as a contact by going to my profile and in the upper right corner, clicking “add Mindful One as a contact”;
  3. which triggers an email notifying me, and then I’ll make you a contact with the correct status. It might take me a couple days to get to the email, so please be patient.

This most amazing event transcends words…

(note: This is being published by her friend Mark. Just wanted to note that Baby, Mother and Father are tired, but healthy and headed to sleep after a long day. We wish them a quick recovery and sweet dreams!)

At Little Less Conversation, A Little More (Contr)action*

It is now near 9:00 p.m. on Thursday. Below is what I wrote earlier today, but did not publish at the time because Husband asked me to wait and breathe a bit.
———-
Written Thursday morning around 9:00 a.m.

With the exception of a couple hours of dozing, I’ve been awake since 9:30 a.m. on September 5. I had more pain than I anticipated from the gel.

This post was supposed to announce we were leaving home to start the induction.

My OB said she scheduled the induction for midnight 9/6. But at the hospital Wednesday night (getting gel) we were told they don’t do inductions that way. We explained what our doctor had told us, and the nurse said she didn’t see on the schedule book that we were slotted in to come in at midnight. We were told to call at 6:30 a.m. Thursday to ask if there was room.

You know where this is leading, right?

I called at 6:30 a.m. and was told there is no room, all 12 are occupied. And oh, I’m scheduled to come in at midnight anyway. WTF??!! I explained what happened last night, that we were told that’s not how it worked and no record of that appointment was found. I was told to call back at 8:30 a.m. to see if there is room.

I just called at 8:33 and the charge nurse insisted that I was not scheduled until midnight September 7. I explained again, and she said, basically, “So sorry, but you’ll have to call at 11 p.m. tonight to see if we can take you. Or you can call your OB and reschedule for another time that’s more convenient.” More convenient?! I replied that I am at 41 weeks, 4 days, and it was my doctor’s request to schedule me. Her reply, “Perhaps you should call your OB and get things straightened out.”

End of call. I officially went ballistic. Husband is now taking over the job of calling people and negotiating things.

10 minutes later

Husband has just talked with our OB’s nurse. Nothing can be done; the hospital isn’t taking any inductions today. So we wait. I simply cannot find the humor in this. Someday it will make a fun story.
—————–
I did manage to get some sleep, about three hours Thursday morning after I wrote this, until the roofers came back from 1:00-4:00, and then two hours more after they left. My OB called a few moments ago to check in and said labor & delivery was packed all day with laboring women non-stop but that it seems that things are quieting down. We talked a bit about the schedule mess and how crazy this all made me; she’s very empathetic, and I felt much better by the end of the call. The hospital might call us soon to come in. If we don’t hear by 11:00 p.m., we’re to call them and see if things are quiet enough. They may not be, in which case we just continue waiting. In the wee hours last night I had contractions 30 minutes apart for a couple hours, but nothing since. We’ll see.

I hope that the next post will be a birth announcement. I’ve written a draft and a friend is going to fill in the particulars about the baby. Any further posts regaling you about the actual birth experience will probably come much, much later. I’m certain I’ll be exhausted.

Oh, about baby photos. I’ll be posting them on Flickr, not the blog, and they’ll be visible to friends and family only. So if you have an account there, make me a contact and I’ll set your status to friend. If you don’t have a Flickr account, you can open one (it’s free). Once you create an account, designate me as a contact by going to my profile and in the upper right corner, clicking “add Mindful One as a contact.” This triggers an email notifying me, and then I’ll make you a contact with the correct status. It might take me a couple days to get to the email, so please be patient.

*Tip of the hat to Elvis.

We’re At Your Cervix, Ma’am

We were called and went to the hospital at 8 p.m. A cheery nurse did an exam and said I was one centimeter dilated, 60% effaced (up from 10% last week), and the baby was much lower. All good. In fact, she said I was in the ideal stage for the gel and induction.

She monitored me awhile and then administered the prostaglandin gel at 9:15. Then I was monitored for two hours to see how I reacted (and how baby is doing). Within 15 minutes of the dose I felt a steady, low-grade ache like menstrual cramps. The gel was doing its work (and still is).

At 11:15 we were sent home with instructions to call at 6:30 a.m. to see if there is room for us. As happened Wednesday night, if they are full, they’ll call us in as soon as there’s a room.

We were advised to get some sleep if possible. I aim to do that as soon as I hit “publish.”

Thank you for all the loving comments on the previous post. They really helped. After I wrote that I took a CD my parents sent — Music for Little People’s 20th Anniversary Lullaby Collection — and listened to it while lying down. Sweet dreams.

Sigh

As is the way of life, the hospital doesn’t have room for us to come in at 6 p.m. as scheduled for the gel. A bunch of women in labor recently came in. The nurse said she’d call us in a few hours when a room opens up.

I don’t know if this means that we’ll go in and have to return at midnight or six hours after the dose, which could be 3 a.m. And of course there’s no guarantee they’ll take me at any scheduled hour if the rooms are occupied.

What is so frustrating about this is that I’ve been trying to rest and nap, as has Husband, so that we have some energy when all this begins. It got to 91F today here, so it was uncomfortable and we were unsuccessful with napping. The other frustration is that we are mentally focused on this event, on action, and now we’re stalled.

Husband is more jovial about this schedule set-back. I’m tempted to rant and cry. That’s really adult behavior, very mature and enlightened, I know.

Instead, I’ll close this post by noting that:

  • the roofers did not work on our roof today, so it was blissfully quiet (I don’t know if they’re finished and don’t care anymore).
  • Little One was active a lot today; I had cramps and backache, and she feels lower in my pelvis.
  • I’m reading a book of interesting essays.
  • there will be an end to this limbo in the near future.

Kick Me, Please

This post is updated; see below.

Yesterday we took a walk to let gravity help get things going. Little One responded with much activity, squirming and positioning herself further in the pelvis. She was active late last night, too, and in the wee hours. I also had backache/cramps in the wee hours.

Then it subsided. Today I’ve spent mostly laying about, napping. The roofers finally got to our roof around 1 p.m., and I’ve enjoyed a symphony of nail-gun pounding harmonized with blaring Hispanic radio. By resting, I may have lulled Little One as well.

At 12:30 p.m., I had not felt much movement at all from Little One in many hours. I drank water and lay down to do a kick count; I felt faint movements and dozed off. I awoke at 3:30 and drank cold grape juice, then ice water (12 ounces of each), and felt a faint poke. Usually an infusion of that much cold, sugary fluid stirs her into break dancing. I took a shower, which also jostles her into activity, then walked to our mailbox and back. Nothing.

Husband is on his way home. I’m going to call the doctor and see what she says. Probably all is fine and well. I’d rather be safe than sorry.

I hate to leave a post like this. The good thing is, El Camino Hospital has wireless Internet access throughout, so geeks like me can bring their laptops. I can update this post quickly. (And won’t I feel silly if we get there and she’s just dandy!)

Say it with me: All is well. All is well.

Update: Husband got home and I lost composure. He asked me if I’d done a proper kick count, and I said I thought I had, I’d lost track. We called the OB office and were told to head to labor and delivery at the hospital. Before going, though, Husband said, “Let’s do a proper kick count.” I had another glass of cold grape juice, and we lay down together on the bed. The result: 13 movements in 31 minutes (probably more, we gave half credit to some moves that weren’t especially strong), which is great. We called the hospital and told them the situation; they were pleased to hear it and grateful we let them know not to expect us.

Little One’s moving as I type this. We’ll do periodic counts throughout the evening and tomorrow. Tomorrow at 6 p.m., providing the hospital has available beds, I’ll go in for the prostaglandin insert. Then we go home and wait for the hormones to do their job of softening and effacing my cervix; at midnight (again, providing they have beds) we go in for the Pitocin induction. (If they don’t have beds, they’ll tell us to keep calling every couple of hours until they do.) If I end up going into labor on my own, we’ll simply go in when we’re in the active labor stage and be admitted. So I admit: I’m Crazy Pregnant Lady. I feel a bit silly for having gotten all astir, but I suppose I’m not the first. And we were right! All is well.