Silly Little Girl

And baby makes four...

I know I should have written by now...I know I should have regaled you all with tales of spit-up and sleep patterns and cutesy family pictures, but honestly? I just haven't wanted to.

It's a two-fold reason why I've stayed away. One - I've been wary of telling you all about Max. Max has a very distinctive personality and temperament right now, but his brother's entire demeanor changed when he was three weeks old, and I've been afraid that Max's will do the same. However, the more I think about it, the more I think Donovan's change in attitude was more a testament to my ability (or lack thereof) to handle an infant back then than it was his own volition.

And on the other hand, I've just been enjoying myself too damn much.

Max is a beautifully sweet baby. On the behavior side of things, he's an angel. He's not fussy - only grousing when he wants to be fed (ALMOST EVERY DAMN HOUR DURING THE DAYLIGHT HOURS). We hit a few roadblocks in the beginning with breastfeeding; it seemed like every other feeding he was refusing to latch. As a result, he lost an ounce between coming home and being weighed by the home visit nurse. I supplemented with a bottle a few times and basically just sat there with his face mashed into my boob until he would latch, and he gained back 2 oz by the next day, so that was only a brief concern. Then we went to the pediatrician for his first checkup a week out of the hospital, and goddamn if she didn't realize that his collarbone was broken.

Did you hear that?

MY BABY HAS A BROKEN BONE. I ABOUT DIED OF WOE RIGHT THERE IN THE OFFICE. By then, it didn't seem to bother him, and she reassured me that it was actually really common, especially for big babies that come down the pike in an odd position. Apparently the force with which they descend onto the pelvis just regularly cracks clavicles and shit. Well, hell. THAT FUCKING SUCKS.

Anyway, that explained the fussy latching. For the first week or so, he was just uncomfortable in most cradled positions. Since then, he's been a champ.

He's very quiet and pensive looking. When he's awake and alert, he just sort of looks around and checks things out. He plays possum. When there's something unfamiliar or loud going on, he goes completely limp and closes his eyes, but then opens one eye to peek around every couple seconds. He has no use for the bouncy seat or the swing, instead preferring to relax on his Boppy pillow on the couch next to whoever is hanging out with him. He blesses us with little baby smiles that I'm sure wisened old folks will tell us are NOT real smiles, but yo, fuck those killjoys. They LOOK like real smiles, and we'll take them for whatever they are, cuz they are goddamn cute.

He looks EXACTLY like me and my old man, but did indeed inherit his father's lips, which, YAY. YAY FOR BIG GORGEOUS LIPS.

He poops literally once or twice an hour. Go on with your stinky self, dude.

And the part I'm the most hesitant to discuss? He sleeps, dudes. He sleeps WELL. He catnaps during the day, which I could give a shit less about, cuz honestly, I don't really ever want to put him down, but at night? We have a whole goddamn routine going. He eats around nine, and then sleeps till about 12am. He's back asleep by 12:30, until 4:30 at the earliest. Two nights ago he slept from 12:30 to almost 6am. After that last feeding, he's back asleep until around 7:30 or 8:30. We've got a solid week of this happening.

I've only made really small attempts at actually establishing a routine, and they're more things to get ME into good habits. I only swaddle him at night. We're co-sleeping, and we only sleep in the bedroom at night. If we nap together otherwise, we stay out in the living room. I keep lights on all day, and do nothing to limit noise, but once Donovan goes to bed at nine, it's lights out and semi-quiet time. Other than those things, which I only do to just kind of try to differentiate between night and day, he fell into our routine all on his own.

So we are a happy, well-rested family over here for the time being. Donovan is far less interested in the whole shebang than he was in the beginning. He likes to help with bathtime and occassionally will bestow a kiss on Mighty Max, but other than that, just goes about his regular business. He really likes talking about his diapers, though.

Nik is, I think, out of the honeymoon phase but is still pretty delighted to just hold his boy and talk nonsense to him.

And I'm still very much in the honeymoon phase, carrying the chunk around like a sack of really fucking cute potatoes, and trying to get poor quality camera phone pictures at every opportunity.

Thank you for your thoughts and your congratulations, we are appreciative, and we are indeed congratulating ourselves as well for birthing such mild-mannered, delicious chunk.

Well, hello, baby.

We checked into the hospital on Monday night, at 7pm on the dot. They settled us into an observation room, started my IV, and we hung tight for a few minutes until the doctor came in.

Even though he wasn't on call, the doctor I'd been discussing the induction with the last few weeks came in to insert the balloon catheter to get my cervix to efface. This, by the way, ranks as the 2nd worst part of the whole ordeal.

With the balloon settled, they gave me some ambien to help me sleep, but it didn't really do much to overpower the cramping that it caused. I slept fitfully until about 6am, when they came to move us over to a delivery room.

Once there, a different doctor, one I'd disliked in the office, came in to break my water and start the pitocin drip. As I've discovered with many doctors, this doc had a much better bedside manner than she did appointment manner. And so we were rolling.

The contractions came mild and irregular. They really weren't too painful, and as soon as I'd indicated that they were becoming uncomfortable, they offered me both a shot of Nubain (sp?) or the epidural. I went with the Nubain first. It helped, and from 8am to 11am, I went from 2cm to 4cm. Things were moving along nicely, and the nurses indicated they expected to have me in recovery with a baby by 2 o'clock.

HAH.

Around noon, the contractions were becoming more painful, and I was 5cm. I really wasn't in any agony, but I was afraid that things were moving fast enough that if I stalled on the epidural, it would soon be too late to get one, so I asked for it. The anesthesiologist was up within 10 minutes, and that sucker was in. Like last time, it didn't hurt in the slightest.

And then things stalled. From noon until 4:00, I stayed at 5cm. I sent my best friend home, thinking that at this rate, we could go the rest of the night. I tossed and turned and tried to get comfortable. I could feel the pressure of the contractions, but I wasn't in any real pain, but I couldn't exactly rest, either.

Around 4:45, the pressure of the contractions became intense. Still not exactly painful, but I could feel the urge to bear down beginning. I asked them to check me, and I was only 6-7cm at that point. At 5 o'clock, I buzzed the nurse again and told her that I really, REALLY felt like I needed to push with the contractions. She got the room ready and paged the doctor, who took a while to come in. Eventually, she checked me herself, and said I was still only about 8cm. The doctor came in and checked me again, and agreed. He said, however, that he wasn't going to ask me to go against nature, and said if I was ready to push, he was ready to help me.

And so began what was certainly the most painful physical experience of my life. Unlike my delivery with Donovan, I was fully concious and aware, and Jesus Christ the agony. Even now, I find myself thinking about it and getting worked up to the point that I have to remind myself that it's over, and I am NEVER doing it again.

I pushed right through 8cm to 9cm to 10cm, and the baby started descending and crowning, and his head was turned such that instead of looking down all nice and proper, he was looking to the right, which is apparently why it took so long to get to fully dilated. Just shy of half an hour after I begged them to let me push, Maxwell made his wailing, angry appearance.

I wish I could tell you his full name, but anonymity and all that. His middle name is my maiden, so there you go. As it were, meet Max, all 9 lbs 3oz, 21 inches of delicious, Filipino looking chunk.

Um?

I am going to attempt to assemble this post with some semblance of coherence. Bear with me.

On Saturday, I had my first ever, non-medication induced contraction, all on my own. I could tell the difference between them and the braxton hicks by the way they rose and rose in intensity, peaked, plateaued, and then tapered off. They were short-lived, however, and I only experienced maybe ten total from Saturday afternoon to Sunday night. This morning, I went to the doctor.

I knew we'd be setting an induction date today, so I was excited anyway. I was even more floored when I learned I was 2 cm dilated. DUDE. WOMEN IN MY FAMILY DO NOT DILATE ON THEIR OWN THIS IS EPIC. There was this weird, inexplicable, niggling sense of pride that came with that news. WAY TO GO, CERVIX.

The doctor smiled and said things were moving along nicely, and he'd ask his nurses to call the hospital and set a date. He wanted me to check in in the evening to have a balloon catheter inserted in my cervix (ewww, right?) to get me to start effacing, since I've shown zero progress on that front. They would start a pitocin drip the next morning. I waited around for a few, and a nurse came out and told me to check into the hospital at 7pm on Thursday night. I was sort of bummed, cuz dude, that's still three fucking days away, but at the same time, SCORE. THERE IS AN END IN SITE.

After I made the appropriate phone calls, sent out mass emails, I got a call from the nurse again. The following conversation ensued.

Nurse - Hi Kate, I know I scheduled you for Thursday, but when I told Dr. L, he asked me to find out if there's any way we could do it sooner. I talked to the hospital, and they said they could take you tonight. Is that possible for you?

There was a hint of trepidation in her voice, as if I was going to be like "crazy lady! You can't spring a kid on me in less than 7 hours!" I think my response surprised her.

Me - OF COURSE THAT IS POSSIBLE. YOU ARE MY FAVORITE PERSON IN THE WORLD. THANK YOU VERY MUCH, ANGEL.

I called the nurse "angel". Dude, that is gay, even for me.

So we are checking into the hospital tonight. WE'RE HAVING A BABY OH MY GOD I AM FREAKING OUT, JUST A LITTLE HERE, CAN YOU TELL?

I will attempt to have my husband update when all is said and done and he's home, but...you know. His blogging skills..who knows. So that being said, you may not end up hearing anything from us till we're home this weekend. Wish us luck!

Not bitter, just real.

I spent a few hours with an old girlfriend at the bar where my husband bartends part-time on weekends on Saturday. It was mostly nice, as it usually is when I see her. We mostly bullshitted about her life while Nik looked on and occasionally commented. The conversation du jour was finding her a man; she wanted to know about our "eligible" male friends.

I had to bite my tongue in anger several times during the conversation. Though I thought I was hiding it well, her plight made me viscerally angry at times, and I found myself wanting to shake her and scream "WAKE THE FUCK UP."

She's 23 years old. She graduated last May with a Bachelors from a nearby 4-year. She has an amazing job working with autistic children. She's currently waiting on acceptance to grad school, which I'm sure she'll receive. She has a wonderful life.

And she is so goddamn unhappy. Why? Because she's single. And I. Could. Not. Fathom. This.

I looked across the bar from her and felt seven different kinds of envy. She and I started off at the same place, made a lot of the same poor decisions, and yet here she is, with everything I wanted for myself by the time I got to be this age.

She looked at me and thought the same exact thing, because I ended up married, with the loving, funny husband and the beautiful children she so desperately wants for herself.

Like I said, I thought I was controlling my anger, but by the sound of Nik's sidelong comments during our exchange, it eventually hit me that I was letting my bitterness get the best of me, and it was certainly showing.

I tried to explain where I was coming from, but it was difficult.

I love my life. I am incredibly lucky to have one healthy, amazing, and unique child, with one on the way. I am incredibly fortunate to have Nik, who I love with the fire of a thousand suns. I thank God daily for my position in life, for the family I married into, for my ability to pay my bills and feed my kids and enjoy my friends and family.

But if I could go back and do things differently, I would. In a heartbeat.

....

Hmm. I had kind of hoped that writing it out like that would make it make more sense, but I guess it really didn't.

It's complicated, I can't pretend that it's not. I say that line, that "if I could go back" stuff, knowing that I can't. Knowing that this is where I am, and I can only go forward, and I'm happy about that. I am more than making the best of it, I am embracing it and loving it and making it better in every way that I can.

But the reality is, I could have done better. I could have given the children I had a better start in life. I could have waited, established myself, established a marriage FIRST, had a home that I owned, a career that I loved and was secure in, and my kids probably would have ended up better adjusted. We probably wouldn't have had to weather the things we weathered to get here.

But I also know that that's all speculation. To further complicate things, I can say in all honesty that if I HADN'T gotten pregnant or chosen to keep my son, I probably wouldn't be here now. I probably would have died somewhere, gotten myself killed, or maybe I'd have lucked out and just ended up in prison for several years. Whatever, I'm confident that becoming responsible for another human being was just about the only thing at the time that was going to make me change my path.

At any rate, the point is that, yes, I'm happy. Yes, I love my family and knowing that time only moves forward, not back, I wouldn't trade them for anything. But no, no, no. I will never tell you, my lonely friend, or you, idealistic 15 year old girl, that this is the right way to do things.

What I SHOULD have said to my friend, instead of bitterly discoursing on married and family life, was this: "I know I'm lucky, and I know what I have looks good, because it is. But there are thousands of miles of opportunities stretched out before you. Unimpeded roads to success that aren't there for me anymore, not in the clearly defined way they are for you. Find yourself and your own happiness first, because it's a lot harder to do when you have to do it for other people first. We're both lucky, honey. Everything you have is still there for me if I want it bad enough, and everything I have is still there for you, and will be for a looong time."

Insert blog title here

As of the morning of the 30th, my 37 week checkup, I expected this to be a brief update telling you that our Christmas was fantastic, wish the same for yours, and tell you that we had an induction date.

Two out of three ain't bad, right?

Right.

We have no induction date. We're still in limbo. I am not dilating* or effacing at all (surprise) and that + being early anyway = a good chance that any drugs they use to induce me (Cytotec, Pitocin, etc.) would only result in agonizing contractions that produce no dilation, and an almost doubled chance of an emergency c-section. So. You know. Fantastic.

I trust my doctors. I don't want emergency surgery anymore than they do, and I understand and accept that pain, no matter how bad, is always preferable to risk to my son, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating. I was given instructions to go home and get as active as reasonably possible (you know the drill - walking, sex, the occasional jumping jack) and come back in 6 days to see if there's any progression. If I begin to dilate or efface even a LITTLE, they'll induce. If not...we continue to play the waiting game.

I took every suggestion out there short of herbal remedies that make me nervous, and that whole gross castor oil thing, greatly to heart and I think I'm showing some signs of dilation. I'm trying to stay upbeat and confident, but honestly guys, it's hard.

I just...I feel like I'm at the end of my rope here. I feel constantly frazzled and burnt out. I'm stressed out with all the natural stuff that comes at the end of any pregnancy, plus plus the very concept of being responsible for two children, plus plus plus the pain of these goddamn teeth. It's just...too much at this point.

Ugh. Whatever. Like I said, I'm trying to stay upbeat. I'm...failing, a lot of the time, but I'm trying.

In other news, our Christmas was indeed fantastic, and New Year's was quiet and boring as is expected of a pregnant mom. I hope you all enjoyed your holidays, and I hope my next update is filled with BABEE YAY SQUUEEE.

That is all.

*Everytime I wrote about dilation, my computer would tell me that I was spelling it wrong. I eventually decided that it was one of those words that the medical profession made up, and therefor not recognized by all the fancy techno dictionaries and crap. Turns out, I was writing diAlation, and totally thought that was right. I am a smarty pants, I am.