Birth story, continued

Shockingly, the Kardashian marathon and constant fetal monitoring wasn't doing great things for my blood pressure. At 8:30 pm, they gave me another dose of labetalol, which helped a little bit but not enough. My nurse broke the news - it was IV magnesium time. Oh, and once that started, I wasn't allowed to get out of bed to pee anymore, (Come on, I'm like a thousand weeks pregnant and guzzling water. Of course I've got to go every thirty seconds!) I'd heard awful things about the magnesium, so I asked to speak with the doctor to see if there was any alternative. I can't remember exactly who came in to talk, but the bottom line was that there wasn't really much of a choice. I sighed, had one last pee and reluctantly surrendered my veins.

It wasn't too bad at first - I just felt a little extra warmth in the room. They gave me an Ambien around midnight and we settled in for some sleep. A little bit after 3 am, my nurse came in to reposition the fetal monitor and I couldn't get back to sleep after that. There's just no getting comfy on your back in a hospital bed when you're hooked up to a zillion different machines. I watched TV, watched Ed sleep, waited for the sun to rise.

At 6 am, it was time for the cervical check. Zero change! Thanks for nothing, cervadil! I was still closed and 50% effaced. They talked about doing another round of ripener but decided to just start me on Pitocin anyway. Pretty quickly, I was epidural'ed by a team of doctors, one guiding the other through the procedure. It made me super nervous but the epidural wound up being textbook perfect - I could move my legs, put a bit of weight on them to scooch myself around, and I could feel a mild tightening sensation during each contraction but I didn't feel any pain. (Well, not until later, at least. Spoiler alert.) I dozed off again for a bit and woke up at 10:45 to the peculiar sensation of amniotic fluid burbling out of my nether regions. Another check - one centimeter dilated! This show is getting on the road!

 My parents and Ed's mom arrived sometime around noon, around the same time the magnesium started making me feel truly awful. I was burning up, sweating, nauseated and puking. The next hours passed in a blur of misery. My mom, ever the savior in moments of crisis, was amazing. She held my puke bucket a hundred times and directed everyone else to take turns bringing me damp, cool washcloths for my forehead. Ed brought me water and ice and Jello from the patient lounge, because I was so thirsty that I had to keep drinking, even knowing it would come back up a moment later. My mom broke out the eucalyptus and mint aromatherapy lotion and rubbed my feet for what felt like hours. I was so miserable. I thought the hard part of labor would be feeling contractions and that the epidural would mean my labor would be blissful and serene, full of giddy anticipation for the arriving baby. Instead I was so unhappy that I more or less forgot that I was pregnant and started to feel like I'd contracted some awful tropical disease that I might not survive. Of course, the cervical checks reminded me that there was an end game here... and that I was nowhere near it. I was three centimeters in the early afternoon. I was three centimeters at 5 pm. They said, "if you haven't made any progress by 11 pm, we'll do a c-section." I was three centimeters at 11 pm. They said, "Let's wait til three am to decide." I was three centimeters at 3 am. And I was three centimeters at 4 am, when they finally agreed to call it. (At that point, I'd pretty much said to the doctor "Just get me a fucking scalpel and I'll do it myself, I need to get off of this magnesium.")

I wish I remembered more of Leo's actual birth. When I try to remember it, it comes in flashes of bright OR lights: lifting my hips to scoot from the bed to the table. Throwing up into that weird sock thing. Seeing Ed in his paper scrubs and face mask and not recognizing him at first. Hearing Leo cry and thinking, "Oh. There's a baby in here." I remember saying, "Someone needs to feed that baby!" I know that Ed brought him over to me, that he showed me pictures on the camera screen, that I did see him. But I don't remember feeling anything besides a pang of relief. The baby's here, the baby is healthy, the baby didn't die. This is the hard part of the story, the part that even now makes me get teary and sad for both of us. I spent so long picturing what that moment would be like. I dreamed it in sparkly slow motion, the rush of endorphins, the overwhelming waves of love, how I'd gaze into Ed's eyes and whisper in awe, "We did it. We made this." Of course, it wasn't like that at all. And it makes me sad that maybe it somehow cheated Leo out of something important. Today, I love him so much that it feels like my heart could just burst. I love him so much I can feel it like a vibration in every cell of my body. I love him so much, I think that love pours out of me and surrounds him like an aura, and I wish I could have enveloped him in that love from the second he was born. I know, of course, that I did love him then just as much as I do now. I just couldn't feel it at that moment. But more than the puking or the sweating or the failing epidural, this is the part that was the absolute worst.

Oh right, the epidural! Soon after Leo was born, someone noticed him barking a bit so they whisked him and Ed off to the nursery for observation. (He turned out to be just fine.) As the doctor went about returning my organs to their original place inside my body, I realized I could feel a lot of what was happening. By the time they started stitching, I was in a ton of pain. "Guys? I can feel this." I said. They told me they'd adjust some things and continued on. "It didn't work!" I said, beginning to panic. No one responded. "Seriously," I said to my nurse, "could I at least have a shot of whiskey and a bullet to bite on?" She laughed. "I knew I liked you," she said. We both laughed. I tried to think about other things. The anesthesiologist was telling dirty jokes. I chuckled along with the others in the room. Soon enough, it was over and I was in recovery, begging the nurse for a glass of water.

I was alone for a long time in there - an hour, maybe. It was strange not being pregnant anymore. I hadn't been so far apart from Leo for nine months and now, I was really by myself. Then Ed came in, carrying a paper with Leo's footprints. They were massive. I couldn't believe they belonged to a newborn baby. Then my parents came in. I grabbed my mom's water bottle and guzzled it before the water-rationing nurse could come by and catch me. And we waited and waited and waited. Then they rolled me into my private room. There was a picture of an angel on the door for some reason, and I was irrationally convinced that they'd put me in some sort of special room for moms who were recovering after losing their babies. I was still on magnesium, nearly delirious from lack of sleep, no longer nauseated but still burning up. My bed was right next to a huge picture window and I looked outside. Everything was covered in a blanket of wild, unexpected late March snow. I'm dreaming, I thought. I shed the hospital gown and changed into my own tank top. Ed went to yell at the nurses about turning down the temperature in my room. And then they wheeled Leo in.

I wish I could remember holding him for the first time. I have the pictures, but I don't have the memory. But I do remember spending the rest of the day just staring at him. I loved his pointy, elegant little nose and his sweet, gentle eyes. His hair was so soft and downy, his limbs were so long and graceful, his cheeks were so chubby. He reminded me of a baby bird, somehow both delicate and solid at the same time. And I remember the first time he latched on for a feeding. It seemed so natural and easy, I remember thinking, "Oh, breastfeeding is going to be a snap! Ha, and people say it's so hard! Well, not with this perfect latcher!" (Hahaha. Hahahahahaha. Haha. Ha.)

And there we were! He was finally here. And we were all falling in love.

It's been such a long time, baby.

Time flies when you're raising a gorgeous, blue-eyed, ruddy-cheeked bundle of love and joy and sleep deprivation! I can barely believe it, but Sprout is here. And he is healthy and gorgeous and six months old! But with that delicious spoiler alert out of the way, let me catch you up on the last nine months - starting with my birth story.

The last three months of pregnancy passed in a bit of a labetalol and self-imposed modified bed rest haze. My blood pressure and my weight both started skyrocketing - more or less simultaneously - and so I was put on medical leave from work around the time that I found myself in so much back pain that I couldn't walk three blocks to the drugstore. It was a rough winter anyway, with frequent snowstorms and freezing puddles on every corner, so I built myself a nest on the couch with Netflix and my home blood pressure monitor and waited for April 7th.

Sprout must have gotten tired of watching the same twenty or so episodes of Parks and Recreation over and over, though - by Saint Patrick's Day, my blood pressure monitor was giving me the blinking heart icon. Translation: call your doctor, mama. After two consecutive high readings, the on call doctor told me to head into Labor & Delivery for a little bit of monitoring. Throughout the pregnancy, I'd joked that I wanted a "high intervention" birth experience. In my first pregnancy, those long weeks between the first hint of doom at the 7 week ultrasound and the final confirmation at 11 weeks were sheer torture - I couldn't imagine any c-section recovery could be worse than that. I would happily trade my hopes for a vaginal birth, my curiosity about what labor feels like, the exciting "honey, it's time" moment and even the "I am woman, hear me roar" natural birth merit badge for the absence of that terrible anxiety. 

Lucky me, that high intervention birth is exactly what I got. At L&D triage, they connected me to the fetal monitor and the blood pressure cuff and took some blood for lab work. After an hour or two, a nurse popped by to let me know they would be releasing me soon - my b.p. was elevated but not terribly so, and as soon as they got the lab work back, they'd be sending me home to rest and hydrate and monitor it on my own. Thank God! I was starving. I wondered whether or not I could get away with grabbing dinner at McDonalds on my way back to the subway. I was sure the sodium wouldn't be in my best interest, but I was fantasizing about getting two double quarter pounders and combining them into something that I would simply call "The Pounder." I was so deep into this fantasy that I could almost taste the tangy dill pickles when the nurse came back and told me that they'd decided to admit me for the night. You know, just for observation. I texted my husband and asked him to bring my hospital bag, but no rush! (And maybe smuggle in a burger or two, if he wouldn't mind. Extra pickles.)

A second nurse came by to escort me to my room - a spacious delivery suite with a pretty view of the hospital courtyard. "Here's a hospital gown and socks," she said, "and you might want to take a shower before you put them on. Once we get the induction started, you won't be able to shower again. Have you eaten yet? If not, I'll try to find you something because you'll be on clear liquids only once we insert the Cervadil" 

"Oh, no," I laughed. "You must have picked up the wrong patient from triage! I'm just here for observation." 

She confirmed my name. "No mistake," she said. "The doctor decided you're getting induced tonight. Settle in and I'll get you some dinner." 

I texted my husband: On second thought, YES RUSH! 

I took my shower, pulled on the cozy anti-skid hospital socks and climbed into bed to watch a few inspirational episodes of Keeping Up With the Kardashians. My husband and my tray of cafeteria food arrived simultaneously, and after a hearty last dinner of oily baked chicken and grayish green beans, it was time to get the party started. Someone came in and inserted the cervical ripener at 6 pm. (I think it was a doctor, but there were so many people in and out of the room at that point, it may have been the anesthesiologist, a random med student or possibly even the orderly who came in to pick up the dinner tray. Over the next 48 hours, the list of people on earth who had seen my vagina more or less quadrupled; apparently there's no room for modesty in a teaching hospital.) 

In the grand Festivus tradition...

...it's time for the airing of grievances.

Everything hurts. I can't sleep because everything hurts and when I do get to sleep, I wake up four times a night to pee. I'm retaining so much water that I'm getting the equivalent of carpal tunnel in both elbows, so every time I bend my elbows for longer than a minute or so, my forearms go numb. The sciatica is awful - I don't think I've felt my right thigh since October, and I frequently feel like I'm being shanked in the right rear buttock. Not to be left out, my left side has decided to pull a muscle or something mid-back. And that's not even beginning to address the swelling in my ankles or my creaky ass knees. I thought about asking a stranger to carry me up the stairs in the subway today. And then I thought about just renting an apartment near a subway station that has an elevator.  I've gained 16 pounds and my doctor is totally going to yell at me.

I have a weird growth on my gumline that is apparently a "pregnancy tumor." When my belly isn't itching, the ligaments are complaining about all the stretching. Forget tying my shoes; I can barely put on my socks. My skin is dry everywhere except for my face, where it's so oily I keep expecting Halliburton to declare eminent domain on it. My husband forgot to bring home the Carvel ice cream cake I specifically requested and I cried.

Pro: my hair is growing quite rapidly. Con: it's all gray.

Recent panicked Google searches: "I can't feel my cervix" "broken water or pee" "fetus vibrating?"

Despite all of this, I know that I'm lucky as hell to be 26 weeks today with a beautiful, healthy, wiggly little guy. But I am 99% sure that he is going to be an only child.

24 weeks, 5 days

Pregnancy is amazing. I'm hungry all the time, but between the sciatica and the heartburn, I can never haul my widening ass out of the house long enough to purchase and consume all of the food I want to eat. Kind of perfect how it works out that way!

Achievement unlocked: 20 weeks!

I've made it past the halfway point now, with a belly full of wiggles and kicks, and it's really feeling - well, real. There are real movements, real back aches and sciatica and heartburn, and real people getting up to give me their seats on the subway. (Though it's way more common that folks glance at my belly and then suddenly become very interested in their newspaper/magazine/Kindle. New Yorkers, you guys are a bunch of jerks sometimes.)

Our anatomy scan is tomorrow, and the teeny tiny little post-traumatic-stress voice inside my head is like, "Don't get too cocky until after tomorrow! Don't forget all of the things that could still go wrong!" But honestly, I have a feeling that everything is fine - so I'm just going to go with that.

I went to the Big City Mom's Biggest Baby Shower last week, and came away with quite the haul of baby supplies! Their gift bags were ridiculously good - I think I have seven or eight bottles now, and scads of pacifiers, bibs, infant toys, diapers and one super soft baby blanket that I can't stop rubbing on my cheek. Besides the full size bottles of stretch mark oils, mom-friendly lotions and "boob cream" that I've been lavishly rubbing all over my body, the contents of the bag have been tucked away in the closet where my superstitious husband can pretend they aren't there. He also doesn't know that I've been secretly adding sweet little baby clothes to the stash. How could it possibly be bad luck to stumble across the cutest little knitted sweaters at 75% off, right?

17w5d

I just got a raise at work, so I decided to make today Treat Yo Self Day!

Since mimosas are out for obvious reasons, and I'm all set in the fine leather goods department, it was time for a prenatal massage. I'm pretty loyal to Bliss Soho, not because the massages are anything spectacular, but because the whole experience is so relaxing. I always get there early so I can stake out a good spot in the relaxation lounge, snuggle into my comfy oversized robe, sip peppermint tea and leaf through the latest copy of Self. And after the treatment, the sauna and rainfall showers are pretty dope, too. It's best to go on a weekday, when you have the place pretty much to yourself and you don't have to be embarrassed about slathering on every product in the ladies' locker room twice. (Hey, that body lotion is expensive! I'd fill my pockets up with it if I could.)

But today, the prenatal massage was the star of the show. I was worried I'd have to lay on one side for most of it, but they had this magical set up with pillows everywhere, and after some scooching around to get my baby belly in the proper position, I was in heaven. It's unreal how good it feels to lay on your stomach after not being able to for a month or so! Then when it comes time to flip over, they raise the upper part of the bed so that you're not flat on your back. Between the warm, fuzzy blankets, the sweet-smelling baby oil they rub you down with and the super talented masseuse (who did this crazy stretching and flexing thing with my legs that made my eyes roll back in my head - like someone doing yoga for you) I was really in absolute bliss. No pun intended.

It wasn't cheap, so I know I won't be able to go back as frequently as I'd like (i.e., daily) but I definitely want to get back there at least one more time during this pregnancy. I've been feeling really achy and mis-aligned lately, and I feel absolutely wonderful right now! I hope it lasts. :)

Hello, sixteen weeks and three days!

Currently hanging out in my obstetrician's waiting room, doing my three hour blood glucose test. What I wouldn't give for a ham sandwich right now! Later this afternoon we'll get to hear the baby's heartbeat again. I'm a teeny bit nervous but mostly super excited.

And now that we know it's a boy, I think we have a name: Leo! It's my great-grandfather's name, and I think it's awesome.