Ode to the Woombie

What's the value of a full night's sleep?  Can you put a price tag on sanity, you ask?  Well, I'm here to tell you- YES- yes, you can put a price tag on it.   I'm happy to announce that for me, the cost was a mere $28.95 (plus shipping and handling).   Don't be fooled by appearance.  Your sweet little baby might look as though they are imitating a Jimmy Dean sausage roll, but it will guarantee you at least one REM cycle, heck maybe even two.  I had pretty much decided that I would be willing to dress Ella up as Hannah Montana if it meant that I could sleep longer than 3 hours at a time.  Luckily, I was able to put away the blonde wig and sequins for another time....and instead, found this cocoon of cotton, polyester and lycra.  It's designed to keep baby snug and secure while still giving them the ability to move their arms and legs inside the sack, much like the way they are in Mommy's belly (hence, the name "Woombie.")  The typical swaddle blanket, when used correctly, can work pretty well and will help to pin their arms down, but inevitably, they will get big enough and strong enough to break out of their swaddle and startle themselves awake.  So, as fun as it was for me to hop in and out of bed ever 25 minutes to re-swaddle Ella and shush her back to sleep, I knew there had to be a better way.  I'm *overjoyed* to report that the first night she slept in her Woombie, she went for 7 hours straight.  Seven hours!  I woke up that morning and looked over to see my clock say 5:33 am and I almost wet my bed in excitement.  The next night, she went for 8 hours.  The night after that- and every consecutive night since- she has gone at least a 9 hour stretch.  Last night, we put her down to bed at 9:45 and she slept until 8:30 this morning.  *Nirvana, I tell you.*

I'm sold.  I will buy this for every friend of mine who gets pregnant from here on out.  If the $650 I paid for my epidural was the best money I ever spent pre-baby (and it was), the $32-odd dollars that I paid for this sweet sack of sanity is the best money I've ever spent post-baby.  Such a small, seemingly insignificant article of clothing that I credit with restoring some normalcy into my crazy, overtired, hormonal life as a new mommy...

Finally...the birth story!

Our little Junebug is here!  Okay, well technically, she's been here for 5 weeks now.  But getting this post up got lost somewhere between diaper changes, 2 am feedings (and then again at 5, and again at 8...), too many loads of laundry and too few hours of sleep.  Then of course, there are those moments of just watching her sleep...and those moments turn into an hour, maybe even two. Those are the times when I *could* be catching up on some cleaning, writing the ever-growing heap of thank you notes or even taking a nap (a big HAH to that).  But I just want to sit and look at her.  Try to stop the time from passing so quickly.  Try to memorize all of her sweet little features because I know that tomorrow will bring even more changes.  She's changed so much already, it kinda makes my heart break a little....*sigh*

So here's the long and short of her birth story...(and since I'm stealing a few precious minutes while Ella is sleeping, this will more than likely be the "short" of it).

She took her sweet time getting here- the stats: born at 41 weeks on June 13, 2009- 7:49 pm, weighing 6 lbs 15 oz and 20 inches long.  Someday I will write the entire birth story- perhaps in another post, but judging by the pace of the last 5 weeks I might be lucky to have it finished sometime before her fifth birthday.   My labor lasted for a good 5 days before it was finally the *real deal.*  Yes, I said 5 days.  Yes, they were the longest and most trying 5 days of my life (or so I thought, until we were home and Jake was back at work and my mom had gone back to MI.  Those days were altogether a different kind of "long" and "trying," to say the very least...)  I was one of the unlucky few who had the prodromal labor- basically a fancy term for early labor that starts and stops irregularly with contractions that come close together and that are quite painful at times, but that don't really change the cervix, so most doctors and hospitals will send you back home to continue to wait.  If I had a nickel for the number of times I uttered the words "this is it!!" or pulled out my iPhone to time the contractions on the handy "Contraction Master" app, I would be a rich woman.  I still believe this was Ella's way of preparing her Mommy to realize that life was truly not about me anymore- and will never be again, for that matter. 

When I had my bloody show late Friday night- after labor that started the previous Tuesday- I knew it would be soon and was more than ready to get to the hospital.  We ended up arriving at the hospital early that Saturday morning (but only after stopping at McDonald's so Jake could get breakfast, because we all know the reputation hospital food carries.  But for the record, I passed on the bacon-egg and cheese biscuit, lest it should make a second appearance during labor).  Once we were settled in our room, the doctor came in after I was checked (and it was definite that they were not sending me home this time) and broke my water.  OMG, *ouch.*  I think I gripped the bed railing so hard that I left an indentation.  After that, Jake was too scared to hold my hand for the duration of the labor. (j/k). Next came a dose of stadol, which I was told would "take the edge off" but only served to make me talk out my ass about stupid things and feel nauseous if I opened my eyes the tiniest bit.  Finally, I got the blessed epidural by 1 pm and life was good after that.  Well, "good" in that I felt no pain whatsoever.  However, things didn't go *quite* how I pictured in my head from that point on...

They had determined some time earlier that she was sunny side up with her face looking up instead of at my back.  Because of this, she never dropped into my pelvis, therefore, I didn't progress past 5 cm and 80% effaced....and therefore, the doctor came in around 6 pm that day and said, "I think the writing's on the wall and we may need to proceed with a c-section."  

Done.  

I was exhausted, not to mention STARVING (can I truthfully say that food was probably the number one driving force behind my decision to agree to a section so quickly?  Well, that- and of course, getting to finally meet my baby).  So Jake got changed into the cute blue scrubs complete with matching mask and shower cap and I got topped off with another dose of "heaven-in-a-spinal-tap" and they wheeled me into the OR at 7:28 pm.  Twenty-one minutes later, I heard the most beautiful sound as they pulled her out and she cried for the first time.  

She is probably the most amazing little person I've ever seen (of course, I realize I'm extremely biased), but I look at her and can't imagine that I had anything to do with this little miracle.  She's got her Daddy's nose, my eyes (although they're still blue and look like they may stay that way) and perfectly shaped lips. *Look out Angelina.*  I remember the first time the nurses brought her to me in the middle of the night, only a few hours after my c-section.  I had already been allowed to hold her and bond with her a few hours prior while in recovery, but at that point, I was still heavily drugged and shaking like a fool, so it wasn't the optimum situation.  They wheeled her into my room a few hours later and I was awoken from my drug-induced sleep to hear the nurse say, "Hey Momma, your baby girl is ready to eat again." And then the reality started to hit: Oh my God, I have a daughter.  It wasn't a dream...she's outside in the real world now.  So there I laid in that dimly-lit hospital room, still half-numb from the waist down and with only a little ginger-ale on my stomach to quell the nausea, but none of the discomfort seemed to matter.  I held her with those unsteady arms that scream "new Mommy" and studied every tiny little feature, and just gazed at her and for those few precious minutes, time seemed to freeze.  Ironically now, I can't get the time to stop.  She's changing every day and now I will officially join Moms everywhere who can only comment that this is all going  too, too fast. 

More to come...(when she takes another long nap :-) ) 

40 weeks!!

So this is a picture of a baby at 40 weeks gestation, or more simply, what Junebug and I look like right now (except my boobs may not be *quite* that perky).   A few things come to mind as I scan this picture.  Never mind the fact that until now, I had no idea that I even have something called a "pelvic colon," but apparently there exists such a thing.  And take a look at the poor bladder.   No wonder I'm up 4 times during the night to pee. What's even more disappointing is the "amount" of pee that comes out- I sit down and wait for the deluge, only to have a few droplets echo in the toilet.  So very disappointing but now I see why. 

Perhaps the most disturbing thing to me is the massive size of the head, especially when compared to the ittybitty-ness of the cervix and vaginal canal.  And while we're on the topic of the word "canal," I'd like to say how misleading I find it for doctors and medical personnel to refer to this incredibly narrow passageway as a "canal."  I mean, come on people.  When I hear the word canal, I think of a large body of water capable of allowing barges and ships to pass through unaffected.  THAT is a canal.  What's pictured above is about the diameter of a McDonald's plastic straw.   I understand that psychologically, it's probably not a good idea to envision this part of my body as plastic and unmoving....but for all intents and purposes, it's a TUBE, not a "canal."  A tube that will remarkably allow a 13+ centimeter head to come through.  *And this would be exactly why I'm getting an epidural, thank you.*

So here I sit, 2 days shy of the due date (which I know is nothing more than an educated "guess date") nevertheless, I have the overwhelming feeling that my turkey timer is done and this kid is well cooked.  Right now, this little Bug is doing nothing more than taking up space, head-butting my cervix and bladder, and adding on weight that will inevitably make it harder for me to push out.  I wait for a sign- any sign- that labor is about to start.  Was that a cramp?  Could that be a contraction?  Was that gush of fluid leftover pee or amniotic fluid?  I swear, I never thought I would get excited over feeling period cramps.  I have never run to the bathroom to check my underwear with such enthusiasm for remnants of a mucus plug.  (I'm now beginning to think that I have a phantom one).  And this is the only time in my life I can honestly say I would love to feel warm fluid run down my legs because it would mean my water has broken and could care less if it happens in public where people assume I've peed myself.  (Although maybe I would get off easy and my belly would be a clue that I haven't simply lost all bladder control).   The whole time I'm waiting to feel pain, I'm very much aware that I have absolutely *no* clue what I'm in for.  This is supposedly the worst pain I'll ever experience in my life.  But it's also something my body knows how to do and is equipped to do, so I'm allowing myself to focus on that instead.  As my doctor has said, it's pain with a purpose.  This is not the same scenario as lying in bed for a week with the flu, feeling close to death and almost wishing it upon yourself, only to recover and then say "hey, I had the flu last week."  

I get to hold a baby- our baby- at the end of all of this.  And that's the best reason ever to feel pain. :-)

Fun ways to pass the time at 38 weeks....*tick-tock*

I've obviously slacked off on the blogging lately.  However, since I'm not making much progress according to my doctor (only 25% effaced and not dilating), am no longer working and therefore essentially sitting around twiddling my thumbs in an effort to pass the time, I intend to post as much as I can until this kid decides to make their appearance.  I've also come up with a few other fun things I intend to do in the meantime until "it's time!"

1. Count the dimples of cellulite on my thighs and ass.  This will probably take a good 2 hours, depending on the angle.  I believe that my right thigh and ass cheek have a few more than my left...

2. Scoot myself around our house on my yoga ball.  It's quite comfy actually.  I'm currently trying to figure out how I might be able to roll myself around the neighborhood with Poco when we go for walks.  

3. Rock climbing and/or spelunking.  Because what's more impressive than a big pregnant woman impersonating Spiderman, right? I'm just not sure there are many good spots in Richmond...

4. Figuring out how many different ways to eat a double stuff oreo.  First and foremost, it has to be double stuff- I don't mess with the weird hybrid oreos (mint, cappuccino, peanut butter).  Just give me the plain old fashioned oreo and glass of skim milk.  As for how many ways to eat it, I lost track after the 9th one...guess that means I'll have to start over later this afternoon. *darn*

5. Counting the diapers in the mega box of Pampers I bought. Just to make sure there are, in fact, 216 of them in there.  After that, there are the mega packs of 384 wipes to go through as well.

6. Squeezing and fondling my nipples (and yes, I make sure to practice some self restraint in public).  I've found this to be both fascinating and somewhat painful.  If nothing else, some interesting stuff will come oozing out (*yay- my body works!*).  But supposedly, alternating 15 minutes on each side once an hour releases the hormone oxytocin, which induces uterine contractions.  And I figure, if it doesn't have the desired effect, it will probably at least get my husband interested....which can lead to another fun way to pass the time...

7.  Shaving my legs and "downstairs" region.  Due to the sheer size of my belly, I end up looking like a blind person reading Braille, as I take my razor and feel around to make sure I'm not leaving any patches.  Likewise, I also can't see if I've nicked anything or am bleeding anywhere either, so I guess it's just as well...if things get really slow around here, I'll work on creating a fun design for my OB to find at my next internal.

8. Going to the grocery store and getting revenge....by asking overly curious, stupid or borderline rude shoppers if they would like to strap on a couple sacks of potatoes to wear throughout the duration of their shopping trip and see how they like it. If this doesn't get the message across,  perhaps I'll take a broom stick and mimic baby's kicks by poking them repeatedly in the stomach and back...

9. Writing/editing a series of poems dedicated to my cervix and vajayjay to further encourage their cooperation in project "baby eviction."

10. Going for a pedicure.  I figure if my feet are going to be up in stirrups just any day now, they might as well look cute (since nothing else down there will and all sense of modesty will be lost by then).   Plus, have you seen a 9 1/2 month pregnant woman try to paint her own toenails?  *pathetic*

11.  SLEEP.  Hit the snooze button eleven times before getting out of bed, doze off on the couch after lunch while watching something uninteresting on TV, go to bed at a decent hour and set the alarm for 2 a.m. so that when it goes off, I can remind myself that I don't have a baby to breastfeed *yet.*  Roll over and go back to sleep.  Repeat. :-)

Now off to work on #4 or #11....or perhaps both....

You Know You're 9 Months Pregnant When...

I think it's high time that I write another post. *oops*  Where has the time gone?

I'm officially counting down the days.  That's right.  I'm 11 days from full term, which means I am basically a month from my due date.  *Sweet grandmother's spatula.*  Where has the time gone?  I mean, there were plenty of instances where it certainly felt that time could not go any slower.  First it was the dog-tired days of the first trimester and the waves of incessant nausea when my only countdown was to the golden gates of the second trimester.  Then there was the countdown to the halfway mark of 20 weeks and the "big" ultrasound where most couples will find out if they need to start buying pink or blue.  The next big milestone is viability at 24 weeks, and right around the corner from that is the countdown to the third trimester with it's aches, pains, sleepless nights and flashbacks of fatigue and nausea from the first trimester.  But at that point, you don't care so much.  (Probably because you're too damn tired to care).  You know you're nearing the end of the pregnancy and can manage a few more weeks of discomfort because your eyes are on the prize ahead.  So in honor of officially reaching the 9 month mark (well, in my case, being 3 days short of the 9 month mark), I am dedicating this post to all the joys that go hand in hand with being this pregnant.

And for those of you who are confused about the actual length of pregnancy and think that 9 months means "it's time!!!" I hate to break it to you- really I do, but in fact, we women are lucky enough to have another month tacked on for a grand total of 10 months.  40 weeks = 10 months, but if you are counting lunar months or something weird like that, then it does end up being 9 "lunar" months.  I don't do math and it makes my brain hurt, so moving forward...

You know you are 9 months pregnant when...

1. You drop something on the floor and just stare at it, hoping it will pick up itself because if you DO bend down to get it, one of three things will happen: 

a) You will fart....and this is not the girly fart of days gone by- this is the loud, clear-out-the-room with one whiff type.  If you still have a sense of modesty, you may hesitate to bend down if other people are present.  Otherwise, you've probably reached a point where you could truly give a rat's ass whether anyone hears you or smells you anymore.

b) You will end up like a turtle who's been turned over on it's back- legs and arms flailing about as you try to right yourself and get up again.

c) The baby's head might actually pop out, as you are already feeling some intense pressure from where it has already dropped in your pelvis and before you know it, you will be featured on one of those dramatic baby delivery shows:  "It all started when I bent down to pick up a blueberry..."

2.  You have all but taken your pillow and blanket into the bathroom with you at night, convinced that you can get a better night's sleep sitting propped up on the toilet and at least this way, you do not have to grunt your way in and out of bed an average of 4 times before the sun even comes up.

3.  You're two primary reactions to outside stimuli (TV shows, commercials, strangers with no filters,  husbands who mean well but are unaware of raging hormones) are either to cry or utter the words "bite me."  Both may make you feel better momentarily, but the urge will return shortly- I promise.

4.  You haven't seen your hooha in several weeks (at best) but you are now more aware of its presence than ever before, as it feels as though it's hanging somewhere down between your knees.  And don't even bother picking up a razor to keep things looking tidy since there's no way to really "see" what you're doing down there.  The vajay has taken enough abuse over the last several months without looking as if Edward Scissorhands went to town on it.

5.  You silently pray you don't pee your pants when you feel a sneeze coming on.  You actually throw in a couple of "Hail Mary's" if you happen to be out in public.

6.  You can use your bump as a nice table or "eating shelf" for convenient snacks like crackers, M&M's,  grapes, etc.  If only your tongue was long enough, you could just lap up your treats like a dog and not even have to use your arms.

7.  People no longer make eye contact with you when you're out shopping but continue to stare a hole straight into your navel as if they're expecting the baby to fall out of you at any given moment.  (Refer to # 3)

8.  You're hips feel like they're being held together by a swizzle stick causing you to waddle instead of walk, you can identify the individual ingredients in the food you consumed four hours ago because some of them continue to come back up when you burp, your tail bone feels as if it's been ruthlessly dragged up and down a flight of concrete steps, you have Braxton Hicks contractions that squeeze your belly so tightly that you momentarily lose your breath,  your toes resemble vienna sausages and if you're lucky enough, your hands and feet will swell up to boot....

yet you get excited upon feeling any type of pain or pressure that *might* be the beginning of labor.  You think "YES! I'm feeling pain!" and will proceed to drop whatever it is that you were doing, put on your shoes and walk (read: waddle) a mile and half around your neighborhood or bounce up and down on an exercise ball to see if you can bring about even more pain...because it is, in fact, time to get this show on the road.   

Put the gun down and back away (Getting trigger happy at Babies R Us)

There is nothing that will evoke fear out of a grown man faster than when his bride-to-be or wife-with-child says, "honey, we need to register."  *Dun-dun-DUNNN*  Upon remember the painfully long 2 hours Jake and I spent at Bed Bath and Beyond to complete our wedding registry, I vowed that I would never do that to him- or myself- ever again.  So when it came time to register for all things baby, I took it upon myself to get the job done.  After all, he wasn't ever going to have an opinion on what color nursing pillow I register for.  And what does he care what kind of nipple we use?  In fact, when I found myself standing n front of the "wall o' nipples" at our local Babies R Us, I started to wonder what do I really care about what kind of nipple goes on our bottles? Nipples are nipples, right?

Wrong.  So wrong.  I have never heard a person talk about these little rubber sucking devices with such fervency as the sales associate did that day.  Holy mother of God.  Apparently it does matter, and there is in fact, something called nipple confusion.  So what did I do?  I got trigger happy.  I scanned anything and everything that looked like it might be "Top Rated" or "The Safest" or "BPA free" or "Less Colic."  I am convinced now more than ever that in America, we are paralyzed by options.  Go down the freakin' toothpaste aisle at your local Target and you'll see what I mean.  And if you think that's bad, go look at nipples at Babies R Us.  It's truly eye opening.

I realized that I had neither the time, energy or comfortable shoes to spend an hour in each aisle over analyzing baby products.  Luckily, I had done some online research of certain baby products and gear ahead of time, so I was able to move rather quickly through the process.  The bigger items like the travel system, pack-n-play and swing were checked off quickly as I had already determined which styles I wanted.  Surprisingly, the smaller items like bibs, washcloths and hooded towels proved to be more time consuming.  All the while, I'm thinking, they're going to get bodily fluids on them, why should I care so much whether they start off being mod or retro inspired?  However, registering for gender neutral items is not as easy as it might have once been, and I was constantly checking myself to make sure my choices didn't provide any clues as to baby's gender.  By the time I made it to toys, I was randomly scanning bugs that played musical tunes, farm animals with mirrors and shapes affixed to their bodies and anything else that looked worthy of drool and baby teeth marks.  It didn't matter.  Check and check.  

I have no idea what shape my registry is in right now and have only gone online since then just to make sure there were no duplicates of anything.  I walked out of Babies R Us that day and had no inclination whatsoever to look back.  I spent a relatively short amount of time with the scan gun, but this is not to say that I didn't put some thought into a lot of the selections.  It's just that at some point insanity encroaches, you find yourself wanting a chocolate chip bagel from the Panera next door and your feet are screaming obscenities at you.  When all is said and done, you leave with a whopping 157 things on your registry and think how the hell did that happen? 

I didn't look closely enough, but I'm guessing that at least 38 of those 157 items are nipples...

"Baby Got Back" (pain)

For the record, I've got more than enough "back" these days...I'm just not "little in the middle" anymore.

I sincerely believe my body is staging a coupe once this baby is in the outside world.  It is going to take back all that once rightfully belonged to it.  My pelvis will no longer be floating, and my hips will decide that they want to fit into my size 4-6 jeans again.  My legs will stop resembling Redwood tree stumps, complete with bulging veins and cellulite that could make an orange peel look smooth. I will have a waist again- perhaps with some extra skin and flab to tone up, but Pilates will take care of that.  I will no longer have the telltale "pregnant face" that leaves people wondering, "is that swelling or does she just like to treat herself to Dairy Queen every night?" (And the answer to the latter is no....I only have it about once a week).  And I will have my back back.  

There are some days when it simply does not matter what position I sit or lie in, how much prenatal yoga I have done or how much I plead with Junebug to please move to a different position, my back just hurts.  I was able to alleviate some of the lower back pain by sadly packing away my heels *sniff-sniff* for the Summer.  I now wear flats, but mostly flip flops (regardless if the weather is 40 degrees).  The pain from my lower back, however, began to radiate up to the middle of my back- almost between the shoulder blades.  I know my ribs have been spreading, which I'm sure doesn't help, but I was also told by my doctor that the pain I was feeling was due to my posture and overcompensating as my belly grows and shifts my weight from the back to the front.  That's good to know, considering he has a uterus and has done this before.  I love my doctor, really I do.  But I also love that doctors will tell you why something hurts, and then stop there, as if that in and of itself is enough to make the patient feel better.  It's not like I was going to hop up from the examining table, all cheers, and immediately be able to correct my posture.  Believe me, I've tried "sucking it in."  It takes me from looking 8 months pregnant to about 7 1/2.  At this stage in the pregnancy, nothing short of crawling out of the exam room on all fours would have helped the pain (and for a split second, I considered it, but more because I thought it would just be funny to see peoples' looks).  I guess that was just his kind way of saying, "I'm sorry your in pain, but your sh**t out of luck."  I found this has been a recurring theme when you're pregnant...

Driving is the absolute worst.  Just sitting in the car is bad enough as a passenger, but lately I'm the one driving because I find I'm still pretty sensitive to motion sickness, even this late in the game.  I figure I'd rather have my back kill me, than have my back kill me and be nauseous.  If Jake is with me, no more than 15 minutes will go by before I'm begging him to please rub my back as I hunch over the steering wheel (as much as I can "hunch" these days).   Some days I open my car door and I'm just not sure I have it in me to hoist myself up and out onto the pavement...so instead, I stare out at the open air and sort of "will" myself to levitate out of the car.  I used to laugh and poke fun at those commercials with the old people riding around on their motorized "Little Rascals" or whatever the hell those things are called.   That has never sounded more appealing to me.  I have all but considered taking a few items of baby gear off of my registry and replacing it with one of those....I wonder if people would notice?  

I'm not the kind of person who likes to ask for help but getting to this stage of pregnancy has required me to do so at times, and I'm having to learn to be okay with it.  Preggo sympathy is not an entirely bad thing, after all.  Generally, people have offered to help me without me having to ask: loading and taking my groceries to the car, letting me go in front of them in line at a store or fast food restaurant (maybe I look that hungry?) and overall just seeming to pay special attention.  It's really not all that bad.  I just hate feeling like an invalid and have to come to terms with my own limitations on a daily basis.  I cannot clean the entire house in one afternoon like I used to or move slightly heavier objects and I can expect to be out of breath if I try to.   I can't shop for baby clothes and other fun items with the same gusto and enthusiasm that I used to and there needs to be a comfy bench or chair nearby.  After 2 Easter services, a big family lunch and too much time in the car on Sunday, I was in tears at the end of the day as Jake worked out the knots and kinks in my back.  My lesson: I can still function with achy feet, throbbing varicose veins, heck- even small bouts of nausea and heartburn, but my back will not negotiate.  So I may be shuffling around for the next 6 weeks, but I'm trying to look on the bright side.  At least I'm not shuffling around and wearing a muumuu.