I will start by saying I am exhausted. It's 11:04 p.m. and I don't know how that happened. I'm watching Juliette in the monitor right next to my laptop and, mentally, I am in bed right next to her. As soon as I finish writing this, I will join her. If I start undressing on my way up the stairs, it will take me less than 90 seconds until my head is on the pillow. Ahh..sweet, sweet sleep. (Ignoring the fact that my daughter thinks I am a cat and should just lay there all night with all my nipples available to her whenever she wants them. Good thing she's frigging adorable.)
Before bed, however, I just wanted to quickly say that women rule. We really do. When we band together over something and choose to support one another and help one another (instead of tearing one another down or judging each other), it is awesome.
Since becoming pregnant, I have joined more "groups" than I have ever belonged to in all my 34 (I mean, 29) years. Some were 'pregnancy groups' with women due around the same time as me. Some are 'single momma' groups with women who obviously have something in common with me. And others are just 'mom' groups based on other common beliefs or traits. I love them all. Complete strangers have made me laugh, cry, and feel stronger than I ever imagined over the last 15 months. These women, most of whom I never have met, have been my go-to support system; whether I ask a quick question from the aisle of a grocery store about which vitamins to purchase, or if I pour my heart out about my world caving in around me before a day in family court, these women are there for me. No questions asked. No judgment. They just respond. They respond with opinions and stories and their experiences - their worlds and hearts and lives are open to me. It's pretty amazing.
I have learned from these women, these fellow moms, in a risk-free environment. I have tried things I never would have tried and I have become, already, a better mother. Not necessarily because I learned how (and why) to make my own baby food, or because I know I wear my baby the right way, or because I deal better with F - but because they have built me up as a person. As a woman. As a mother. They have opened my eyes to things I didn't know. They have given me choices and research and experiences to back things up. They have built up my confidence so that I can easily handle the "other" people out there with their looks and questions and judgments. ("Oh, you're going to breastfeed right there? In public?" or "Formula and jarred baby food never killed anyone." Or another favorite, "Why don't you let her cry it out?! She'll never learn.")
I would suggest to those "other" people, by the way, to join their own groups. Maybe they'd be happier, more confident in their own ways and less inclined to tear down others. But to women everywhere, I encourage you all to remember that we are a group - we are females. And we must, must, must help one another and build each other up. Many women whom I have never met have made a lasting impact on my life and therefore on my daughter's life - I'm sending a big THANK YOU to all of them right now on both of our behalves.
Love,
Momeo and Juliette
XOXO
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
My Birthing Story Part II
[*DISCLAIMER* I am very open and honest about MY birthing story. And that is all it is - mine. Every single person's story is different and I hear it is very different for each child as well. If you don't want to be...disturbed...by my opinion, read no further and just know that giving birth is "a miracle."]
So in went the Cervidil.... (That hurt) and out went the lights. As if I could sleep. My mom was with me, my father stopped up and both of my sister's were there. Eventually, everyone but my mother left to go home and get some sleep before all the action began. I finally tried to sleep as well and must have fallen off, expecting to wake up a few times during the night before the 10 a.m. check.
But then 1 a.m. happened. My mom was sleeping in a chair in the room and I woke up uncomfortable. I was having some contractions (I guessed that's what they were) and so I woke her to tell her. She said "ok, try to sleep for a bit more" and went back to sleep. Great. The nurse checked me at 1 a.m. and said my cervix was completely thinned and I was contracting. Good news: she could remove the Cervidil. Bad news: that frigging hurt. Big time. She was literally in there digging around for it, saying things like, "I can feel it. I just can't...quite...get it." She said "sorry" a lot. I wanted to kick her in the face. Meanwhile, I am contracting through all of this removal. I swear the Cervidil was the size of a baby - it must have been. She hurt me. She was super nice, but she hurt me.
From 1 a.m. until about 4 a.m., I kept having contractions and they were becoming increasingly uncomfortable. I was doing the breathing I learned in my birthing class but my contractions weren't following the rules as nicely. They are supposed to come every few minutes with a break in between. Contraction comes - you breathe - contraction ends - all is wonderful and you prepare for the next cycle. But not so much. I would have a contraction, breathe through it, it would go down and then - immediately - another one would start. Sometimes it was two back-to-back, sometimes three. But it threw me off my game! How could I breathe, telling myself I'd get a break in just one minute, when I wasn't getting the damned break?! Damn rule-breaking contractions. At some point before 6 a.m. I was checked again (that hurts) and was at 3 cm. Progress. Good. I think.
At about 6 a.m. the labor and delivery nurse that I knew (Carolyn) came in and took over. She said, "I'm just going to check you." But that meant I had to move. So I said no. She said she had to. I said no. Her and my mom bullied me into trying. I got into position and then had a contractions. Carolyn said (watching the monitor), "It's coming down, Elizabeth and as soon as it ends, I am going to check." I informed her that no - she was not going to because another one was going to come right away. I knew it. She tried, I refused. Sorry, Carolyn, nothing personal but when I was having contractions, I was actively trying not to die and that takes all my concentration. I can't also worry about cooperating with you. My negotiations was, "If you give me Demerol, then you can check me." She agreed and gave it to me intravenously. (Mind you, I went into labor saying I did not want any pain meds, besides the epidural. However, a woman has a right to change her mind!)
The Demerol helped in the sense that I then had an out-of-body experience. Don't laugh - it really happened. One minute, I was still actively trying not to die. The next minute, I snapped back into reality and felt the pain. But time had passed in between there and I knew it was "painless" time so the moment I came back, I was all, "Ugh - I want to go back to wherever the hell I just was!!"
Well, turns out, when I was finally drugged up enough to allow Carolyn to check me, I was very far along. She didn't tell me the number but I think that was because it probably would have been past the point of getting me the epidural I had been asking for since I hit 30 weeks in my pregnancy and so she may have fudged my progress to the anesthesiologist. I love Carolyn. Then, it was all a rush. A frantic call to the anesthesiologist, everyone looking for the doctor - I knew things were happening around me. But I was in my own world, trying to breathe, trying not to die, trying to listen to what Carolyn said because I knew enough to know that I was no longer in control. She talked me through the epidural. That was one of the things I was most frightened of while being pregnant - getting the epi. But I tell you my lips to God's ears, if the doctor would have told me it had to be inserted into my retina, I would have held my eye open for him. I was in so much pain that it didn't faze me in the least. I laid back down, telling Carolyn that my body was pushing (I wasn't. My body was.) and waited for the sweet relief that is supposed to be an epidural.
Never came. I immediately started pushing. I told Carolyn that I still felt pain - a lot of it. I explained the triangle-of-hell on my lower left side right by my pelvis; I felt every contraction there. Every one. She explained that they "missed a spot" with the epi but they did not have time to re-do it as I was already pushing. Great. Just great. Who the EFF "misses a spot" with something so important? Seriously - remind me to thank him later.
I then pushed for about three hours. Or that's what they all tell me at least. I remember every contraction, every "take a breath in and PUSH, Elizabeth," every wave of nausea - but I had no sense of time. None. I used to hear stories of women who were in labor for 9 hours, or 12 or 24. But time wasn't really the issue for me - I didn't feel time. I felt the intense damn contractions and then the overwhelming NEED to push. It's a need, not a want. They told me "the head is right there" for what felt like 6 hours. Then they said, "the head is coming" for another 2. My mom and my sister took turns holding my hand or my leg or my whatever and watching "the show" down below. At that point, I didn't care who was in the room or what they saw. I was trying to not die - that takes up pretty much all of your concentration.
Finally, I felt the head. Or what I actually felt was a watermelon trapped inside my damned vagina, which would NOT just open and cooperate. I felt Carolyn "helping" my vagina, but to no avail. The watermelon was stuck. As it so happens, the watermelon was also on fire because it was BURNING down there. Burning. I asked how much longer and the doctor said, "that's really up to you." I took that as a challenge. I wanted that damned burning watermelon OUT. So I pushed like I no longer cared - didn't care if I pooped (also something I thought I would care about. Turns out? Not my problem in that moment), didn't care if I vomited (I didn't), didn't care if I passed out, I honestly didn't care if I died. As long as I beat the watermelon first. So I pushed and pushed and finally....I felt it. I also heard it. (They don't tell you that part anywhere - birth has sounds. They do not need to be described. I will let you discover your own sounds when you give birth.) I won. The watermelon broke through. The fire was out. I then felt (and heard!) a slimy alien being quickly slipped out - once the head is out, I will deliver a baby any day, by the way. So if you can get that far, I will gladly take over. Cake.
My sister said, "They don't know what the baby is..." because, of course, the gender was a surprise. And here was my favorite part: My mother was standing to my left and I knew it was a girl by the look on her face. All I had to do was watch her watch the baby. Then she made eye contact with me and her face was the definition of "lit up." I started crying right away. "It's a girl...?" I asked, but I already knew. She mouthed, "it's a GIRL!" I could have died in that moment and been happy. I swear. It sounds so ridiculous, but after all of that - all of the pain and the work and the sweat and the sounds and the energy - and you did it? You actually did it? I could have died.
My baby looked like Aunt Jemima when they handed her to me. Swear. I was like, "Where did this baby come from?" But God, I loved her. It wasn't "instantly" like some people say because that implies I hadn't loved her until that moment. I think it was more of a realization - I realized how much I already loved this little peanut chew the whole time. She was mine. I was hers. And so, that's how I became a momma. Worst damn experience of my life, but best damn day.
Love,
Momma and Juliette
XOXO
So in went the Cervidil.... (That hurt) and out went the lights. As if I could sleep. My mom was with me, my father stopped up and both of my sister's were there. Eventually, everyone but my mother left to go home and get some sleep before all the action began. I finally tried to sleep as well and must have fallen off, expecting to wake up a few times during the night before the 10 a.m. check.
But then 1 a.m. happened. My mom was sleeping in a chair in the room and I woke up uncomfortable. I was having some contractions (I guessed that's what they were) and so I woke her to tell her. She said "ok, try to sleep for a bit more" and went back to sleep. Great. The nurse checked me at 1 a.m. and said my cervix was completely thinned and I was contracting. Good news: she could remove the Cervidil. Bad news: that frigging hurt. Big time. She was literally in there digging around for it, saying things like, "I can feel it. I just can't...quite...get it." She said "sorry" a lot. I wanted to kick her in the face. Meanwhile, I am contracting through all of this removal. I swear the Cervidil was the size of a baby - it must have been. She hurt me. She was super nice, but she hurt me.
From 1 a.m. until about 4 a.m., I kept having contractions and they were becoming increasingly uncomfortable. I was doing the breathing I learned in my birthing class but my contractions weren't following the rules as nicely. They are supposed to come every few minutes with a break in between. Contraction comes - you breathe - contraction ends - all is wonderful and you prepare for the next cycle. But not so much. I would have a contraction, breathe through it, it would go down and then - immediately - another one would start. Sometimes it was two back-to-back, sometimes three. But it threw me off my game! How could I breathe, telling myself I'd get a break in just one minute, when I wasn't getting the damned break?! Damn rule-breaking contractions. At some point before 6 a.m. I was checked again (that hurts) and was at 3 cm. Progress. Good. I think.
At about 6 a.m. the labor and delivery nurse that I knew (Carolyn) came in and took over. She said, "I'm just going to check you." But that meant I had to move. So I said no. She said she had to. I said no. Her and my mom bullied me into trying. I got into position and then had a contractions. Carolyn said (watching the monitor), "It's coming down, Elizabeth and as soon as it ends, I am going to check." I informed her that no - she was not going to because another one was going to come right away. I knew it. She tried, I refused. Sorry, Carolyn, nothing personal but when I was having contractions, I was actively trying not to die and that takes all my concentration. I can't also worry about cooperating with you. My negotiations was, "If you give me Demerol, then you can check me." She agreed and gave it to me intravenously. (Mind you, I went into labor saying I did not want any pain meds, besides the epidural. However, a woman has a right to change her mind!)
The Demerol helped in the sense that I then had an out-of-body experience. Don't laugh - it really happened. One minute, I was still actively trying not to die. The next minute, I snapped back into reality and felt the pain. But time had passed in between there and I knew it was "painless" time so the moment I came back, I was all, "Ugh - I want to go back to wherever the hell I just was!!"
Well, turns out, when I was finally drugged up enough to allow Carolyn to check me, I was very far along. She didn't tell me the number but I think that was because it probably would have been past the point of getting me the epidural I had been asking for since I hit 30 weeks in my pregnancy and so she may have fudged my progress to the anesthesiologist. I love Carolyn. Then, it was all a rush. A frantic call to the anesthesiologist, everyone looking for the doctor - I knew things were happening around me. But I was in my own world, trying to breathe, trying not to die, trying to listen to what Carolyn said because I knew enough to know that I was no longer in control. She talked me through the epidural. That was one of the things I was most frightened of while being pregnant - getting the epi. But I tell you my lips to God's ears, if the doctor would have told me it had to be inserted into my retina, I would have held my eye open for him. I was in so much pain that it didn't faze me in the least. I laid back down, telling Carolyn that my body was pushing (I wasn't. My body was.) and waited for the sweet relief that is supposed to be an epidural.
Never came. I immediately started pushing. I told Carolyn that I still felt pain - a lot of it. I explained the triangle-of-hell on my lower left side right by my pelvis; I felt every contraction there. Every one. She explained that they "missed a spot" with the epi but they did not have time to re-do it as I was already pushing. Great. Just great. Who the EFF "misses a spot" with something so important? Seriously - remind me to thank him later.
I then pushed for about three hours. Or that's what they all tell me at least. I remember every contraction, every "take a breath in and PUSH, Elizabeth," every wave of nausea - but I had no sense of time. None. I used to hear stories of women who were in labor for 9 hours, or 12 or 24. But time wasn't really the issue for me - I didn't feel time. I felt the intense damn contractions and then the overwhelming NEED to push. It's a need, not a want. They told me "the head is right there" for what felt like 6 hours. Then they said, "the head is coming" for another 2. My mom and my sister took turns holding my hand or my leg or my whatever and watching "the show" down below. At that point, I didn't care who was in the room or what they saw. I was trying to not die - that takes up pretty much all of your concentration.
Finally, I felt the head. Or what I actually felt was a watermelon trapped inside my damned vagina, which would NOT just open and cooperate. I felt Carolyn "helping" my vagina, but to no avail. The watermelon was stuck. As it so happens, the watermelon was also on fire because it was BURNING down there. Burning. I asked how much longer and the doctor said, "that's really up to you." I took that as a challenge. I wanted that damned burning watermelon OUT. So I pushed like I no longer cared - didn't care if I pooped (also something I thought I would care about. Turns out? Not my problem in that moment), didn't care if I vomited (I didn't), didn't care if I passed out, I honestly didn't care if I died. As long as I beat the watermelon first. So I pushed and pushed and finally....I felt it. I also heard it. (They don't tell you that part anywhere - birth has sounds. They do not need to be described. I will let you discover your own sounds when you give birth.) I won. The watermelon broke through. The fire was out. I then felt (and heard!) a slimy alien being quickly slipped out - once the head is out, I will deliver a baby any day, by the way. So if you can get that far, I will gladly take over. Cake.
My sister said, "They don't know what the baby is..." because, of course, the gender was a surprise. And here was my favorite part: My mother was standing to my left and I knew it was a girl by the look on her face. All I had to do was watch her watch the baby. Then she made eye contact with me and her face was the definition of "lit up." I started crying right away. "It's a girl...?" I asked, but I already knew. She mouthed, "it's a GIRL!" I could have died in that moment and been happy. I swear. It sounds so ridiculous, but after all of that - all of the pain and the work and the sweat and the sounds and the energy - and you did it? You actually did it? I could have died.
 |
| I actually look like I labored. Not like some obnoxious people (my sister, my cousin). But this was our first kiss! |
 |
| My sister holding my lil Aunt Jemima moments after I pushed her out. |
Love,
Momma and Juliette
XOXO
Monday, September 16, 2013
My Birthing Story Part I
...And so it's a rainy day which calls for a "rainy day" post. I tried to be so diligent throughout my pregnancy about recording everything and writing often. But then the baby came and we all see how that went! Now that she's here and we are 'settled' into our routines and life, I will occasionally write a "rainy day" post that is either rewinding, fast-forwarding or just going off the track of my daily life. Today, my labor story!
I had a scheduled doctor's appointment with my OB on my birthday (the 5th anniversary of my 29th birthday), which happened to be the day before my due date. My numbers for my cholistasis (liver enzymes) had been improved so I wasn't going to "have to" be induced. I was going for my "regular" check-up, sonogram, and NST (non-stress test or fetal testing). I had not been having a great day because I wasn't feeling well. (Are you ever feeling well 9 months pregnant? Debatable.) I asked my mom to come to the dr with me so that I had some company and a distraction. My doctor's office is about 16 minutes from my house, door-to-door, and I had to stop at my sister's to use her bathroom on the way! I was extremely frustrated with the fact that I couldn't even drive 16 minutes somewhere without a hassle.
I went in for the sono first, as always, and Roe, the same tech I had every single time, was reminded that the gender was a surprise (I was always nervous, and partially convinced, that she slips up somehow every time and gives me a hint. The problem was I would leave one sono convinced it was a boy and the next, that it was my girl). During the sono, she took the measurements and then stopped and was writing on my chart. I said immediately, "is everything alright?!" It's scary when they stop talking and start really focusing on something - patients assume that something is wrong (right, don't all patients do that? Well, this one does). She assured me everything was just fine. Then, I went and did the NST - perfect as always. And then (gulp) had the doctor do my internal. She then left the room to let me get dressed and said she'd be back to speak with me. I assumed this was because my due date was the next day and she just needed to give me more information.. WRONG.
Enter doctor. "So...because we haven't seen any growth in the baby since last week, I'm going to send you to the hospital to have you induced." I sit there and stare at her. I think my mother said "Ok. When?" Doctor: "Tonight." I then chose to speak. "No." And I started crying. Face-in-hands crying. She explained that she couldn't, in good conscience, ignore my "numbers" and that she didn't want to let the baby go another week if it was no longer growing, blah, blah, blah. I continued crying. I am sure I apologized at least half a dozen times but I said "I'm just not ready."
I know, I know. When would I be ready? It was five hours before my due date. And I thought I was ready. After peeing at my sister's, I likely mumbled, as I did about ten times a day, "When am I going to have this baby already??!!" But then when I was told I had to go in that night - now - I was not ready. The doctor tried to calm me down and reassure me. I actually told her no, I was not going. She said her compromise would be to have me come back to her office the next day, measure again and then go to the hospital if nothing had changed (she said nothing will have changed). I agreed because it delayed everything - put it all on pause - so that I could take it in, absorb it, understand it, come to terms with it.
My mom drove to Michele's (it was her birthday too remember and we were supposed to have cake with her kids and all of my siblings after my appointment) and I cried. She was trying to convince me to just go in that night - it was already about 7:30 pm, I could just get in and get started! I was emphatic - no, no, no. I needed to just go home. Sleep in my bed. Think. Not think. I didn't really know what I needed but I knew it wasn't an induction.
When I walked into Michele's, she said, "Well? Any developments?" I started crying. (It's the hormones people!) and my mother explained. Michele was incredulous. Remember, this is a girl that enjoys giving birth. "Why aren't you going right now?! You NEED to go tonight! Oh my God, I would be so excited!! Please, please, please go tonight!! It's perfect!" She then went to her master-calendar on the wall and started rambling off things like, "My in-laws can watch the boys all day tomorrow, Jay is off, if you go tonight, you'll have the baby tomorrow and come home on Saturday..." All of the reasons I should do it. I started doubting my decision. She told me if I went home, I would never sleep anyway. And then I would have to go to the doctor in the morning and then be at the hospital all day. It was already going on 8 p.m., I could sleep there, etc... Then, the nail in the coffin - she called her best friend whose mother is a labor and delivery nurse. She taught my birthing class and I really wanted her to be on duty when I went into labor so she could be my nurse. She knew me and knew that I was a nervous wreck. Her mother would be working at 6 a.m. the next day but then she was off for three days. If I went that night, she would likely be my nurse when I delivered. If I waited, there was zero chance of it. I caved. I mumbled, "Fine" and I swear someone pushed me out into my car before I could change my mind. Next thing I knew, I was running into my house to grab my packed bag and my mother was driving me to the hospital. I called my doctor to make sure it was okay and she said she would meet me there to give me Cervidil. If I could have jumped out of the moving car without killing myself and the baby, I would have.
At about 9:00 p.m. I was checked into the hospital and in a bed on the Labor and Delivery floor.I was not a very happy or calm person. I was beyond scared. The plan was to put the Cervidil in around 10 p.m. and leave it until 10 a.m. I would then be checked and given Pitocin if necessary (that was the one thing I prayed for all pregnancy long - please, Lord, don't make me need Pitocin). So, at 10 p.m., my nurse inserted the Cervidil ("inserted" sounds so much better than jammed in with what I swear were red-hot metal rods) and I was told to close my eyes and get some sleep. Yeh, ok.
To be continued....
Momeo and Juliette
XOXO
I had a scheduled doctor's appointment with my OB on my birthday (the 5th anniversary of my 29th birthday), which happened to be the day before my due date. My numbers for my cholistasis (liver enzymes) had been improved so I wasn't going to "have to" be induced. I was going for my "regular" check-up, sonogram, and NST (non-stress test or fetal testing). I had not been having a great day because I wasn't feeling well. (Are you ever feeling well 9 months pregnant? Debatable.) I asked my mom to come to the dr with me so that I had some company and a distraction. My doctor's office is about 16 minutes from my house, door-to-door, and I had to stop at my sister's to use her bathroom on the way! I was extremely frustrated with the fact that I couldn't even drive 16 minutes somewhere without a hassle.
I went in for the sono first, as always, and Roe, the same tech I had every single time, was reminded that the gender was a surprise (I was always nervous, and partially convinced, that she slips up somehow every time and gives me a hint. The problem was I would leave one sono convinced it was a boy and the next, that it was my girl). During the sono, she took the measurements and then stopped and was writing on my chart. I said immediately, "is everything alright?!" It's scary when they stop talking and start really focusing on something - patients assume that something is wrong (right, don't all patients do that? Well, this one does). She assured me everything was just fine. Then, I went and did the NST - perfect as always. And then (gulp) had the doctor do my internal. She then left the room to let me get dressed and said she'd be back to speak with me. I assumed this was because my due date was the next day and she just needed to give me more information.. WRONG.
Enter doctor. "So...because we haven't seen any growth in the baby since last week, I'm going to send you to the hospital to have you induced." I sit there and stare at her. I think my mother said "Ok. When?" Doctor: "Tonight." I then chose to speak. "No." And I started crying. Face-in-hands crying. She explained that she couldn't, in good conscience, ignore my "numbers" and that she didn't want to let the baby go another week if it was no longer growing, blah, blah, blah. I continued crying. I am sure I apologized at least half a dozen times but I said "I'm just not ready."
I know, I know. When would I be ready? It was five hours before my due date. And I thought I was ready. After peeing at my sister's, I likely mumbled, as I did about ten times a day, "When am I going to have this baby already??!!" But then when I was told I had to go in that night - now - I was not ready. The doctor tried to calm me down and reassure me. I actually told her no, I was not going. She said her compromise would be to have me come back to her office the next day, measure again and then go to the hospital if nothing had changed (she said nothing will have changed). I agreed because it delayed everything - put it all on pause - so that I could take it in, absorb it, understand it, come to terms with it.
My mom drove to Michele's (it was her birthday too remember and we were supposed to have cake with her kids and all of my siblings after my appointment) and I cried. She was trying to convince me to just go in that night - it was already about 7:30 pm, I could just get in and get started! I was emphatic - no, no, no. I needed to just go home. Sleep in my bed. Think. Not think. I didn't really know what I needed but I knew it wasn't an induction.
When I walked into Michele's, she said, "Well? Any developments?" I started crying. (It's the hormones people!) and my mother explained. Michele was incredulous. Remember, this is a girl that enjoys giving birth. "Why aren't you going right now?! You NEED to go tonight! Oh my God, I would be so excited!! Please, please, please go tonight!! It's perfect!" She then went to her master-calendar on the wall and started rambling off things like, "My in-laws can watch the boys all day tomorrow, Jay is off, if you go tonight, you'll have the baby tomorrow and come home on Saturday..." All of the reasons I should do it. I started doubting my decision. She told me if I went home, I would never sleep anyway. And then I would have to go to the doctor in the morning and then be at the hospital all day. It was already going on 8 p.m., I could sleep there, etc... Then, the nail in the coffin - she called her best friend whose mother is a labor and delivery nurse. She taught my birthing class and I really wanted her to be on duty when I went into labor so she could be my nurse. She knew me and knew that I was a nervous wreck. Her mother would be working at 6 a.m. the next day but then she was off for three days. If I went that night, she would likely be my nurse when I delivered. If I waited, there was zero chance of it. I caved. I mumbled, "Fine" and I swear someone pushed me out into my car before I could change my mind. Next thing I knew, I was running into my house to grab my packed bag and my mother was driving me to the hospital. I called my doctor to make sure it was okay and she said she would meet me there to give me Cervidil. If I could have jumped out of the moving car without killing myself and the baby, I would have.
At about 9:00 p.m. I was checked into the hospital and in a bed on the Labor and Delivery floor.I was not a very happy or calm person. I was beyond scared. The plan was to put the Cervidil in around 10 p.m. and leave it until 10 a.m. I would then be checked and given Pitocin if necessary (that was the one thing I prayed for all pregnancy long - please, Lord, don't make me need Pitocin). So, at 10 p.m., my nurse inserted the Cervidil ("inserted" sounds so much better than jammed in with what I swear were red-hot metal rods) and I was told to close my eyes and get some sleep. Yeh, ok.
To be continued....
Momeo and Juliette
XOXO
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Our "Best" Day and a Crying Baby
Today is Sunday. Ahhh... it has become my favorite day for so many reasons. Mainly, the obvious ones. But now that I have Juliette to share it with, there are even more reasons. We had a "family fun" day at a winery today. Typically, Sunday is a day that I shop and cook and everyone comes over for dinner. In the summer, we do a lot of bbq/grill/outdoor eating. All winter, I pretty much pretend I am Italian (which I am not - I've traced my family back as far as possible searching for that "1% Italian" part - not there) and make everything and anything with "gravy" that I can. But today was kind of in between day: it's not yet fall but summer has clearly departed. So the winery it was and SUCH a good choice. The weather was perfect and so was the afternoon.
Well, except for the "crying baby." I heard her long before I saw her. She was doing a desperate cry for a long period of time. Finally, I saw a dad carrying her like a football and walking her down the rows of grapes (I think this was to muffle her cries from everyone else at the vineyard). When he emerged with her fifteen minutes later - STILL CRYING - and still wearing a wool hat in about 75 degree weather - I went over and said hello. I learned the baby was 5 months old and her name was McKayla (a pretty name, but not Juliette). I said to the baby, "I bet you want your momma." Dad informed me that they had separated and today was "his day" with the baby. It was then that my heart broke. This baby was clearly unhappy and uncomfortable and she was literally looking around hoping to see momma any second and she wasn't even there. I asked to hold her and he handed her right over. She stopped crying for a few moments when I was talking to her but then I think she realized that even though I was acknowledging that she was a tiny human and NOT a football, I was still not "mom." I asked if he had a stroller for the baby to put her to sleep and his answer was, "No, she took everything from me." Grrrr. He thought I would feel badly for him, I suppose, but of course I did not in the least bit. Maybe this is clearly biased and judgmental but here were a few of my thoughts:
- Why, why, why are you taking a 5 month old child away from her mother for so long? He clearly was not there for only an hour or so.
- If you had your sister's engagement party at a winery, don't you think you'd rather the baby be with mom so you can attend the party and not walk halfway down a mile-long row of grapes to muffle your babies cries instead?
- If you HAD thought it was a good idea, why are you NOW realizing that it was NOT and calling mom to come get the baby?
- And if mom "took everything" from you but you still want to have time with your baby, why don't YOU go get a stroller? or anything else the baby may need?
Grrr. (Did I already growl?) It sort of ruined my mood for the next hour or so. Now, granted, I don't know their story, but I pictured a new mom at home somewhere, worried sick, picturing her baby exactly the way she was in reality, but hoping against hope that she was really fine. Well she wasn't. And it was so unfair to that poor little baby. She was crying every single time I saw her for the next three hours or so. Heartbreaking.
I try to be a fair, unbiased person. I truly try to see both sides of situations the best that I can; I believe that is how you learn. But I don't understand why a man cannot understand that a baby needs its mother. Period. Yes, the baby should be able to see dad and spend time with dad. Of course. But not at the baby's expense. I think that is so clear. So simple. So right. How is there another side? It upsets me greatly - I'm getting upset again now as I picture that little girl. So I need to move on.
MY little girl is now upstairs sleeping soundly in my bed (we co-sleep which I am sure I will talk about more in the future). She adored today because she adores being outdoors. Don't know where she came from - I hate nature. But as long as she is outside, she needs no entertainment - she will stare at trees, play with grass, look into the sky, all for hours at a time. She is precious (if I do say so myself).
Tomorrow we have a doctor's appointment where she will get more shots. I hate it. Hate it. She's a tough cookie but she still cries and it kills me every time. Then (drum roll please....) I am meeting F for a drink to "talk about things." We have our next court date on the 25th and he suggested that we speak before then. I am hoping it is because he is willing to stop fighting with me over every little thing (15 minutes here, an hour there overnights, etc...) Hoping. But I am scared because I don't want my hopes up. So we shall see what happens. Until then, I am going to watch one show on my overloaded DVR, go snuggle with my baby girl, and get some serious work done tomorrow! Can I do it? I think I can, I think I can...
A happy Sunday to all,
Momeo and Juliette
XOXO
Well, except for the "crying baby." I heard her long before I saw her. She was doing a desperate cry for a long period of time. Finally, I saw a dad carrying her like a football and walking her down the rows of grapes (I think this was to muffle her cries from everyone else at the vineyard). When he emerged with her fifteen minutes later - STILL CRYING - and still wearing a wool hat in about 75 degree weather - I went over and said hello. I learned the baby was 5 months old and her name was McKayla (a pretty name, but not Juliette). I said to the baby, "I bet you want your momma." Dad informed me that they had separated and today was "his day" with the baby. It was then that my heart broke. This baby was clearly unhappy and uncomfortable and she was literally looking around hoping to see momma any second and she wasn't even there. I asked to hold her and he handed her right over. She stopped crying for a few moments when I was talking to her but then I think she realized that even though I was acknowledging that she was a tiny human and NOT a football, I was still not "mom." I asked if he had a stroller for the baby to put her to sleep and his answer was, "No, she took everything from me." Grrrr. He thought I would feel badly for him, I suppose, but of course I did not in the least bit. Maybe this is clearly biased and judgmental but here were a few of my thoughts:
- Why, why, why are you taking a 5 month old child away from her mother for so long? He clearly was not there for only an hour or so.
- If you had your sister's engagement party at a winery, don't you think you'd rather the baby be with mom so you can attend the party and not walk halfway down a mile-long row of grapes to muffle your babies cries instead?
- If you HAD thought it was a good idea, why are you NOW realizing that it was NOT and calling mom to come get the baby?
- And if mom "took everything" from you but you still want to have time with your baby, why don't YOU go get a stroller? or anything else the baby may need?
Grrr. (Did I already growl?) It sort of ruined my mood for the next hour or so. Now, granted, I don't know their story, but I pictured a new mom at home somewhere, worried sick, picturing her baby exactly the way she was in reality, but hoping against hope that she was really fine. Well she wasn't. And it was so unfair to that poor little baby. She was crying every single time I saw her for the next three hours or so. Heartbreaking.
I try to be a fair, unbiased person. I truly try to see both sides of situations the best that I can; I believe that is how you learn. But I don't understand why a man cannot understand that a baby needs its mother. Period. Yes, the baby should be able to see dad and spend time with dad. Of course. But not at the baby's expense. I think that is so clear. So simple. So right. How is there another side? It upsets me greatly - I'm getting upset again now as I picture that little girl. So I need to move on.
MY little girl is now upstairs sleeping soundly in my bed (we co-sleep which I am sure I will talk about more in the future). She adored today because she adores being outdoors. Don't know where she came from - I hate nature. But as long as she is outside, she needs no entertainment - she will stare at trees, play with grass, look into the sky, all for hours at a time. She is precious (if I do say so myself).
Tomorrow we have a doctor's appointment where she will get more shots. I hate it. Hate it. She's a tough cookie but she still cries and it kills me every time. Then (drum roll please....) I am meeting F for a drink to "talk about things." We have our next court date on the 25th and he suggested that we speak before then. I am hoping it is because he is willing to stop fighting with me over every little thing (15 minutes here, an hour there overnights, etc...) Hoping. But I am scared because I don't want my hopes up. So we shall see what happens. Until then, I am going to watch one show on my overloaded DVR, go snuggle with my baby girl, and get some serious work done tomorrow! Can I do it? I think I can, I think I can...
A happy Sunday to all,
Momeo and Juliette
XOXO
Saturday, September 14, 2013
The (Very) Bright Side
Reading back my introduction was a tad depressing...I certainly didn't highlight the bright side of my current situation and so, for my sanity and yours, I will do so now:
For starters, I actually survived a full-term pregnancy. This was questionable as I have religiously passed out at doctors' visits since around the age of 9. Literally - like lose-consciousness-pass out. And I didn't die in labor. This may sound dramatic, but for me it was quite the feat. My labor and delivery nurse said I had a "very classy" delivery. Thank God she couldn't hear inside my head. But I'll save that post for a rainy day...
The best thing about being a mother is...everything. Looking at this perfect, teeny tiny little human that YOU created. It's still surreal to me. I created every finger and every toe. That drool is MINE. I made it. I somehow made those gorgeous, ice blue eyes that already have stories to tell, those chubby cheeks that belong on a diaper commercial.
Before my daughter, I had three nephews and one niece (all from my twin sister who "loves" being pregnant and "enjoys" giving birth - again, another post for a rainy day...). And I thought I knew love. I mean, I LOVE those kids, especially the boys. (My niece came when I was 7 months pregnant and actively trying not to die every day). They were my life - I saw them almost every single day. When I lived in Manhattan, I came home every single weekend because I couldn't not see them. Everything they said was the cutest thing any child has ever said, every sneeze they sneezed was the most adorable sneeze I had ever heard. I would have given my life for them. And so when I found out I was pregnant, I thought, "Now I can love my own just like that."
Then, they laid her on my chest. My daughter. The girl I had willed into existence for 40 weeks. Her gender was a surprise at the birth (I needed some motivation to push that thing out!) but I "knew" (read: prayed, begged, willed, hoped) that it was a girl from the moment I knew I was pregnant. I called her "her" and Juliette throughout my entire pregnancy. I actually made a friend cry and beg me to "please stop saying that! what if it's a boy?!" But that prayer was answered. I just needed a girl - I can't explain it, but I needed her. And I got her. So that is when I started to really understand a mother's love for her child. And how it is different than loving your nephews or your niece. I'd still lay down in front of a train for those kids without blinking an eye. However, for Juliette, I would lay down in front of the train but then get back up, chase it down, and personally kill the conductor that almost hurt my daughter. Slight difference.
Because now she is my world. Nothing else matters. Not my love life (ok, that insinuates I have one...sorry), not my highlights (got them done one time after she was born. I currently look homeless), not my collection of jeans or how they are organized in my walk-in closet. Just her. And I suppose that, generally speaking, is the bright side.
My life has changed in every, single possible way. I was happy before I had her. I was happy before I was pregnant. I've always been extremely blessed. But then Juliette came and now all of the good things in my life are a bit better and all of the sparkly things I had shine a bit brighter. Because she is my perfect. I will not be that parent that thinks their child is everyone's perfect; I am fully aware that others can easily refrain from biting her cheeks and wiping her drool and making her laugh just one more time. But she certainly is my perfect. So all the other nonsense that I wrote about in my introduction - it's really just nonsense. As a wise friend told me, it's like a mosquito buzzing around our perfect little world: it's there, it's annoying, I can't always ignore it. But it's just a mosquito.
So the bright side is extremely bright around here. Sometimes I just need to remind myself of that. And now...off to conquer my To-Do-While-Juliette-Is-With-Her-Father list so the time passes quickly. Remind yourself, today, of your bright side.
Love,
Momeo and Juliette
XOXO
For starters, I actually survived a full-term pregnancy. This was questionable as I have religiously passed out at doctors' visits since around the age of 9. Literally - like lose-consciousness-pass out. And I didn't die in labor. This may sound dramatic, but for me it was quite the feat. My labor and delivery nurse said I had a "very classy" delivery. Thank God she couldn't hear inside my head. But I'll save that post for a rainy day...
The best thing about being a mother is...everything. Looking at this perfect, teeny tiny little human that YOU created. It's still surreal to me. I created every finger and every toe. That drool is MINE. I made it. I somehow made those gorgeous, ice blue eyes that already have stories to tell, those chubby cheeks that belong on a diaper commercial.
Before my daughter, I had three nephews and one niece (all from my twin sister who "loves" being pregnant and "enjoys" giving birth - again, another post for a rainy day...). And I thought I knew love. I mean, I LOVE those kids, especially the boys. (My niece came when I was 7 months pregnant and actively trying not to die every day). They were my life - I saw them almost every single day. When I lived in Manhattan, I came home every single weekend because I couldn't not see them. Everything they said was the cutest thing any child has ever said, every sneeze they sneezed was the most adorable sneeze I had ever heard. I would have given my life for them. And so when I found out I was pregnant, I thought, "Now I can love my own just like that."
Then, they laid her on my chest. My daughter. The girl I had willed into existence for 40 weeks. Her gender was a surprise at the birth (I needed some motivation to push that thing out!) but I "knew" (read: prayed, begged, willed, hoped) that it was a girl from the moment I knew I was pregnant. I called her "her" and Juliette throughout my entire pregnancy. I actually made a friend cry and beg me to "please stop saying that! what if it's a boy?!" But that prayer was answered. I just needed a girl - I can't explain it, but I needed her. And I got her. So that is when I started to really understand a mother's love for her child. And how it is different than loving your nephews or your niece. I'd still lay down in front of a train for those kids without blinking an eye. However, for Juliette, I would lay down in front of the train but then get back up, chase it down, and personally kill the conductor that almost hurt my daughter. Slight difference.
Because now she is my world. Nothing else matters. Not my love life (ok, that insinuates I have one...sorry), not my highlights (got them done one time after she was born. I currently look homeless), not my collection of jeans or how they are organized in my walk-in closet. Just her. And I suppose that, generally speaking, is the bright side.
My life has changed in every, single possible way. I was happy before I had her. I was happy before I was pregnant. I've always been extremely blessed. But then Juliette came and now all of the good things in my life are a bit better and all of the sparkly things I had shine a bit brighter. Because she is my perfect. I will not be that parent that thinks their child is everyone's perfect; I am fully aware that others can easily refrain from biting her cheeks and wiping her drool and making her laugh just one more time. But she certainly is my perfect. So all the other nonsense that I wrote about in my introduction - it's really just nonsense. As a wise friend told me, it's like a mosquito buzzing around our perfect little world: it's there, it's annoying, I can't always ignore it. But it's just a mosquito.
So the bright side is extremely bright around here. Sometimes I just need to remind myself of that. And now...off to conquer my To-Do-While-Juliette-Is-With-Her-Father list so the time passes quickly. Remind yourself, today, of your bright side.
Love,
Momeo and Juliette
XOXO
Friday, September 13, 2013
Introduction (Well, really a RE-introduction because it's been awhile...)
[For those of you that followed my pregnancy, I thank you and I apologize. For those of you who will now follow my single-momma journey, welcome. And I apologize.]
So here I am...exactly where I never thought I would be: 34 years old, single, and a proud momma of one beautiful, precious, delicious, 7 month old little baby girl. Sometimes life works in mysterious ways. I suppose I will have to back up before I can move forward - seems to be a theme in my life these days, but I hope, as I always do, it will be worth it.
So here I am...exactly where I never thought I would be: 34 years old, single, and a proud momma of one beautiful, precious, delicious, 7 month old little baby girl. Sometimes life works in mysterious ways. I suppose I will have to back up before I can move forward - seems to be a theme in my life these days, but I hope, as I always do, it will be worth it.
6 years ago: A tenured elementary school teacher in a wonderful district, dating haphazardly, attending law school at night, thinking I was "so stressed" about things in life.
4 years ago: A Big Law associate at a coveted NYC law firm, making more money than I had time to spend, dating haphazardly, thinking I was "so stressed" about things in life.
2 years ago: A contract attorney, working from home full-time, dating haphazardly, thinking I was "so stressed" about things in life.
18 months ago: Met my daughter's father (we'll call him "F" for father from this point on), closed on my house that I now own, thought I was "so stressed" about things in life.
16 months ago: Contract attorney, owning a new home, dating someone for two months....and peed on a stick. Everything changed. Thought I was seriously stressed about things in life.
Today: Now I know stress. Not "stress" in quotation marks, but actual real-life, serious stress. The kind of stress a momma bear feels when she thinks someone is approaching her young. So maybe it's really a combination of stress and anger and fear and resentment and defensiveness. But whatever it is, it no longer belongs in quotes and it's no longer the least bit dramatic to say, "I am stressed."
I am not stressed about having my daughter, or about caring for her by myself. I am not stressed about cleaning my house. I am not stressed about working full-time. Or about cooking. Or about the laundry. All that everyday nonsense is "stressful" in quotes. I wish for that stress. I'd trade you in a heartbeat.
The situation with the father of my baby has been stressful, to say the least. Difficult. Draining. Awful. Heartbreaking. Obviously, if you can follow a timeline, I got pregnant two months after meeting him
(clearly an unplanned but, turns out, lovely surprise). I then stopped short his planned marriage
proposal and decided that a romantic relationship between us was just not
what the doctor ordered. And I’ve been to a lot of doctors. F was, obviously and justifiably, upset and shocked and
all of the many other adjectives that I could use to underplay his reaction. That was months and months ago. I don't think he has gotten over it.
We have been in court for months fighting over her. He wants what he wants, most of which I feel is not in my daughter's best interest. So what am I to do? Give in? Not this momma bear. Someone is approaching my young and, because I feel her best interests are not first and foremost, it is irrelevant that it is her father. So there has been fighting. And attorneys. And crying. And heartache - oh, the heartache. I am hoping we are on a path that is moving forward; we have been "playing nice" for the past few weeks. We have a meeting coming up where I will again beg him in tears, if need be, to please please please respect my wishes for her and to please please please have some patience and to please please please accept what I am offering - it is more than reasonable. So we shall see.
In the meantime, I will continue to look at my daughter and marvel that I (me!!!) made her. I created this tiny little dependent human being who could not be more perfect for me; those cheeks, that smile, those eyes, that drool - I am in love with everything about her.
I would love to share my story as I have scoured the internet peering into other people's lives during this trying time - searching, hoping, desperate for a ray of hope, for a similar story with a happy ending. I hope you will come along on my journey with me and with my daughter, Juliette.
For now, we will both say goodnight.
XOXO
Momeo and Juliette
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
My Six Month Letter to My Daughter
Dear Juliette,
You turned six months old yesterday. That means it’s been
way more than six months since I have done anything
care-free. More than six months since I’ve gotten tipsy. Since I put any food
in my mouth without wondering how it will affect you. Since I have slept
like…well, like someone without a baby. Since I have spent more than a dollar
without a care in the world.
But that also means it has been six months of bliss. Of you.
And your baby-soft skin. Your crinkly, slitty eyes. Your infectious smile that
lights up your entire body, down to your toes. Your warm head and cool feet.
Your teeny-tiny little outfits. Six months of wearing you, with nothing in the
world between us. Of closing my eyes every night with a “thank you, God”
already on my lips and waking up with a heart bursting with love and the
reminder that you are still here – you are still mine.
How I got so lucky, I will never know. Our situation is not
perfect. Sometimes I get lost in that and I feel badly for myself, for you. But
then I remember: you are here. You are healthy. You are happy. And you are
mine. I grew you. Literally. In this body that I sometimes disrespect and
sometimes get frustrated with. It created a miracle for me. As I tell you, it’s
“just crazy talk.” I saw that word – pregnant - on the test and I swallowed
hard. I wasn’t expecting it. It wasn’t part of my plan. I knew it was a life-changer But I didn’t fully understand it yet.
I didn’t understand the responsibility. The worry. The
stress. The thoughts that run away from you. I didn’t understand the process.
The cost. The changes. But most of all, I didn’t understand the love. Oh my
goodness, the love. The love that you can feel for another human being – a love
that takes over your every fiber. An
undeniable, uncontrollable, even involuntary love. But how could I have understood that before you? Impossible.
In six months, you have made life impossible without you. I
can’t live without that smell. Without tripping over a pipey and a blankie. I
can’t imagine life without a fourteen-pound baby wrapped to me. I can’t shower
without a baby tub behind me, can’t sleep without a teddy bear rattle close by.
And I would not change a thing.
I wouldn’t change those chubby, biteable cheeks. That
silent-movie laugh. Not even those clammy, clammy feet. I wouldn’t change those
kicks while you’re nursing or those cries when I put you down. You are mine.
You are me. And you are the best six months of my life.
Love,
Momma
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