Suzy Q Homemaker

On Wednesday, October 17, I woke up around 6:30 with a back ache. Since I still wasn’t “due” for another couple days and I historically have my babies after 40 weeks, I figured I had slept awkwardly. I got up and started getting the boys ready for school, taking passive notice of a few contractions. They were nothing out of the realm of the practice contractions I was feeling before, but I did note that they were semi-regular. As the morning drew on, I started timing them. It was only when they were 10 minutes apart no matter what position I was in that I thought maybe I was in labor. Of course, I didn’t want to get my hopes up. I’ve been through false labor before and it’s a very disappointing experience. Even though I was sure this wasn’t the real thing, I called Jamie anyway. Then I laid on the bed and timed my contractions some more so I could call my midwife with the most up-to-date info.

I spent most of the morning in a state of disbelief even though I let my family and friends know that I was “most likely” in labor. My contractions were 3-4 minutes apart but I was still smiling, laughing, and talking through them. My midwife Chris and her assistants were setting things up: unpacking the birth kit, setting up the tub, and preparing the bed. Despite all of this, I really was sure things would peter out and everyone would have to go home before the end of the day.

Jamie and I took a walk late in the morning after calling my mom to tell her to come on over. While we walked, Jamie timed my contractions. They were coming faster and I had to stop walking while I breathed through them. Even still, I was sure this wasn’t it! As we rounded the corner of the road into our driveway, things took an odd turn. I felt dizzy and disoriented. The contractions HURT. Jamie had to help me get back to the house because I could barely walk unassisted.

I felt a gush as I was making my way back to the bedroom. It was then that I got a little excited because I was hoping my water had broken, though I was nervous that I was bleeding (my M.O. with Timothy and Aiden). Unfortunately, my hope was in vain–I was bleeding…a lot. The baby’s heart rate was dropping and I was only 2-3 cm. so we needed to get to the hospital.

I was scared. What would happen at the hospital? Would I have to go through a long, arduous check-in process? Would I be hooked up to all the monitors and have to answer questions while trying to relax through my contractions? The whole process was unfamiliar and daunting.

We got in the van and things got worse. I felt so dizzy and sick that I started throwing up. Jamie pulled over and called 911. Chris told me then that the hospital will most likely do a section. My heart broke. I already felt defeated because I missed out on my home birth, but now I was going to miss out on my vaginal birth, too. It was so sad.

The ambulance ride was awful. Even though I was able to lay mostly on my side, I was still laying on a hard stretcher, feeling every bump in the road like a knife in my belly, and lonely. The paramedic wanted me to tell him every time I had a contraction (when it started and stopped), which was really the last thing I wanted to do. I prefer laboring quietly, especially when things are getting intense. Asking me to do anything but relax and breathe makes me feel panicky. Add to that some sirens and a medic’s crotch in my face as I’m trying to focus my contractions and it’s pretty much a recipe for disaster.

The hospital was a blur. I remember a swarm of nurses and a lot of pain. Needles, tears, and helplessness. One nurse was putting in a second IV, another was shaving me, and several more were doing other stuff as I cried with each contraction. I never felt more alone.

“She’s abrupting.”

“If we’re going to save the baby…”

The last thing I told Jamie was, “I’m so scared.”

Climbing onto the operating table and lying flat on my back, all I could do was give in to the wash of pain. With each contraction I was wishing they would go ahead and put me under already. While one nurse painted me with iodine, more were draping me and strapping me to the table.

I woke up with the worst case of the chills I’ve ever had after general anesthesia. Everything hurt and I begged for relief.

“You have a baby girl,” said one of the nurses.

“Really?” I think I asked that about three times before it was real. And then I asked to see her. Someone told me that she had trouble breathing on her own and she was in the Special Care Unit, that I could see her on my way to my own room.

We named her Willow Einin, a name we had picked out even though we were so sure we’d have a boy. She sure did surprise us!

I wasn’t aware that things were quite as serious as they were until I was able to see my baby girl. She was so beautiful even with all the tubes coming out of her. The pediatrician came in after a minute to explain what was going on. All I remember is that I wasn’t going to get to hold her and that she was going to be taken to another hospital for a treatment not offered where we were.

Over the next few days, I spent a lot of time enduring the pain of my cesarean and the pain of being without my newborn baby. I pumped milk for her, called the NICU at the other hospital for updates, and greeted visitors the best I could. What I wanted most was to be with my Willow. It didn’t feel real that I had a baby. I listened in the middle of the night to other newborn babies next door to me and longed for my own.

Even after I was discharged I couldn’t be with her. She remained at the other hospital where all I could do was hold her and watch her sleep. I nursed her a little. But I still had to go home without her. Coming home without a baby was surreal. I woke myself up every few hours to pump milk for Willow but obviously it wasn’t the same as being able to hold her in my arms.

I got to spend one night in the hospital with Willow when she was discharged from the NICU and moved to the main pediatric floor. Despite my intense pain and lack of adequate rest, I was so happy to finally be with her. She had improved by leaps and bounds: from barely breathing on her own she recovered to the point where it was like nothing had ever happened. We got to bring her home after almost five days of hospitalization. It was one of the happiest days of my life.

Willow will be two weeks old tomorrow. Even though the memories of her dramatic entry into this world are fuzzy to me, one thing is clear: we’re both survivors.

Placental abruption accounts for 12% of perinatal deaths and 6% of maternal deaths. I had a 75% separation. Even if we had planned a hospital birth, our chances of making it on time were very small. Our survival window was only open for a short time.

But we made it.

We made it.

I’ll admit I was already planning on a few down moments during choir retreat this year.  In fact, I had prepared myself already for endless checking-in to see how I am feeling, constant offers to drive me around, and other pregnancy-related nonsense.  What I did not expect was a mini-meltdown in the middle of the choir party.  That was completely unexpected but I am NOT apologizing for my behavior.

The odds were against me:

• I’m eight months pregnant
• I was away from home, sleeping in a strange bed (which was technically two twin beds pushed together in a room where the heat regulation is unpredictable)
• I was not in control of most of my meals

The pregnancy part was the least of my concerns but was to be the number one topic on everyone’s lips in conversations with me.  I get it!  I have this enormous basketball-looking growth that will be a baby soon!  I do have other opinions, ideas, and insights into various topics outside of childbirth and midwifery.  Not that I don’t want to ever talk about it, I just don’t think that 30+ people realize that they all want to have the same conversation with me and that I might be tired of talking about how tired I am or how often I go to the bathroom or rehash my home birth plans for the umpteenth time.  Can we stop talking about my vagina and whether or not I’ll be pushing a baby out of it, please?

Food-wise, Lake Logan did have prior notice about my dietary needs.  However, I was sorely disappointed with every meal except breakfast.  Breakfast is easy: eggs, bacon, toast.  It’s what I eat every day anyway.  Throwing wheat rolls at a menu of country-fried steak, mashed potatoes, and carrots and peas doesn’t make dinner diabetic-friendly.  Neither does preparing a couple fruit cups and sticking them next to a gigantic “triffle” (their spelling).  So after that “dinner” I literally retreated to my cabin where I gorged myself as best I could on walnuts, raisins, and baby carrots so I could at least have something in my stomach.

I was planning on not eating anything at the choir party.  It was a given.  There are always trays of brownies, cookies, and other carbalicious things that look amazing.  I brought a tray of meats and cheeses so I could munch on something and not sit there looking completely forlorn.

But I lost it.

Here’s how it went down:

I got to the party, helped open my super-fancy Hormel party tray and found a place for it nestled amongst the other snacks on the table.  I then perused the beverage selection and chose a fine diet ginger ale to satisfy my thirst since I couldn’t enjoy the aged bourbon I would have otherwise been drinking.  After inspecting the table for anything else I could eat, I plopped a pile of protein on a paper plate (alliteration!) and moseyed back into the other room.

By this point, I had been at the party for about ten minutes and at least five people had already told me not to eat the “vodka tomatoes”.

1. There was a sign next to the tomatoes that said “VODKA TOMATOES.”

2. I can read.

By the time I finished my plate and went back for seconds, I think two more people told me to stay way from the Dangerous Vodka Tomatoes.  I know they meant well but OH MY GOD.  I lost it.  In my loudest “mom voice” I made sure everyone could hear me:

“I’M NOT GOING TO EAT THE VODKA TOMATOES! OKAY? OKAY!”

An uncomfortable silence then fell on the entire party and I ran out of the room sobbing uncontrollably.

Just kidding.

I cleared my throat, got some more food and left the food area to go sit down.

I think everyone was afraid of me at that point and I was so furious that I almost did start to cry.  Once the games started and everyone had another glass or two of wine, my little outburst was forgotten.  I left after two games and put myself in bed by 12:30.  It was later that I planned to be up, but I would have wanted a ride back to my cabin even if I wasn’t pregnant.

So that was it.  If I was a person who was easily embarrassed (usually I am) I would have been mortified by my behavior this weekend.  Oh well.

Because I don’t think, talk, or write about food enough, I thought I’d give a quick run-down of all the horribly delicious things I plan to eat once this baby arrives.

In my freezer is a “family size” lasagna for eating after the birth.  In truth, the family-size lasagna from Publix is probably enough for me and one other person since I am a huge pig when not on a restricted diet.  Just ask anyone who knows me.  If I wasn’t having to cut my carbs, I may be able to eat a whole one right now.

We have a running list on the white board in the kitchen of other things I wish I could eat right now:

• Waffle House (I need a double triple order of hashbrowns with cheese, onions, and tomatoes)
• anything from the Dutch House
• Chinese food (sesame chickennnnn & lo mein!)

I’d also like to add that I want a lemon cake from the Boll Weevil–it’s hands-down my favorite cake in the whole wide world.

I’m drooling on myself.

Since I last updated you with Baby Preparation Progress I was freaking out about diapers and such.  You’ll be happy to know that my anxiety level has significantly gone down in the past week.  There was not much I could do about the situation at hand when I was having my mini-breakdown because Jamie had not received his student loan money for the semester or his first paycheck from the new school.  Now that he got paid I managed to spend all his money on the baby.  Ha!

But really, I spent a good chunk on the things we need: the birth kit, a small stash of prefolds, a few outfits, and I even scored an Arm’s Reach Co-Sleeper at the Weepeats sale for $45.  Now I just have to pay my midwife, finish buying the supplies for the birth itself, sanitize all the linens, and clean the bedroom.  The master bedroom and bathroom need quite a bit of attention.  What I would like to do is have some of the furniture moved around so we can fit the changing table in the bedroom.  Obviously, I can’t do that on my own.  So I will dream of the way I want things and my minions will do my bidding!  My minions will also clean my shower, mop the bathroom floor, and take out the trash while I sit at the kitchen table and mod podge some soup cans to use as toothbrush holders in the boys’ bathroom.

What?

I know, I know, that was totally random.  Not in my mind, though!  I’ve had this container of Mod Podge sitting in my craft cabinets forever (it came from my mom), and now that Pinterest has opened my eyes to all the glorious possibilities, I want to do something cool.  It’s true that I’m only halfway finished with knitting a blanket for this baby.  It’s also true that it’s September in Georgia and just the thought of having a blanket on my lap makes me sweat.  If it ever cools down, I’ll pick up my needles again.  In the meantime, I need to occupy myself with projects that won’t make me burst into flames.

So today is Washing and Sanitizing Day.  I’ve done the prep washes on a load of tiny diapers and located a set of old sheets to be used during the birth.  Now all I need to do is find one more set of sheets for afterward and sanitize some stuff.  If I get bored with that, I do have a pile of coupons to clip.

Hooray for homemaking!

I’m trying to get a little down time in before the kids get home. Timothy is napping (I think) and I’m holed up in the bedroom exploring pinterest for holiday/party ideas. This is difficult to do for only one reason:

It’s all about food.

Let me back up by explaining something. I posted on Facebook last night about a blessingway ceremony. Whether or not anyone would even want to do that is really not my concern. I’ve opted out of a formal baby shower (at least I think most people know I really don’t want one). The social pressure that comes from attending and being the main focus of a shower makes me highly uncomfortable. I’ve done it before. The games are dumb, I have to talk to people I may not want to talk to, and then everyone has to sit around and watch me open a buttload of gifts. I just don’t want it. A really nice friend of mine has been sweet enough to take my anxiety into account and organize an online shower for me. I like it. I can sit around in my pajamas all day, read nice things people may write in the guest book, and open gifts later should anyone choose to get the baby something. Granted, I’m not expecting much since I’m the worst gift-giver in the world…we’ll talk about that another day since it has to do with forgetfulness and stuff.

Anyway, the blessingway would be more private–like really good friends, female family, and I get to approve the guest list. It’s not that I don’t like all the people in my life. I do! I really do! I just don’t want to be forced to talk to all of you IN ONE DAY. That’s too much pressure.

Then there’s the food. With a shower, everyone kind of expects cake and cute little pastel treats, appetizers trotted out from old family recipes that involve pounds of white pastry flour, sugar, and butter. It all sounds lovely and looks adorable on those pinterest boards. But I can’t eat it. Being at any party right now is the most depressing thing ever. I went to a wedding recently where I ate five plates of vegetables and cheese while sitting right next to a pasta bar. I allowed myself a smidgen of Melba toast and left before the cake.

I think what I’m trying to get at here is that I want to avoid social eating for the duration of my pregnancy unless it involves a diabetic-friendly menu. Not everything in life can be so simple since I have to attend my first choir rehearsal of the season next week–a rehearsal which is really a party in disguise since it’s at someone’s house where everyone has been invited to bring their favorite DESSERT. At least I’m getting paid to drool over a table full of forbidden food while I’m the only one in the room not eating and guzzling wine…but anyway. If any parties should swing my way, you can guarantee I won’t be happy about it unless there’s like a pile of meat I can eat or a table laden with 100% whole grain everything plus all the protein it takes to exchange those carbs. And absolutely, positively, no cake unless it’s sugar free.