Spa

For my baby shower back in November, James gave me a gift certificate to a spa near his work. It was good for a massage, facial, and foot bath, redeemable anytime after he feels competent enough to watch the baby for a few hours.

I redeemed it today.

Ahhhhhh!

I met James at his workplace and we switched cars - him taking the one containing the baby and me taking the other to the spa a few blocks away. As I was running a few minutes early, I stopped at a cafe next door for a cup of hot chocolate and a cookie as well as to put myself in a calmer frame of mind. Then I went over to the spa and checked in. I changed into a bathrobe and waited in a quiet waiting area until my massage therapist led me to my 30 minute massage.

I love massages. I love the tactile stimulation and relaxation, the luxurious feeling of someone kneading out all the knots of tension in my back and shoulders, the soft lighting and relaxing music, even the face-hole in the massage bed that allows me to lie on my stomach without having to turn my head to breathe. I used to get massages every month back when I was single, but traded that luxury in for financial responsibility when I got married. But James knows it's a safe bet that if he gets me a massage for Christmas or my birthday, he can't go wrong.

I went back to the waiting area with a large glass of water until my aesthetician came to lead me to my facial. I've only had one other facial in my life, and it consisted of a girl who didn't speak English spending the hour picking at my pores until my face was red and inflamed for days afterward. I wasn't looking forward to the experience, but this lady changed my opinion of facials. She applied gentle exfoliating masks and nourishing serums, all the while talking to me about my skin care routine and how I can best take care of my skin. She ended by offering to leave me some samples and suggestions for a daily routine that would keep my skin in its best condition. And a nice head massage. Mmmm.

Back again to the waiting area briefly, and then I was escorted to a small area with couches on high platforms, almost like a cushy shoe-shine station. Two other ladies were already reposed on two of the four couches, their feet soaking in individual copper basins on small tables in front of them. I chose an empty couch and soon the attendant came in with my foot bath of milk and honey with two flowers floating in the pool and warm stones in the bottom of the basin. She put a warm neck roll around my shoulders and lowered my feet into the steaming water. I relaxed and soaked for a while, and she came back to add more hot water when the bath had begun to cool. After a good soak, she came in with a pot of cold water infused with peppermint oil and offered to open my circulation by pouring it over my feet. Although it doesn't sound pleasant, the icy water was stimulating and invigorating and made the return to the bath all the more wonderful. I finally understand why people like to soak in hot springs and then jump in the snow (although still I'm not sure if I'm up to that kind of systemic shock).

After drying my feet and returning to the locker room, I spent a few minutes working up a deep sweat in the sauna. I could feel (and smell) the toxins seeping out of my pores, and when I started to feel rather overheated, I stepped out and took a nice relaxing shower before dressing and making my way slowly to the front desk. I'd left James with the baby 3 1/2 hours ago and was beginning to think I may have to return to reality. I called him on the way home to reassure him that I hadn't decided to take up permanent residence at the spa.

But I sure would have liked to.

6 weeks

Well, yesterday Gwen turned six weeks old. So we're done with the "postpartum period." Not quite sure how that changes anything, but milestones are points to reflect if nothing else. I've been blessed to spend the last six weeks getting to know this little one and figuring her out, as well as learning so much about myself and James in the process. We all three still have a lot of growing to do, but I wanted to talk about some of the things in which I've found the most these first six weeks . . .

I love the little blonde patch on the top of her head. We first noticed it a day or two after she was born - a little golden patch on her dark, downy head. I watch as her hair grows and regularly check to make sure I can still find that little sunshine lock. I hope I'll still be able to see it when her hair is down past her shoulders.

I love her beautiful eyes. They're a steel grey-blue, serious and always looking around, watching and learning from the hour she was born. I could spend hours staring into those little orbs, a pair of blue-tinged slices of black olives, with just a hint of downturn at the corners to form teardrops like her father's eyes.

I love the curve of her back when I drape her over my knees (especially when she's gassy) and how she resembles a little sack of flour with arms and legs. It's especially gratifying to rhythmically pat her bottom and back like a set of baby bongos, both for my comfort and for hers.

I love breastfeeding her. It was a struggle at first but has become a wonderful bonding time for us. She drinks and I hold her, then she gets all sleepy and I keep tickling her to wake her enough so she gets enough to drink. When she's so sleepy that even my tickling doesn't rouse her, often she'll slip off the nipple and just cradle her head on my breast, letting out a contented sigh as she slumbers on. I'm grateful for the pump and the freedom it offers, especially assuring that she gets enough to eat before bedtime and in the middle of the night (so she doesn't wake up hungry an hour later), and she'll need to take the bottle when I'm back to work, but I now understand why women say they just love breastfeeding. It offers reaffirmation that I am indeed her mother; anyone can plug the baby with a bottle, but only her mother can feed her directly from her body. (I also love how I'm able to eat whatever I want because she's sucking the fat right out of me, but that's the selfish side of it all.)

I love seeing her smile. She started smiling for real yesterday (at least that's what I'm telling myself - it seemed intentional) and it just lit up my day. I found myself cooing and talking to her just to try and cajole another smile out of her. This morning, she was sleeping after nursing and I could tell she was dreaming because she lit up in a big smile and then let out her first laugh. I wish I knew what it was in her dream that was so funny, because I'd move heaven and earth to replicate it and hear that laugh again with her face lit up in her sunny smile.

And what have I learned about myself over these last six weeks?

I've learned that I am capable of waking in the middle of the night, every night, sometimes multiple times, to care for my child. I've never been a person who was very responsive to the idea of the middle of the night - my sleep is sacred and I'm a bear when woken. But I suppose when it's mama bear, she doesn't mind being woken quite so much. Now, that's not to say that I can survive on less sleep for very long, and were James not there to offer to take the odd night-shift here and there I'd be in a world of hurt, but that being said, I've found that I'm more capable than I once thought. Of course, the fact that our daughter has apparently inherited my love of sleep and usually only wakes once or twice to fill her small stomach makes those few interruptions of my precious slumber all the more tolerable.

I've learned that I'm actually pretty good at this whole motherhood thing. Granted, I have yet to take on the greatest challenge of balancing work and home life, as well as the challenges of once she develops needs greater than food and diaper changes, but that's why they come out needing the simple things (albeit they need them all the time) and their needs grow as they do, expanding to discipline, language, social skills, and so on. I think I'm doing pretty well with the basics so far. And, as I predicted, I've found that I enjoy doing these things for her that she can't yet do for herself. My real dread is when she tries to learn about humor and conversational skills. Then I'll pass her over to Daddy.

I've learned to love Gwen more than I ever thought possible, and know that that love will only grow greater and greater over the coming months and years. When I first married James, I loved him, but looking back on the last five years with him, I realize that our love has grown and matured exponentially beyond what I ever thought possible, and that said love still has the potential to grow from here. When Gwen was first born, I adored her and felt a strong connection, but I was also exhausted and overwhelmed and honestly had no idea what I was getting myself into with this whole motherhood thing. I spent the first month feeling like a long-term babysitter, wondering when her real parents would come to pick her up. I'd wake in the middle of the night to this little squeaking creature and look over in mild surprise thinking, "What, you're still here?" This little girl has brought about a dramatic change in our lives and it took some getting used to. As things began to sink in that she's really ours and is here to stay (hopefully not until she's 35, though), I began to allow myself to fall more and more in love with her. I gave myself permission to be silly with her, and to talk to her even when she's asleep. As the walls came down, affection and admiration turned into love and adoration. I often remind myself that she's mine, and let myself love her a little more each time.

How could I not love that little pixie fairy?

The Event

So, contractions were coming with moderate regularity. I wasn't keeping strict track of things, but I'd guestimate every 7-10 minutes for the first hour, and then they really started picking up, both in frequency and intensity. This was about 11:45, and I was getting pretty tired, so I tried to curl up in bed and hope I'd be able to get some sleep. I got about 6 minutes of sleep before another contraction woke me. Ugh. This wasn't going to work. Then I thought a nice, hot shower would help, and it did in spite of having at least three contractions during and two more drying off. Things were getting serious here.

Ok, I thought, I should probably wake James. I felt bad for waking him at what was then 12:45 in the morning, but I was pretty convinced that this wasn't "false labor" and even if it was, I needed some moral support, here.

I managed to gather our stuff between contractions while James took a quick shower, and then we were off to the hospital. I called on the way there to let them know we were coming, and had three more contractions between the house and the door to the ED. James dropped me off there and went to park the car, joining me right as the L&D nurse came to take me upstairs.

After a few questions about frequency and duration of contractions, they decided to admit me (thank you!) and we were soon settled in room 12C-26. They checked me out and determined I was now 4 cm dilated. I'll admit, after all those contractions, I was hoping for something more dramatic, but since they said they'd keep me, I wasn't about to complain.

At about 2:30, we called Mom. To her everlasting credit, she said she'd come right away. By the time she arrived, I was in a state. The contractions were frequent and severe. I hobbled to the bathroom two or three times, and remember trying to use the toilet when a contraction would hit, and all I could do was say "Owie, owie, owie!" while clinging to whatever loved one was closest at hand (James or Mom).

The night doctor told me that I needed to progress a bit more before I could get an epidural (try walking around, like across the VA skybridge - yeah right!), and the night nurse, Lisa, further informed me that I needed more hydration, so they'd start an IV after I'd had some time to walk around. Well, I just curled up into a fetal position and cried, so they started an IV and a liter of LR. Then they gave me 100 mcg of fentanyl and the world was a better place for about 45 minutes. I managed to get a nap in, and the fluids dripped into my underhydrated veins. I could only have the fentanyl every hour, so the last 15 minutes were rather uncomfortable, but I made it, and they gave me another dose, and started another liter of fluids. By the time I was ready for Round Three (about 4:30 am), the anesthesiologist resident was there and I got my epidural, which started to kick in a few minutes later.

Ahhhhhh!

I could still feel when I contracted, but they felt more like Braxton Hicks contractions, so I was able to get some sleep, James took a little nap, too, and Mom went down to the cafeteria for something to eat. After the epidural, time became rather relative. I no longer watched the clock (positioned inconveniently over my right shoulder) for my next dose of fentanyl or braced myself for the next contraction (everyone kept telling me to just relax and it wouldn't hurt as much - much easier said than done). The next thing I remember is my clear liquid breakfast (juice, chicken broth, and jello - yum!) while James feasted on Fruity Pebbles or some other sugar bomb cereal Mom got him from the cafeteria (at which point the lady at the cash register asked her if she qualified for a Senior Citizen discount - she didn't look THAT bad for having woken up at 2:30 in the morning!).

By mid-morning, the contractions were starting to get stronger again. Since my epidural was on a PCA button, I started pushing the button with each contraction. When I told the day nurse, Lorie, she called anesthesiology and they came to bump up my rate and give me a bolus of whatever wonder drug they were pumping into my epidural space. I had a "walking epidural," which was somewhat misleading because my one attempt to walk to the bathroom didn't even make it to the dangle position. So I had to get a foley catheter, which I couldn't feel, so it was ok.

Another good thing about the morning arriving was Dr. Sarah Present came! Accompanied by Dr. Lochner, the attending in the hospital for L&D that day in Family Practice, it was such a relief to have MY doctor on the floor, lookin' out for our interests. Since she'd been out of town all the week before, I must admit that I'm glad Gwen decided to wait until the next week to make her appearance.

So Sarah checked me and I was hovering around 9 cm, fully effaced, etc. There was some concern about the baby's heart rate dropping dramatically with each contraction, so they had me position myself such to keep the heart rate up - first on the left side, then on the right, then on one side with my legs and knees heldjust so so that the baby's heart rate stayed in the safe range during contractions. I started to feel like I was looking for cell phone coverage. They put an oxygen mask on me to provide more O2 for the baby.

My water had not yet broken at this point, and since I was almost fully dilated, we opted to have Sarah break my water to progress labor. She pulled out the crochet-hook-looking AROM device and next I knew, they were telling me that there was some meconium and they were going to call the pediatric team in case she came out with meconium inhalation problems. Then they told me to just let labor progress and to call when I started feeling the urge to push.

Some time before 11, I started feeling some pressure and let the docs know we were getting to that urge point, so everyone gowned up. Someone gave James a gown and instructed him on putting on sterile gloves. The sun was shining in the window, bathing the room in light and heat. I didn't notice the heat as much as the gowned members of the team, as I was wearing a light hospital gown and little else, but I was working the hardest! Every time I felt a contraction, I would push, push, push, encouraged by the team, James and my mom. I remember glancing at the clock at about 11:30 and wondering if this would be an am or a pm baby. I was getting pretty tired, especially my abdominal muscles. I remember feeling a contraction and just not having it in me to push, opting for a break, then Dr. Lochner suggested that they may have to use the vacuum extraction device if labor continued as it was going and her heart rate continued to drop. It didn't come to that, though. At 11:49 am, with a big push, there was a sudden shift and her head came out. Then came her shoulders and next thing I knew, I was holding a squirmy, wet little creature, her deafening wail broadcasting to the pediatric team that their services would not be needed - her lungs were just fine.

Then she pooped all over her mother, but I didn't mind.

The Build-Up

So I'm sitting in the rocker in the nursery, rocking my 2-day-old baby girl while she sleeps, so let's see if I can get out the details of her Arrival before she wakes and distracts me again forever.

On Monday, November 30, 2009, went to see my doctor in the morning. I was 40 weeks and 2 days gestational age and frankly beginning to wonder if I'd just be pregnant forever. I'd gotten this silly notion somewhere in my second trimester that I'd deliver early, sometime between November 15th and the 25th. Ha. So much for a mother's intuition. So I'd been rather depressed for a while about my body's lack of cooperation with my plans, but by this visit, I'd decided I'd just enjoy what time I had left to myself and James and if the baby didn't make her appearance by Saturday the 5th, we'd induce. Sarah said that the more one plans for a post-term induction, the less likely the chances that one needs to get one, so we set the appointment for me to come in on Friday evening to get things started and I made an appointment for a fetal stress test on Wednesday, etc, etc.

I came home and decided a nice walk to Bed, Bath and Beyond would be nice. The air was crisp and clear, so I bundled up and walked over to buy some clips to hang our stockings from the fireplace and a shower head that James later said he wanted to return. I got a peppermint hot chocolate (that was really more warm than hot) from Starbucks on the way home and arrived home after James had already gotten home from work. We did our own thing for a bit, including James surfing reviews of shower heads and I did some quilting.

We were both on our way towards getting peckish, so we settled on Vietnamese sandwiches. We walked over to Best Baguette and had a nice meal before coming home and setting up our Christmas tree. Since our tree this year is significantly larger than trees of years past, we had to make a trip to Rite Aid for more ornaments and lights, but since the evening was wearing on and James had work the next day (not really, but he didn't know that at the time), we drove instead of a third walk that evening. We joked about running into the same cashier who sold us castor oil a week ago (which I never did work up the courage to take), but it was someone else at the check stand, so we didn't have to explain why I was still pregnant. We made our way home and decorated our tree, nostalgically putting up ornaments of Christmases past. We got two new ornaments for Christmas this year (first house and baby's first Christmas), but since we wanted to put her birthdate on her first ornament, they sat in the bag waiting to be brought back to the mall for personalization after the birth.

Like I said, James thought he was going in to work the next day, so he made his way up to bed shortly after 10, but I thought I'd stay up and read for a bit, so I settled myself on the couch and read until 11, when the contractions started coming.

To be continued...

Thankful

I know, I was supposed to be thankful yesterday, but better late than never, eh?

Yesterday was quite the whirlwind of activity and then a nice afternoon of digesting.  Due to a little hiccup in planning, James and I got a crash course in Thanksgiving Feast Preparation.  The turkey was in the oven, and Mom and I went over to Winco for some last minute items (on Thanksgiving morning, with a 2 1/2 year-old . . . and we survived it!) while James started preparing what he already had on hand.  We had a simple menu: turkey, mashed sweet potatoes, roasted root vegetables (but if you want parsnips, you gotta make it to the store before the morning of the event, *sigh*), caesar salad, cranberry sauce (canned - don't judge me), gluten-free stuffing, gluten-full rolls, apple juice, pumpkin pie and/or custard (depending on whether you want the gluten-y crust).  I later picked Jared up, who surprised us with roasted, stuffed butternut squash, cranberry sauce from scratch, and some fabulous sauteed squash (he told me the name of the squash about 12 times, but it's not one I'm familiar with, so I forgot) in a citrous-butter sauce.  Feasting was supposed to start at noon, but we felt rather proud of ourselves to have the whole spread ready by 1:15 or so.  And it was good.  And we have leftovers for when the baby comes and we really don't feel like cooking.

So, I'm thankful for my wonderful husband, who totally rose to the occasion and did about 85% of the feast all by himself, with mostly good graces (there was a period of panic at first), and even missed parts of the Greenbay-Detroit blowout playing in the next room.

I'm thankful for my mom, who will work herself into an early grave to maintain family harmony and deflect sibling rivalry.  I hope she doesn't have to, though, because she's one of my best friends and I need her around.  (I'm selfish like that.)

I'm thankful for my papa, even though he got to watch the game that James missed.  :)  I'm grateful that he watches out for my mom and tries to keep her from over-straining herself.

I'm thankful for my brother, Jared, who continually surprises me over how much he's grown as a person since we were younger.  I keep having to mentally shift from the surly, punk teenager I once knew to the kind, thoughtful man I saw yesterday.

I'm thankful for my sister, Diana, who is weathering her own personal storms with a boot-straps resolve I never thought I'd see in the Little Girl who would streak through the house after her bath.

I'm thankful for my sister Aubrey, her husband Nic, and their two kiddos.  As I'm fretting over whether I need a bottle warmer or a fancy tummy-time mat, they're teaching me that all these objects are merely props, and that the true nature of parenting is in the consistency and love you give your chill'uns.

I'm thankful for my house.  In spite of all we've been through, I have yet to regret the decision we made to buy it and move here.  I hope I never do regret it.  I love the space in all the right places - big kitchen, spare bedroom, big master bathroom, garage.  I'm thankful that we were able to have my family over for a day of gratitude and closeness, and I'm oh so especially grateful that they did the dishes afterwards!!

Waiting for Gwendolyn

A thousand apologies to my loyal fans (Hello?...Hello?...*echo, echo*) for the extreme lapse in posting during what is quite possibly the most eventful year of my life to date.  Since January, James and I have gotten pregnant (mainly me, but he helped), gone to Brazil (second time, but still eventful), bought a house, flooded it (mainly him, but that's all water under the bridge, or over the dam, or most accurately, all over our new house), survived the 2 1/2 month construction zone of the aftermath, packed up all of our belongings (at the apartment), unpacked (HA! about 1/3847th done there), had three baby showers, loved my job, hated my job (well, not the actual job part, just all the HR BS that comes with it), nested, mowed my own yard, raked my own yard, had Fun with Composting, been to a Blazers game and a Pearl Jam concert, been through the wringer with a chiropractor (both effective and less effective), fallen in love with our new ward, and had a baby.  

Oh wait.  No baby yet.  She's "due" in 9 days.  We're trying to convince her to make an early appearance.  James tried luring her out with the promise of cake, but she's too smart.  She knows that after she stops sharing my digestive nutrients, the next time she'll get refined sugar is probably at her first birthday.  (Who am I kidding??  Nana's totally gonna spike her bottles with straight-up sugar the minute I'm not looking.  Hear that, Gwen?  Come out and Nana will give you sugar...)

At least now I have lots of free time to update my blog, right?  Yeah, that's what I'll do.

No, seriously, I'm going to make a Concerted Effort to write at least a brief post on every topic listed above, and extensive posts on some topics.  But not right now.  I have to get ready to visit my orthodontist and hopefully get my braces taken off today.  

I'll blog about it.  I promise.

The thin blue line

Ok, I'm writing this post on March 19, 2009.  I will date it and post it in probably 6-8 weeks, but wanted to put my initial thoughts down so I didn't forget them.

Yesterday, James and I found out I was pregnant (I do not say "we were pregnant" because honestly, who's going to be pushing this thing out?).  

(If you can't see the thin blue vertical line in the left window, don't worry - 

James had his doubts, too.) 

(four months later)

Apparently, I got distracted and never did put down those initial thoughts, lost forever into the ether.  But I'm going to try harder to blog for the next four months so you all can share my experiences and complaints.

Looking back over the last four months of gestation and preparation, I think J and I have both changed and grown a lot.  Of course, this is nothing compared to the changes and growth that will happen AFTER the birth, but it's a good preparation and a comfort to know that we can allow our lives to expand and accommodate a little one, allowing love and joy to push out feelings of selfishness and resentment that are instinctual human emotions.  I already love this little girl that nudges me day and night.  And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get her some cereal...