Holy two weeks since I’ve had a baby!

I’ve been living on our overstuffed couches, surrounded by books and little teeny tiny Earths Best diapers and so soft flannel blankets I snuggle Wyatt up in. I nurse on the couch, I sleep on the couch with him tucked in my arms, I read books to Paige on the couch and write stories in my head on the couch and I never want to leave.  The other day Phil spotted my deodrant on the counter in the kitchen and it was like oh, so you live downstairs now?

I’m on my babymoon.

The other day I took Wyatt and Paige out together, for the first time. Of course it happened to start pouring buckets the second we arrived for story time, and of course we were too late to actually hear the reader um, read but still. Two kids! Out! We even went to lunch and got dessert [ice cream fudge sundaes for Paige and I] without any melting down. Paige was happily running up to people in the bookstore to introduce herself as a “new big sister” and I was swooning inside because yes she’s being a little impossible, but she’s in love too. She’s on her own babymoon.

The first dew days of Wyatt’s life my momma was here helping like I mentioned; she did laundry, held the baby so I could shower, amused Paige, cleaned up and let me take long uninterrupted naps in the middle of the afternoon, after a night of nursing non-stop.  We had people over showering us with love, and Paige didn’t feel neglected for a second…if I couldn’t read her a book Daddy could, or Grandma, or someone who was visiting. It was cozy, and I felt wrapped up in this cocoon of awesome.

But my mom had to go back to work, and now Phil has a huge project so while he’s home working he’s pretty busy. We’ve got help sure, but I have that nagging feeling that I need to be everywhere at once when I just want to be on the couch with my kids drinking ice water. Years  (and years, and years and years) ago there was such a thing as a babymoon; moms were left with their newborns to bond while everything else was taken care of.

The bottom line is though, I love having two kids

And I love pie, and milk, and I’d like someone to bring me both

It’s been 12 days since the birth of Wyatt, and I am just now sitting to type his birth story.

The night before his birth our sewage pipe leaked poop all over our basement. Old house + a possible piece of fabric that Paige may have flushed + butt wipes [they SAY flush able] = craptattack.  So I spent my last pregnant evening calling plumbers and trying not to be incredibly grossed out — no “real” signs of labor except that I ate three slices of pizza which is kind of an amazing feat for me, considering I don’t LIKE pizza.

Maybe I’m storing energy for labor, ha ha

The night was boring, I had cramps and peed a lot but no regular contractions.

In the morning my cramps got more steady and I was thinking “dude, finally! Maybe this is it! I’m going to call my mom! The midwife! My mother in law! Oh and I should wake up my husband too right? Yeah right!” Paige was playing with her fairy tree house, and I bent over to pick up one of her toys when POP my water broke. Except, I didn’t really realize it was my water because that only happens in the movies really.  I waddled to the toilet and studied what was coming out of me, noticing that it had some poo in it [Wyatt's, not mine] Screamed upstairs “SOMETHING WEIRD IS HAPPENING” and called midwife to talk about our options. Normally a little poo in the water isn’t a big deal, and that was the case here — it was obvious it was old, and it was already clearing up.

So now I was officially going to have a baby! And I really wanted a bagel, and some donuts, so that’s what I sent Phil out to get…and I put on my nightgown and a fresh cardigan and proceeded to leak amniotic fluid all over my stairs/living room [I think I went through 18 pairs of underpants and a few towels until I was sentenced to not move]

Most of my morning/early afternoon was spent like this – grasping counter space and having contractions that were totally manageable, but did make me stop in my tracts. My Mom/Dad arrived to help with Paige during the birth, Phil ran around, I labored, and the midwife came to check on me and decided she would go to the park for awhile so I could get into the groove.

Up until the late afternoon I was  fine

Let me tell you

Transition SUCKS

The pain was starting to become really, incredibly intense. One thing that I anticipated was the fact that I’d feel like it would never end, but I absolutely hated the feeling of having no control over my body.  I’d go from leaning over my birth ball, to being on all fours, to in the shower leaning over my birth ball  to telling my birth ball to fuck off, to leaning on Phil, to laying on the bed. Rinse, repeat, scream, moan, and let everyone know that I could. not. do. this.

The pain was a bit traumatizing honestly.  I was vomiting and crying, but for someone with a serious potty mouth I found myself surprised I wasn’t telling everyone to fuck off.

And the thing is, when I was reading birth stories I found myself looking forward to what people described as their “peaceful, zen home birth..”  I read stories about woman who labored without making a peep, who had 20 minutes of transition before their babies plopped into the birth tub. I read those and thought “sounds good..” not realizing that those fuckers lied. This HURT.  My home birth felt like what I imagine death feels like, only from my “death” I was preparing to give life to a 9lb 6oz little man.

Just when I couldn’t take it anymore, my midwife checked and I was 9 centimeters. We got on pushing position which was Phil behind me, the assistant holding my leg, and the midwife somewhere within baby catching range [I have no idea, I'm just screaming at this point]

Pushing felt good. I can attest to that, in my mind I chanted “get the fuck out Wyatt” and with each surge I roared like a momma lion (although I think I sounded more like a rumbling mac truck starting off from the back of my throat and than really letting it rip towards the end of the push..) Despite my theatrics Paige was outside in the yard looking for bugs with pop-pop and didn’t hear a thing, although my mom says she heard me loud and clear (awesome)

I’m not sure how long I pushed, but I do remember that Wyatt came out heard first with his hand cradling his cheek. I remember the exhaustion I felt, and Phil told me I was panting and going “I did it, I did it!” And you know what, I SO did it, I had my 100% natural home birth. After we waited for the placenta and made an art print with it which we will frame at some point to hang in our bedroom. I had trouble peeing (naturally) and all the peppermint oil/warm showers of the world didn’t help,  so I requested a catheter and we sat around giggling while I filled up an entire roast tray with pee.

Wyatt is a gem.

Second baby is way way way easier, but I do need to find a balance.  Right now I’m spending nights on the couch nursing Wyatt because it’s cozy, and all my “supplies” are here. Also, our family bed is 100% awesome,  but Paige has been waking up when Wyatt does, so for now we will hang downstairs so she can rest, which means I get more rest, which means we are all happy. The mornings are tough – Wyatt wants to eat, Paige wants to eat, and I just want some coffee and to pee in peace. Having Phil work from home rules because he can come and “help..” And I’ve got Shelly my mothers helper who’s a sweet sweet sweeeeeet girl. I’ve been able to leave  Wyatt with her for a few hours so Paige can have “mommy time” and she’s been taking Paige to the park so I can just sit and nap or read with Wyatt.

Paige loves her little brother – she’s eager to help change him, coo to him, kiss him, and sing to him but she’s also acting out in little ways. It’s been 95% with 100% humidity and I just can’t bring Wyatt out in that smooshed against my steaming sweaty chest, so playing outside during the peak hot hours is a no-go.  She’s been running outside/not listening/generally being mischievous but hey, at least she’s not trying to bite Wyatt’s face off right?

I love watching Phil with Wyatt – I love watching my mom coo to him – I love that his brow is always furrowed like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders already – I love that someday my kids [holy shit, plural!] will run around in the garden catching bugs – I love that my family and friends have been so helpful with everything; from bringing over slings for me to try on because I hate/love the idea of baby wearing a newborn {the whole no head support thing freaks me out] to getting supplies from Whole Foods only a few minutes after I gave birth.

I’m pretty happy – today at least. Viva la Wyatt!

I officially breezed through my due date

Reading through my posts I wish I could travel back in time to my prodromal laboring self and say “listen babe, all these cramps? Pains? Contractions? Pieces of mucus plug? The dilating? The effacing? It means nothing, you are going to still be pregnant forever”

All my “signs” have led me to three food shops, on three different occasions to stock up on fresh fruit, bottled water, and easy to make “stuff” which we’ve made, eaten, and enjoyed.  All my “signs” mean that my husband has heard “today dude, today is it” a hundred times, so now when I say that I am having contractions he goes “riiiight” which fills me with rage because I know I’ve just jinxed myself hard. My birthing supplies have been on my dresser for 3 weeks now, collecting dust, and I’ve had our tub cleaned 2x for the impending birth that will never come.

The worst part though, is the comments.

I’ve been braving the 90+ degree heat by going to the bookstore with Paige to sit and flip through pop up books while drinking espresso frappachinos. Almost every time I tuck and roll (to get up of course) someone asks me one of the following “how many babies are in there? Are you going to give birth right now? When are you due?”

Yesterday though, someone said “you look so relaxed..” and that made me happy. Granted I had caffeine flowing through my veins, and Paige was happily reading a book about flesh eating zombies (I’m not kidding, afterwards she wanted to read about brains) but it made me happy that someone noticed I’m trying to be zen about this.

I have been getting roughly 5-10 phone calls, text messages, and emails asking if I’ve had the baby. I know it’s because of all my “holy labor!” moments, and the fact that I’m past my due date but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating.  The worst part is the snark factor, which I’m going to address right now.

1. Stop asking me if it’s “safe” that I’m still pregnant.  I’m not the type to ignore any odd feelings I have, nor am I the type to endanger my life or Wyatt’s. He has a steady heartbeat, he’s moving, things are happening and sometimes a man just needs more time in the womb okay! Other comments that are similar to this are “is it okay you are still pregnant..” or “why haven’t you been induced yet, you’re huge!” Thanks guys! For the record I would never walk up to an overweight person and say “Dude, why the hell haven’t you gotten liposuction yet’ so why is it socially okay because I’m pregnant?

2. There’s nothing “wrong” with me. The other day my very French mother in law opened the door and said “what is wrong with you, seriously!” because I was still pregnant and waddling in to pick up Paige. This is not the first time someones mentioned that maybe I’m just hugely pregnant because of a “problem” and it drives me batty.  I know I’ve been equally frustrating with my labor signs that go-a-nowhere but how about a little sympathy and “it must suck to be kept up half the night” instead of a snarky comment about how my body is probably just working against me to remain pregnant for another two months.

3. Wyatt won’t be 15lbs, I promise.

4.  Stop asking me if I’m still planning my home birth, because legally I have another two glorious weeks of this befoer I HAVE to go to a hospital.  And no, I’m not going to stroll into the ER and let them know that “Hi, I feel too pregnant fix it” and get induced, because that defeats the purpose of my natural, peaceful birth.

And, the best for last #5.

“Are you still pregnant”

As I’m standing there, wearing a tent-like maternity dress sweat dripping from my arm pits my face red because I walked about 2 feet. How could I not be pregnant? Did I just give birth and tuck Wyatt away in his Moses basket on a high shelf where the dogs can’t get to him and decide to go for a stroll to the park?

All that aside, we are having a lovely 4th of July party and I need for you Wyatt to either come before or after that so I can enjoy fireworks, clams, and friendship.  I’m thinking tonight, tomorrow or Thursday work best so lets try to make that happen? I ate lots of pineapple just for you!

I’ve been reading heaps of birth stories lately and in a flash of inspiration I have decided to write Paige’s.

[And no, Wyatt is not out of the womb yet, still cooking!]

Phil and I act on impulse (me more so than him) and we both agreed rather crazily one night that we would have a baby.  I say crazily because it may have seemed that way to over people; Phil and I have known each other for years and years but didn’t “date” the entire time. Instead we would go from talking all day everyday to not talking for a months, to me visiting him and making out, to nothing at all. For 8 years he was a presence in my life, and I went to him for music recommendations, advice, and whatever else. When we started officially seeing each other I moved in after a few weeks because it felt right – I will be cheesy and say that I could not live without him; that every second I spent NOT with him felt like a little piece of my heart was missing.

Sometimes I believe people fit, they belong together, they are soul mates. Phil is without a doubt the person put on this planet for me to love and adore forever and ever…I like to think I’m that person for him too So, yes while our decision to make a Paige may have seemed sudden to anyone else, for us it was just the next step. Love making, baby making, starting a family and lets go.

I took my pregnancy test in between munching on a Bic Mac. For weeks I didn’t tell my mom we were expecting because I was terrified of hear reaction, but when I called and mentioned I had something to tell her, she was like “you’re pregnant” and was at Baby Gap that same day buying cardigans.

My pregnancy with Paige was first marked by barf. Barf all morning, all afternoon, and sometimes at night. I ended up loosing weight my first trimester, and had to stop working [I had just literally started a new job] because I could barely get out of bed in the morning. I would be sick, and sleepy throughout most of the day and it was pretty horrific. In fact, when I got pregnant again I was anticipating being that ill, but it wasn’t half as bad.

My pregnancy was boring. I felt huge [and was huge in the belly] yes, but I didn’t have any of the early contractions/pains/pre-labor I’ve had now.  The day before I went into labor I felt a pang in my cervix and said “this better mean something is happening dude!” and thank god it was, because I was going a tiny bit crazy. One can only waddle for so long, you know? I was planning a hospital birth, with a doctor I liked — prenatal care had been decent, everyone had treated me fairly, and I was as boring as a text book.

On August 9th I woke up in the middle of the night with period cramps and knew that something was up. I tried to sleep but couldn’t really because of excitement, and I think I woke Phil up freakishly early [6ish] to tell him we were in labor.  I labored on the toilet trying to poop while eating an English muffin, and I had a strong contraction while asking my neighbor if he could fetch our mail for us. Nothing was unbearable though..actually, I think I wanted to eat?

I had Beta Strep so I needed to be on medication for 4 hrs, so when I called my doctor she told me to come in around 12ish. I was 4 centimeters dilated and wanted nothing more than to walk walk walk and eat eat eat but no, I had to get into bed with an IV of medicine. Sitting around in bed having painful contractions pretty much sucks and I did end up getting an epidural. I can say though, that it was administered a few hours before I pushed, and I still had so much pressure and pain even with the medication.

The doctor came, checked me, and told me we’d “push” in 30 minutes but I was like NOW GET THE DOCTOR I AM PUSHING NOW. I pushed for about 30 minutes, while my doctor kept things a little silly [only me] and Paige came out with a rip roar [no actually ripping of my vagina though] and was placed on my chest to say hi.

It was all pretty boring. Nothing dramatic happened, I didn’t have any unbearable pain, she was healthy and alert upon delivery and I fell in love with her the second I saw her. The days post-birth did stink though; the hospital was uncomfortable, my roommate cried the entire time, and there was very little help with breast feeding which I desperately needed.

When Paige came home, I was so excited to be in our own bed. My mother stayed and Phil had a month off from work to relish in our new roles as parents. I’d stay up at night breast feeding, breast pumping, and singing Paige to sleep and at 5-6am I’d fork her over to Phil so I could rest. Infancy was tough man!

Home birth is more expensive than a hospital birth, but I want Wyatt to come into our home. Our messy, book filled, dog & cat infested crazy house where we sing, shout, yell, and love fiercely.  I can’t believe I’m 26 and going on a second kid [final] kid, but it feels right.

Paige is back at Grandmas, and I’m in [toes and fingers crossed] a slow labor!

I debated whether to have Paige at the birth – my first thought is that it’s such a beautiful moment and I’d love for her to witness her little brother being born in our bedroom amongst all the people she loves. And then reality hit, when my midwife had to take my blood one day and Paige got totally freaked out by the fact that I would be bleeding. Even though I grinned through the entire thing, and told her it didn’t hurt she talked about “blood” for a week after, and seemed a little shell shocked.  When I’m in pain, she panics a little, and I don’t want to traumatize her. Even if she’s downstairs, and I’m upstairs in labor I’m worried she’ll come in and see me, face twisted in a contraction and will loose it. And I’ll loose my labor-cool and we will all be screwed.

So, while I’m having the baby she’s going to see movies and eat jello. And she’ll come home to a new baby brother, a big sister basket with Little House on the Prairie paper dolls, and her Gramie [my mom] who’s staying here to help for a few days.

And Wyatt is en route.   Yesterday my contractions were 15 minutes apart all day, and I managed to rest, eat burritos, and maintain a small level of sanity. At 12am the contractions were closer together, and more painful so I did a little bounce on my birthing ball, and eventually went downstairs at around 3am to sit on the couch alone in the dark because I’m creepy when I’m in pain. And they were 7 minutes apart, strong, but not unbearable and I told myself “30 more minutes of timing them, really timing them and I’ll call my midwife….” but instead I fell asleep sitting up and didn’t really get out of that until 5am.  And today my contractions are there as well as cramps and the runs and all those fun things, but they are spread apart. It’s like starting all over! Very frustrating, but there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

Wish me luck

Happy Fathers day to you, my love.

There was no breakfast in bed for you today, instead I made you go to the store for a 24 pack of bottled water, chocolate bars, chocolate donuts, and gossip magazines.

I wasn’t very nice either was I? Instead of whispering sweet nothings, I told you to fuck off because it’s your fault I’m waddling around having contractions, and the lower back ache of early labor.  In between the fucking off’s I was crying because sorry; sorry I’m so emotional and it’s not your fault but FUCK YOU at the same time okay? I love you.

[and yes this picture is like a year + old, but trying to get you to grin for the camera is another blog entry]

You are my best friend in the world.  Even though you work from home, and are here 90% of the time I never run out of things to talk to you about [you wish I would] and I still look forward to sneaking into your office for a hug, or a smooch. You crack me up, you smell good, and I love spying on you when you think I’m not really watching.

You are also an amazing, awesome Dad.  I love when we are all snuggled in bed and Paige is beaming and flapping because we are a “family..” And we so so are: we aren’t perfect, but we work…and soon, maybe not tonight, maybe not first thing tomorrow…you’re going to be a Dad all over. And I’m going to be a MOM all over! And we are going to be fighting about poop, and who’s getting more sleep, and we might hate each other for at least 6 minutes per day, but we’ll get through it. And next Fathers Day you’ll have two sets of homemade cards that you will leave for the cat to spill water on or something, and I’ll bug you about that too but who cares.

Without you, I wouldn’t be able to find time to write. I wouldn’t be inspired on a daily basis, and I wouldn’t be able to follow all my wishy washy dreams of being a stay at home momma with an expensive habit of half finished sentences, who wants to home school her kids and sometimes has temper tantrums.  You’re my rock, our rock, and we love you. Especially the pets that I’ve convinced you we need, because you’re the one who ends up feeding them.

I’m exhausted. I can barely keep my eyes open

I’m going to read this giant run on sentence in the morning and cringe but for now, Happy Fathers Day baby.

To my family and well meaning friends:

No, I am not in labor and yes I’m fairly sure.  Stop calling to ask me “when I’m going to have the baby already..” because I’m the one with a yoga ball sized belly, a head between my legs, the runs and irregular contractions..not you. You are going on living your lives without rushing to the bathroom every 10 seconds. I love you, most of you all of you, but really I just want to be left alone. Ask me about the status of my broccoli, or the awesome monsters my daughters been drawing, but DON’T ask me if I’m still pregnant.  I swear, I won’t’ secretly go into labor and deliver the baby without telling anyone.

It’s just, I’ve reached a place. Every morning at 4am I welcome the contractions, but I don’t tell myself “this is IT, this is IT I’m in labor..” because if I get my hopes up, and get crushed, I’m grumpy. The frequent poops? The lazy girl version of nesting? The dilation and thinning of my cervix? Whatever.  What-fucking-ever. When I call you mom, to talk and I mention my stomach ache you ask if I’m SURE I’m not in labor – like all this time I have been and just ignoring it.  And mother-in-law when I talk about my 6am burst of energy, please don’t tell me “this is it!” because it’s just not it.  And I can’t help but share a teeny bit of your enthusiasm. Little Wyatt Sage will come when he’s ready, and all the spicy food and uncomfortable sex of the world can not speed things up.

In other news?

We rescued a kitten. One of my friends has an allergic husband, and lives “downtown” off a busy/main road, and when she came home from a trip there was a teeny kitten outside on the sidewalk.  I’ve never in my life said “no” to a good kitten rescue, and so I wobbled out in the rain to drive over and scoop her up. She was/is tiny, had an eye infection, but was in good spirits [purring so loud] when I scooped her up. Spent 2 hrs waiting at the vet for medications, some basic shots, and the diagnosis that she was malnourished, had been on the street for a bit, and was probably 6-8 weeks old [leaning more towards 6]

We named her Clover, and she’s been hanging upstairs, mostly in the guest bedroom. Her food + liter is in there, but now that she’s getting her energy back she’s starting to wander more. Still no downstairs, but she explores the bedroom,  and gets tortured loved by Paige all day.

If I could rescue all the kittens of the world I would, but Phil would not be happy.

And, in more news [less thrilling than animals] my birthday was yesterday! My parents always made a pretty swell deal of of birthdays; there were little special gifts, BBQ’s, special dinners, and the general feeling that on June 15th each and every year, I was special.  But now I’m also old and boring, so for my birthday I didn’t want much – I took myself to Ikea and bought a set of polka dot glasses, and went to Jcrew and brought a pretty embroidered skirt.  Phil and Paige let me “sleep in” {I read} and I got this breakfast in bed:

It was yummy, and perfect. I also got surprised with beautiful cupcakes which we had for dinner.

Couldn’t have asked for a more delicious day

I’m a whopping 1 centimeter  dilated!

I’m a whopping 75% effaced!

I know that you can stay like that forever, but it makes me happy to know that these cramps/contractions/pains I’m feeling are doing at least a teeny amount of work.

After my midwife left today, I didn’t feel as scared. She told me that she too, had so many “holy..am I? Is this labor?” moments with her second child too, and that I shouldn’t feel embarrassed if I call.  Which I do, because even though I’m paying someone to answer my questions, and take care of us, I still want to do it all by myself.  But not really? Does that make sense? What I need is a mind reader but those are probably way out of our budget.

I’ve got 100 pictures to upload, mostly of our adventures this weekend with the yard & bugs. It’s amazing how many little creatures we can find in our small, urban yard. We don’t have chickens anymore, no bears, no turtles..but we have caterpillars, snails and snakes.  Tomorrow I’m going to scour the camera to show you what we’ve been up to…

Normally I’m not too too dramatic, but this pregnancy is turning me into one of those “holy labor!” woman.

Scenario 1: I feel a trickle of pee? water? fluid? Down my leg, and than very very little movement on Wyatt’s part for hours, so in we go to get a stress test at the hospital.  While Paige played in the family waiting room with a 5 month old baby, I was strapped to machines/getting internals from the most impersonal doctor on the planet/having contractions that made me sweat through my tank tops. The good news? Trace amounts of fluid, nothing to be worried about, Wyatt sounded like a strapping young lad.

Scenario 2:  I wake up at 5am with horrible cramps, almost identical to what I had the morning I went into true blue labor with Paige. Combine that with a 5:30am case of the runs, and I’m almost confident I’m going into labor. Sat in bed taking herbs and watching 9 by Design with husband until it was time to visit my other midwife for my 36 week check up.  I was discovered again to be not dilated, but she did comment on the low-factor and tell me to stay off my feet, again until Monday when I can resume all activities and have the home birth. The happy, calm home birth.

Paige has been at G-mas so she’s missed my nasty moods, moaning in pain in bed, and generally not getting up unless I need to get a huge bottle of water, a book, or to pee. My mother in law offered to keep her for the remainder of the week so I can get bed rest and A: don’t go into early labor or B: in case I do, and I’m kind of iffy about the offer; not because I don’t think my daughter is having a BLAST swimming, making pizza, reading tons of books, and going to the zoo, but because I just miss her.  We are hopelessly in love, but it’s me, not her since when I call to talk she’s like “k bye Chutes and Ladders time..” And I know I should take this time to rest, I feel GUILTY. Like I’m a bad mom if I can’t hoist myself out of bed and go run around in the sprinkler with her.  I can not wait to NOT be pregnant so that we can go to the playground, and the city, and everything else that I’m forbidden from doing at the moment.

In fact, allow me to list the things I can’t wait to do

1. Order an iced coffee with a shot of espresso from Starbucks

2. Drink a mojito, or a pina colada, or a glass of wine or 3.

3. Sneak a cigarette,  which sounds evil and un-crunchy and like the scene from a “bad mommy” commercial but really, nothing beats a cigg on a summer night, with a cold drink, a husband, and the kids in bed.

4. Loose at least a chunk of baby weight – enough that I can wear a sundress that isn’t from a maternity section.

5. Go to the city! With my KIDS! I want to hit up the farmers markets, street fairs, and Moomah to do this really neat craft they have at the moment.

6.  LAY ON MY TUMMY IN THE GRASS

7.  Have sex – lots of mind blowing awesome sex

That’s a mighty 7 item list, isn’t it?