Not What I Expected

Ya'll know that if you can count on me for anything, it's total honesty.  Even when it's not the PC or even polite thing to say, if I feel it, I'm gonna write about it.

Pregnancy and childbirth hasn't changed that about me.

I'm gonna be honest here, because I feel like I owe it to you, and to myself.

Here's the truth: parenting is much, much harder than I ever thought it would be.

And I'm lucky.  I have a supportive husband who is hands-on, a loving family who drops everything to help me.  And still, I find myself overwhelmed by the demands of this tiny little human that I was so desperate to bring home.

Please don't misunderstand.  I adore my son.  I fully realize that this is just a phase, and a short-lived one at that.  There will come a time soon when he is not nearly as dependent on me, when he doesn't need my breath in his ear and the feel of my heartbeat to lull him to sleep.  There will come a time when my smell isn't enough to comfort him, when my arms aren't filled with the heavy weight of a restless newborn.  And when that time comes, I am sure I will look back and miss this.

But now?

Now, I find myself more than willing (thrilled even!) to allow grandparents, friends, Mo, -- hell, even the neighbor -- time to hold him, because that means that my arms can rest, that I can get something to eat, or even attempt to sleep.  I look forward to Mo's shift, or Momma MoJo coming over, so that I can actually DO something that doesn't involve changing diapers, rocking babies, feeding, pumping, or even just holding B.B.  While I enjoy each of these tasks for a time, the sheer monotony of them all in succession (over and over and over again) is exhausting.

And so it follows that I am consumed with guilt.  I wanted this -- desperately.  I begged and railed against the universe for denying this to me for so long.  I pursued parenthood with every fiber in my being.  I "should" be enjoying the fruits of my labor, shouldn't I?  Each time I put him down, I feel a messy flood of both relief and remorse, and I blame myself for not liking this stage more.  I can see myself as an infertile, hating me for saying these things.  I have to constantly remind myself: This. Is. What. I. Wanted.

And it is.  It's exactly what I wanted, and I do know how lucky I am to be here.  And yet, like pregnancy, it's not without its challenges.  Challenges that, perhaps, I was naively unprepared for.  I honestly had no idea how painful birth would be, let alone the weeks of recovery afterwards.  I had no idea how deliriously exhausted I would be after 32 hours of no sleep, followed by patchy, sweat-soaked, broken 2-hour stretches of half-sleep.  I didn't realize that I'd nod off on the couch, B.B. in my arms, then awake with a startle, terrified I'd dropped or smothered him.  I didn't realize I'd cry so often, or feel so inadequate.

I didn't realize it would be so damn hard.

Baby Boy is my most precious, longed-for, anticipated, and cherished son.  So why am I so conflicted over caring for him?  Why do I selfishly find myself wishing he'd stay asleep for just five more minutes?  Part of me wonders if I really am cut out for this.  That maybe, the universe knew something I didn't.  Maybe I am, ultimately, too selfish to be a good mother.

Or maybe, just maybe, parenting a newborn is hard work, and I should just cut myself a little slack.

I will, after all, eventually sleep again.

Someday.

Right?!?

Our Birth Story

*Warning: Gratuitous baby pics at the end.  Proceed at your own risk. 

Everyone's got one, and I'll be honest: I usually skip these kinds of posts.  I mean, there are always variances, but the end result is always the same: a baby.  Still, I want to record our story while it's still fresh in my mind -- even now, details are beginning to blur and become hazy. Which, if you decide to read this, you will see is probably a very, very good thing.

Today, my miracle baby is one week old.  We went to the hospital on Thursday the 13th to be induced.  I wasn't dilated at all, so the first course of action was to start me on Cytotec to thin my cervix.  Because of the severe pain caused by my cervical checks, the doctor also recommended that I go ahead and get my epidural placed early on (before the day got too busy).  I remember asking if it would wear off, and I was assured that it didn't work that way.  I was to be given a continuous drip, and the most that I would feel would be a heavy pressure as baby was about to be born.

They wouldn't let Mo be in the room as they placed the epi, and it hurt quite a bit.  It caused pain in my shoulders and neck and a headache.  Before long, I was seeing spots and my vision was blurry.  My BP dropped quickly.  They decided to turn the epi off until I stabilized, which I did fairly quickly after sitting up.  We let the Cytotec work for four hours.  At my next check, I was dilated to a 3 and having regular, though not painful, contractions.   They started Pitocin and rebooted my epi.

After an hour, I expressed concerns.  The Pitocin contractions were ramping up, but my epi wasn't nearly as powerful as it had been that morning.  I felt it more on one side than the other (which happens, I'm told), but it also seemed to be taking a really long time to kick in.  The anesthesiologist explained that he had given me a lower dose because of my reaction earlier, and so it would take longer to feel the effects.

As the contractions worsened, the epi continued to drip, but without any noticeable results.  My pain intensified so much that I was unable to talk between contractions.  They gave me an extra shot of medication, which helped for a while.  They told me to press my epidural button with each contraction, that it was impossible to override the safety and accidentally overdose on the medication.  Within about 40 minutes, the shot wore off and I was again in agony.  By this point I was dilated to about a 7, the contractions were coming every two minutes and lasting about a minute each.  My parents arrived and helped Mo to distract me as the pain was intense.  We kept asking for the anesthesiologist, but he was in a c-section and unable to be reached.  I grabbed Mo's hand with each wave of pain, while my mom and my dad rubbed my legs and my shoulders to help me through each one.  After a while (time was losing it's relevance here), I began moaning and yelling uncontrollably with each contraction.  Finally, about 9 p.m., the anesthesiologist arrived.  At this point I had been in labor for 12 hours and the epidural was doing absolutely nothing to ease the pain.  He gave me an additional shot of drugs and checked the effectiveness of the epi with ice.  I was only numb in my legs and lower pelvis; my midsection wasn't numb at all.  Within 30 minutes the shot had worn off again and the contractions were stronger than ever. We repeated the process at 10 p.m.  At this point, the epidural was only working on my lower legs: from my upper thighs on up, I felt everything.  They discussed replacing the epidural, but wanted to check my cervix first.  However, the doctor was again stuck in a c-section and unavailable. By the time he arrived to check me at nearly midnight, I was fully dilated and ready to push.  The anesthesiologist made the call not to replace the epi and to give me a final shot of pain medication, warning me that I had reached my maximum dose allowed for a 24 hour period. The nurses assured me that by the time it wore off (which we knew it would), Baby Boy would be here.

I started pushing just after midnight.  The shot helped,, as I was only feeling intense pressure and a little pain.  However, baby wasn't moving down quickly.  By the time the shot wore off, he had only descended one station.  At that point, they could do nothing for the pain.  I kept pushing.  Baby became stuck behind my pelvis, where he stayed for another two hours.  I wish I could explain how very, very excruciating it was for me.  I never expected childbirth to be easy; however, I did expect to have working pain medication.  I wasn't prepared -- mentally or physically -- for a long labor in which I felt every contraction.  Things became very fuzzy, and I remember vaguely telling everyone that I wasn't up to the task.  I couldn't do it.  They insisted I could, but I knew my energy was failing.  At this point, I had labored for 15 hours and pushed for an additional 3 hours.  Baby was stuck, but too far down the birth canal for a c-section (or so they told me).  I honestly can't remember the final few moments -- I just remember telling Mo that I couldn't do it anymore, and just as I was about to give up, baby boy arrived.

Re-reading this, I can see where many of you may wonder what the big deal is.  After all, as the anesthesiologist (a man, mind you) so helpfully pointed out: women do this all the time.  And its true, they do.  However, I wasn't planning on doing this unmedicated.  I obviously utilized all the medical technology available to conceive this child, and I was very comfortable using all the medical technology available to assist in his delivery!  I have a low pain threshold as it is. I went in fairly open minded about the delivery process: I'm aware you can't "plan" a birth.  However, the one thing I was certain of was that I wanted an epidural.  I never, ever, anticipated that it might not work for me.

I hesitate to use this word, given that many women have it worse (and have much worse outcomes), but the bottom line is that I was traumatized by the entire experience.  The labor was long, and intense, and though I had a few brief respites, I felt almost all of it.  Mo keeps telling me how strong I was, how amazed he was by my determination.  But I wasn't determined, I was petrified.  And in pain.  I don't know how I managed to birth this beautiful, perfect, baby.  I, honest to god, was there -- but I still don't know how it all happened.  I look back and all I can remember is the waves of pain pulling at me, pushing my head underwater, and threatening to drown me -- meanwhile, no one around me is even attempting to throw me a life preserver.  It may sound overly dramatic, but for me, it was the hardest trial I have yet to experience.  12 years of infertility and three losses -- I have never felt pain like I did that night.

Was it worth it?  Of course.  My son is gorgeous and healthy and I couldn't ask for anything more.  Would I do it again?  No.  I don't think I can.

I've told Mo how I feel.  I will talk to my OB at some point and see what options I have if we attempt a second pregnancy -- will I be able to schedule a c-section?  Will a different epidural work differently?  Are there other medications available?  What if the same thing happens again?

But I'm not sure that I can risk it.  I know what happened to me, even if I'm unable to do it justice with the written word.  I know my body, and I know that I can't go through that again.  Even a week later I'm still having a rough recovery and feeling pain that far exceeds any pain of infertility treatments or pregnancy.  I wouldn't trade my son for anything -- but nor will I be volunteering for that ever again.

Baby Boy is perfect.

He is a dream come true.

He is enough.

 

He's Here!

Baby boy arrived healthy and happy at 3:14 am on 3/14/14. The birth process was long, traumatic, and nothing at all like I expected. But that story will have to wait for another day. For now, all that matters is the fact that everyone is well, baby is thriving, and we are at home trying to figure out this new parenting gig. 

I can't thank you enough for all the love left on my last post. Y'all continue to amaze me. 

As does he: 

More later, I promise. 

It's Baby Day!

I cannot quite wrap my brain around it, but it's finally here. In about an hour's time I will be checking into the hospital to be induced and will, hopefully, be meeting my son within the next 12 hours or so. 

I'm both terrified and excited, while in a suspended state of disbelief. I've just never really allowed myself to "go there," at least not in many, many, years. It's been a decade of "one step at a time" and living moment to moment, trying to just make it to the next milestone. 

The last milestone is here, friends. 

Today I'm thinking of all of you. Those who've crossed over long before me, yet stayed and supported me through it all. Those who are waiting with me, whose own special days loom within the coming weeks/months. And most especially, those of you who, like me, wonder if you will ever get the chance to parent. 

I can't make any promises. I sincerely hope your journeys end as mine (fingers crossed) will - with the fulfillment of your dreams, in whatever form that takes. 

These last nine months have been a roller coaster of emotions. Being able to carry a healthy child after three losses has helped to begin a healing process that I never thought would be possible. I try to think of everything my body has finally done right (without any input from me) as I contemplate just how in the hell this is going to work! Birth is scary, y'all. As much as we've been through to get here, I'm in uncharted territory now and I'm more than a little nervous. 

I will try to update soon, but in the meantime, I certainly would appreciate any good vibes/mojo you could send our way. 

It's time to rock n' roll!