Obligatory labor story

I'm sure you've just been sitting there on pins & needles waiting for the labor story. The wait is over!

You may remember I've had a plethora of due dates. I'm exaggerating, but I like the word "plethora." They were Sept. 25, Oct. 7, and Oct. 2. The ultrasound techs liked Oct. 2 in the end, but my doctor and I had a Sept. 25 hunch. You know who doesn't care about due dates? Babies.

You may also remember I've been petrified of going into labor, and of random water breakage. I was so paranoid that I bought a waterproof liner for my side of the bed. I was convinced my water was going to break in the middle of the night while I was sleeping. But then I realized the chances of that were probably pretty slim. And I was right. Kind of. It broke at 6 a.m. while I was sleeping, on Sept. 14. At first I wasn't even convinced that it was really my water breaking, because I wasn't having contractions in any remotely frequent or regular manner. Then I thought if it wasn't the water, I wanted my money back on the pregnancy thing because all of the sudden I had the worst bladder control ever.

Captain America ran off to work to wrap some things up. I took the girls to school. {I'm blaming both of those things on shock} As I dropped the girls off I told them someone else would probably pick them up from school, because I thought we'd have the baby that day. So Ella says, "Why do you think that?" And I said, "Because some of the things that happen before you have the baby are happening." And she said, "Oh, because we had the baby shower Saturday?" Um. Yes.

Then I headed to the clinic so my doctor could check me out. They hooked me up to a monitor and watched my ridiculously infrequent contractions, and the plentiful baby movement. Captain America met me there, and then we headed down to the hospital for All the Baby Having. Without contractions it was a little anti-climactic. Since we had two cars at the clinic, I drove one home. When we got to the hospital, I opted out of the wheelchair ride to labor & delivery. The rush wasn't really in it.

Sometime mid-morning they hooked me up to my old friend Pitocin. Only it didn't seem to pack the same punch it did with the other two. By 5 p.m. I started to wonder if she was going to be born by midnight. I was bored with being in labor. I told Captain America to go ahead and order dinner. My THIRD nurse came in. She assured me it wasn't that bad, because she was splitting a shift so really it was only two. She gave that pitocin a final crank, and BAM, we were in business. Shortly after that I called for Round 1 of nubane, because I am deathly afraid of epidurals. The next couple hours is sort of a blur.

It boils down to this: After a while the nubane wore off, and I called for Round 2. There was some discussion about how sometimes Round 2 doesn't work, and should they give me something else? Well, she likes nubane, let's give her more nubane. IT DIDN'T WORK. And it was time to push. Apparently Me + Labor - Nubane {and all drugs for that matter} = Screamer. I'd like to apologize to everyone in the room and in that wing. When it was over I remember thinking maybe I was louder in my head than in real life. Captain America assured me that was not the case. I also noticed my throat hurt from All the Screaming. The only moment I really remember was during the pushing when a nurse said, "Look down at your baby!" and I yelled "NO WAY!" Because I like the miracle of birth to be a pretty miracle. Where a shiny clean baby is placed in my arms and I can pretend she's always been shiny clean. Like on tv.

She was born at 7:44 p.m., weighing 6 lbs. 9 oz. 11 days early. Or more. Or less. Just a tiny peanut. She remained nameless until the next morning when we consulted the Big Sisters. They chose Zoey Elizabeth. She missed Captain America's birthday by 4 hours. Which is best summed up by a balloon some friends brought him at the hospital. It said, "It's my birthday, it's all about me," only it popped on the way in.

So Zoey's here now. And all the labor things I worried about are over and done. I'm enjoying the rewards of snuggling at all hours. And it doesn't hurt that my doctor, also a mother, says things like, "I can't believe you did that. No epidural. No drugs. Girl, you were amazing." It's another notch in my Mommy Martyr belt.


...drumroll please...

Zoey Elizabeth was born Tuesday, Sept. 14 at 7:44 p.m. She was 6 lbs. 9 oz, and 19 1/4" long. Just as she's been from the start, she did it on her own timing and schedule.

I'll be back soon with the obligatory labor story. Right now I'm enjoying putting my feet up while my family roams around the house fixing things and making dinner {shout out for my sister's world famous lasagna} and doing my laundry.

For now just know that we're all so in love with her, that Captain America actually went out and purchased this little outfit on his own accord.



I am a walking timebomb. At any moment I could just launch into labor. I could be browsing the aisles at Target and my water could break. At Target. Yuck.

This is why I've always liked being induced. I liked having a date set. I liked to think I wouldn't go into labor before that (and I got lucky). I like to know. I like sleeping the night before, and not being in labor in the middle of the night. I know inducing is really horrible for a lot of women, but mine went well. A little whiff of pitocin, and off I went. Roughly 8 hours with Ella and 5 hours with Natalie. No guarantees, I know, but you can see how that would be attractive.

I like the idea of being at the hospital for the whole thing. All of the contractions. All of the water breaking yuckiness. I like being at the hospital. With nurses and monitors and Nubane. Having to figure out if I'm really in labor or not freaks me out.

This baby is a whole new experience. New doctor, new hospital, new nurses. I've been given no promises of inducing. And all the not knowing makes me wake up at least 3 times a night having dreamed I was in labor. I'm completely paranoid. Did my stomach just twinge? Am I going to start contractions? I feel a little weird - is this it?

So at this point, I would like to just move into the hospital and wait. At the very least, I'd like to stop going places. Just hole up here at home and wait it out. It's completely unrealistic and unnecessary, but it would certainly make me feel better.


Christmas, Christmas time is here!

I feel like it's been kind of a long summer. Today was the first day of school for first graders on up; kindergarten starts tomorrow. A friend of mine very aptly described last night as the equivalent of Christmas Eve. "And tomorrow Santa will come in his big yellow bus and take them away..."

The school principal called last week and said the class sizes in second grade were getting a little too big (24-25), so they were adding one more section. The new section would be in a smaller room, so it would cap out at 15 kids. Would we be supportive of them moving Ella into that class? SURE! 15 kids? That's like private school. Count her in. So Monday night we went to open house to find out who her teacher would be, since they had to hire one quickly last week and didn't know who it would be yet when they called. We talked to the principal again, and Captain America told Ella that her new teacher would be Mr. B. "Mr.? A Boy Teacher? Are you serious...nevermind...I'm just going over there." In the end she's totally cool with it, she was just unfamiliar with the phenomenon of a Boy Teacher. Turns out Mr. B grew up in Wyoming, and as a Cody, WY and Yellowstone lover, that just sets my soul at ease.

We also checked out Natalie's kindergarten room and met her teacher. Natalie was excited to see that her two best friends from last year are in her class again. At first she wasn't too keen on the all day idea, but she's come around since the open house.

So today is the first day of school. The kindergarteners all have one hour meetings with the teachers scheduled throughout the day, but we got to drop Ella off. I went a little early because I knew it'd be tough to park. So I'm looking for a spot and Ella says, "Mom, can't you just drop me off? I know where I'm going." Yes, I know. But we need to bring in your three boxes of snacks. "I can carry them. Can't you just drop me off?" Ella. It's early. You're not even really supposed to be here yet. And I'd like to get a couple of pictures of you on the first day. "Oh. You should say 'first day of second grade' because 'first day' makes me think it's my first day of school ever. Like preschool." Yes. Well. Fine.

{shout out to the lovely people at Caribou who were at school handing out coffees to the moms and dads}

We dropped off the snacks and left Ella, who gave me the afterthought "bye, Mom!" over her shoulder as she caught up with friends. Then Natalie and I came home. Natalie: "I'm going to play with whatever I want! I'm going to the playroom! WITHOUT ELLA!"

Clearly, we are all terribly brokenhearted that the end of summer has come. At that point, I realized I didn't even shed a tear this morning when I dropped Ella off. I think because this is the first year it isn't really new. When I dropped her off at kindergarten, it was kindergarten. First grade was a new school in a new town. Now she's already got peeps. And I've got my eye on a little peace and quiet. You know, til the baby comes in a few weeks. Merry Christmas, indeed...