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.

Tick...tick...tick...

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...

Captain America

I met Captain America on my second day of college. Classes hadn't even started yet. I got invited to someone's house for movies, and ended up sitting next to him. He told me if I got thirsty he had some Pepsi I could have. He and his roommates gave me a ride back to campus, and we all stayed up late talking. At some point I realized my keys were in my dorm room, and the dorm systems were now locked. I called my roommate and left a few messages, and when she got in she said she'd meet me to open the door. I remember overhearing a conversation between Captain America and his roommate over who would walk me home, and CA saying, "No. I'll do it." Well. So he walked me to my dorm door, and my poor sleepy roommate let me in. I hoped it wouldn't put a damper on our roomie relationship, since we'd known each other for all of a day.

The next day I called over to his apartment to see if they would show me around so I could figure out where my classes were. I completely mispronounced his name. But they still helped me find my classes. Captain America and I hung out quite a lot that week. By the end of it we were dating. A year later we were engaged. Ten months after that we got married, and that poor sleepy roommate was in the wedding (I don't think she was sleepy anymore).

Today we've been married for 12 years. Twelve. We were such babies when we got married. We've got two, almost three beautiful girls. We've made a couple of big moves (big for us). We've both had a few jobs. We've figured out everything about being grown-ups together. Fourteen years after meeting him, there's still no one who makes me laugh harder. And there's no one I'd rather figure out life with.

So Captain America, I love you, and I'm thankful for you. I'm thankful for everything these 12 years have brought us, and for every year God sees fit to give us. I think we should aim for 75. We can totally live to our late 90s, right?

It's the final countdown...

I'm sure you're all as sick of this pregnancy thing as I am, at this point. Good news! Only 4 weeks left (I hope).

Yesterday it would seem I forgot I was pregnant at all, and thought I could whip through Sam's Club really quickly. You know, grab one thing from every corner of the store. Just really quickly. Zoom, zoom. By the time I got to the checkout line (did I mention it was 5 p.m.?) to stand and wait for eternity, I was feeling it. The baby was going nuts with the kicking. I was getting some braxton-hicks. I had to just stand for a moment and hold on to my stomach. For a minute I thought, "Shoot, what if someone notices me and thinks I'm going into labor?" And then I thought, "Sweet! Maybe I'll be able to move ahead in line!" To no avail. I don't know if you're aware, but when we're waiting in line to check out anywhere, we are all completely oblivious of each other.

I get a little punchy in that last month (it's probably the whole 9 - but particularly in the last one). I hope it isn't just me. When I was pregnant with Natalie I was working with a couple college-age guys. We had three pregnancies at one time in our office. Our office of about 10 people. Those boys learned more than they wanted to learn. I admit, on more than one occasion I enjoyed stopping a conversation saying something like, "Hang on - contraction," and watching the clock. I knew I wasn't in labor. But it was good practice for timing contractions, right? And the panic on their faces was just precious...

So I'm kind of looking forward to my hospital tour later today. Maybe someone will think I'm in labor. Plus I'm hoping that knowing a little more what I can expect when I get there will CALM ME DOWN. I have never gone into labor on my own, and it petrifies me. PETRIFIES. I'm all about pulling out our datebooks and finding a good day for baby havin'. Thursdays or Fridays are nice. A little whiff of some pitocin, and off I go. Having my water break at Target? Not so high on that. Going into labor at 2 a.m. and rounding up childcare? No thank you. And then getting sent home with false labor? Not so much. Walking around my house deciding if I'm in labor? I'd rather not.

Here's to hoping I can sway the doctor to my way of thinking. I know - good luck to me.

Un-nesting

A couple of weeks ago I felt a little nesting freak out. Much to Captain America's dismay, the mood has passed. Poor guy. I remember with Ella & Natalie he was so excited for me to nest. So hopeful that I would throw out all my clutter in the middle of the night while the carpets dried from shampooing. No such luck.

And now, it's August. It's too hot to clean things. It's too hot to do much of anything but put my feet up and read a book with a bowl of ice cream. Yesterday, however, the humidity really broke. For the first time since May, we spent 24 hours without air conditioning. IT WAS LOVELY. I think I said so every 15 minutes or so. "This is so nice." "This is just so nice."

I think I have my own brand of nesting: avoidance. Now that I can still breathe when I step outside, I'd like to take a road trip. Something tells me it wouldn't really be that fun. Not in real life. Probably I'd swell up like a giant balloon after an hour in the car. I'd have to stop every 30 minutes to pee. I'd be even more uncomfortable not sleeping in a different bed. I'd be irritated that we all had to go to bed at 8:30 sharing some hotel room with the girls. Where they wouldn't sleep either. They'd get tired & cranky and beg to swim in the pool. I'd have to don a too-small maternity swimsuit, and look like a potato sausage bursting out of the casing.

But the ideal version in my head seems delightful. Some sort of late-summer adventure, the last with there just being 4 of us. MEMORIES. Something on the North Shore of Lake Superior, where we'd sit with ice cream in one hand and toss rocks into the lake with the other. After feeding half our donuts to the seagulls that morning, ignoring the locals silently cursing us for feeding those stinking, shrieking birds (I can say that - I've been one of the locals). Eating wild raspberries while we hike the trails to various waterfalls. Sitting on uncomfortable rocks watching the lake, and feeling your entire body just slow down.

With only about 5 weeks to go til my due date, I'm guessing my ideal version couldn't make it into reality. I mean, sometimes I need a nap because taking a shower has worn me out. But the whole avoidance thing sounds so nice. Right now I'd much rather load up the van with some luggage than with boxes for Goodwill.

Maybe I'll just have another bowl of ice cream, for now.

O Pioneer

I've been reading pioneer girl fiction again. This time it was a Lauraine Snelling book. I often enjoy her because they take place in North Dakota, on land and in weather with which I am familiar. So it's easy for me to imagine. I'm so pregnant. Easy is good.

I always start the pioneer girl fiction a tinge envious. Life was so simple. You had clear cut jobs to do, and the motivation was survival. It was easy to rely on God and give Him the proper thanks for success, because you could just as easily lose it all in a fire, storm or drought as the neighbor down the river did. It was probably easier to live your life in focus; without tv, internet and ipods vying for your attention. When the fanciest mode of transportation had to be fed & watered.

And then, inevitably, someone in the book will give birth. And I will end every sentence I read with "Thank you, Jesus, for modern medicine. And air conditioning." I've been trying to temper my "wah, wah, I'm ginormously pregnant in sauna-like humidity" by thinking of my pioneer sisters. Giving birth in the soddy. While Husband milked the cows, because cows must be milked. When you were lucky if a neighbor wife could come help you, but if it was threshing season, you might just be lucky to have an 11-yr-old around to catch the baby while everyone else worked all hours just to get the wheat up before it rained.

No air conditioning. No drugs. No doctor (unless you were very lucky). No hospital monitors keeping track of you and the baby. No nurse bringing you peanut butter toast at 3 a.m. and taking the baby so you could sleep. NO AIR CONDITIONING. Just your 12-yr-old niece and some willow bark tea.

My pioneer sisters got married when the house was finished, not when the $10K dress could be altered and the DJ was available. But the barn came first. If they were ginormously pregnant through the summer, they still probably wore a long skirt and long-sleeves. Not only for fashion (and the modesty it demanded), but because there was work to be done in the fields and gardens, for which your skin should be covered. Livestock to be fed. Bread to make from scratch. Preserves to be put up and meat to be cured for a very, very long and harsh winter. Dinner to make for the threshing crew. Clothes to sew for the baby.

So I lay on my bed with an assortment of pillows, under my ceiling fan with the air conditioning blasting. It's the middle of the day, but I feel just a little tired and like it might be nice to put my feet up. And I read a chapter or two about the pioneer woman. Slaving away from dusk til dawn for the good of her family. While I sip some iced tea or lemonade with ice cubes that appear magically in my freezer. And keep tabs on the design jobs coming into email on my Blackberry. And I'll think about where we can maybe go out to eat, because it's too hot to cook and I just don't feel like it.

Somehow, I'll still feel a little hint of envy for her life. While I roll over and adjust my pillows to get more comfortable, and better feel the air conditioning.

Pending Pending

Some friends of ours recently had a baby and while they had the first name picked out, they weren't quite settled on the middle. So for a little while on Facebook she was "Autumn Pending." At the rate we're going, we may just have Pending Pending.

It's not that we aren't looking. We just aren't finding. I have read, front to back, the baby girl names in THREE baby name books. THREE. I'm having a bit of trouble. Anything I see with any excitement Captain America meets with a "meh." And vice versa. And really, there's nothing either of us likes enough to put it into negotiations.

It's such a challenge, because we were so sure about Ella & Natalie. I'd wanted a Natalie my whole life, but around month 6 with Ella it just wasn't right. So we opted for Ella as our girl name. We found out Natalie was a girl at 20 weeks, and from that moment she was Natalie. This child is a mystery. She's had three due dates. She has no name. Not that she needs it right now, what with not being born and everything. But eventually, she will be born.

My children come from long lines of people who don't use their given names (too many to list, really). For some reason, I then feel completely pressured to come up with a name that will be used in all stages of life.

So, let me amuse you with my freakishly precise baby naming criteria (all about personal taste, I take no issue with other people going against these):

1. No names in the Top 15 popular baby names (heck, or the Top 20-50 if I could help it).
2. Preferably nothing that can also be used for a boy.
   
3. I generally am attracted to older names. But not really old. More like Ava than Hepzibah.
   
4. Nothing longer than 7 letters (slightly scarred over watching poor Natalie learn to write her name).
5. Nothing with a bizarre meaning that I'd hate to saddle the kid with for life.
6. Nothing that sounds like one of the existing names in our house (no Isabella, since we have an Ella, not Madeline since we'd have Maddy & Nattie, etc).
7. I'd love to avoid something she will have to spell for people her entire life.
8. It should kind of "go" with Ella & Natalie.
9. Nothing that easily lends itself to a mean nickname.
   
10. Preferably nothing that the teacher looks at and wonders "How on earth do I pronounce that?"
11. Nothing sports related (been there, done that, thank you, Captain America).
12. Must keep in mind what her initials will spell (preferably nothing).
13. Nothing that first brings to mind some sort of famous person. Like Hillary.
    
14. Something that works on a small child as easily as it does a 40-yr-old doctor or CEO, or a grandma. Not that my child needs to be a doctor, CEO, or a grandma, but I want her to have options and be taken seriously. If she wants to be taken seriously.
15. No names that put a lot of expectations on her, like Patience. I mean, I'd love for her to be patient, but it would stink to hear all the time "With a name like Patience, you'd think you could wait a little longer for dinner," or something.
    

Honestly, I don't even think this is everything, but it's what I remember right now. Which, given my morning out in the humidity is impressive. And you can see how I've put myself in a bit of a pickle with all that choosiness. Something is going to have to give, and I'm ok with that. I'm just hoping a name comes along that I love enough to say it's worth breaking some criteria.

Not that I've ever been a morning person...

I'm well into trimester #3 now (OH MY GOODNESS, IT'S AUGUST, AND BABY COULD EASILY COME NEXT MONTH). It seems mornings are my biggest challenge. I have a lot of trouble dragging myself out of bed. Not like I've ever been a morning fan. Ask my parents. And then ask them why Dad thought it was a good idea to wake me up by saying, "Sarah, it's time to spring out of bed like a newborn gazelle." Especially when I didn't think high school was anything worth springing out of bed for in the first place. Certainly not like a newborn gazelle.

Anywho.

Seems this trimester is sleepier than the rest. I spend the entire morning yawning. Sometimes I give up and lay down for 20 minutes or so. I got my biggest taste of it on our Big Trip. Part of the Big Water Festival is a 5 & 10K race. Don't jump to conclusions - I'd never run it myself. But my aunt & uncle usually come up from North Carolina to run in it and then threaten the nieces with uber sweaty hugs. Family people that we are, we usually go down to watch the runners come in. And hope to avoid the sweaty hugs. Maybe while we eat some mini-donuts. This year I was standing about, when I started to get a little dizzy. Then I started to get really dizzy. Then I sat down and couldn't really lift my head up off the picnic table. While trying to remember where the garbage cans were for when I lost my breakfast. If I could walk to them, which I didn't think I could do. Never losing sight of the fact that all the people around me had just run 10K, and here I was "I need to lay down..." and feeling silly.

Small town to the rescue, yet again. My sister called her husband at home, and he came down to the park to pick us up. While we waited, she grabbed a high school friend, who is now a doctor, to accompany us to the other side of the park until he got there. After a few glasses of water and a little lie down, I felt fine again.

Needless to say, the mornings are not my friend.