headaches and dreams and help

This zero ability to blog is really sad.

I am…really tired. My hormones are changing again…it happens every few months. I guess my body is trying to eventually ovulate? TMI, probably. I had to fend off a migraine on Saturday…thankfully I’m learning how to catch and knock them out while they are still a headache behind my eye…but that’s the warning flag. The pounding knife sensation in that location.

Don’t ask me why but 500mg of Tylenol and a plain Coke is what works. It’s kind of disgusting, but it gets the job done. And it has to be a plain Coca-Cola. Nothing else works. It must have some kind of secret ingredient because it is not just the caffeine…coffee doesn’t help me when it comes to migraines.

I can’t even believe I have to deal with migraines, period.

Oh! Random question. If you can remember, if you had dreams about having a baby before you got pregnant and in the dream, the baby ended up being a boy or a girl, did real life match the dream once you actually got pregnant and had your child? I’ve had two such dreams so far and each time the baby’s sex was the same….

Also? Huge favor?

Kellan has been entered into (yet another) photo contest. It’s a one week voting window, so I won’t have to bother you for very long…but it would be awesome of he won! The ultimate prize is getting on the cover of Parents magazine. That’d be neat. And I would have a reaaalllly long thank you card list…of you all voted.

Here is the link to his picture.

And just so you know, he’s definitely the cutest one. I already checked the competition.

no surrogate (read as: no sir…rogate)

Good news for you! I’m going to have to blog DAILY for the entire month.

Why?

Because I need to beg for votes…for Kellan…to win the Gerber baby contest in his milestone category!

I mean, come on! It’s GERBER!!! Can’t you just see him as a Gerber baby?? I know! ME. TOO.

You ALL think he’s super cute…so now is your chance to show it!

It is a once daily voting thing – which drives me bananas because that means I have to remember to ask you – daily – to vote and then you get annoyed with me because I’m always asking you for something…but IT’S GERBER.

Ask your friends to vote, too? And family? Co-workers? Strangers at the grocery store?

Here is the link to vote for Kellan: https://apps.facebook.com/gerberps/detail.do?entry_id=114360 

Just copy and paste and send away!

(I’ll love you forever)

(and ever)

(amen)

Ok…now on to what I was REALLY going to say…

(I started writing this last week. Obviously, lots of things – like the zoo and running errands and a picnic – precluded me from finishing until……now. Just FYI)

I had something I wanted to say this morning…and before I had a chance to actually sit down and write about it, something ELSE happened that basically made me feel like a total ass.

(sorry, it’s true)

I took Kellan to Walgreens to return a box of Little Fevers. See, last week, when Kellan was having a really rough teething day, Tim came home from work and was immediately sent on a travel-all-over-creation looking for Infant Tylenol, grape flavor.

PSA: It doesn’t exist. It was recalled due to some kind of dosage confusion on the bottles.

Dear Tylenol: WE NEED THAT. Kellan gags and spits up every other kind.

Anyway, Tim ended up buying the same thing I had already purchased earlier in the day and so…we needed to take it back because who needs two of something the child hates?

I’m standing in line to check out and return the Little Fevers and there is this lady in front of me with her grandson (I am assuming). She has an odd assortment of items she’s buying. Among those, Bugles, two bottles of orange Gatorade and a four pack of GE lightbulbs – the energy saving kind.

The cashier rings everything up and gives her the total and she pulls out her money, counts it, and is like, “Well, shoot.” and takes one of the Gatorade’s out.

Still short.

She takes out the lightbulbs and comes just under the amount of money she has in her hands.

All the while, I’m standing there, first looking at how much the original total was ($40-something) and am thinking, “Can I really afford to put $40 on the credit card?….” and at the same time thinking, “It IS just $40…”

Regardless…the universe threw me an opportunity to DO SOMETHING GOOD and I didn’t DO ANYTHING.

I sat there, while this poor woman was all, “I should have brought my wallet in. I’m so sorry…”

Seriously, self. I could have been like, “No problem. I’ve got it. How much do you need?” instead of thinking, “$40?!…can I do that??”

It was a Gatorade and lightbulbs, people.

And I let her walk out of the store without either.

Gigantic pay it forward FAIL.

I feel like such an ass.

This moment is going to stick with me for life. I know it.

I’m begging the universe to give me another chance…because I royally screwed this one up.

****end embarrassing moment of the day****

The main thing I actually wanted to write about was “gestational carriers.”

HOW CAN SOMEONE DO THAT???

I have absolutely nothing against people who do it or people who utilize them. I just cannot understand how a person – even if they know from the words pregnant with someone else’s baby – can go nine months carrying this child, bonding with it, feeling it move around, then going through the process of labor and delivery of this baby and not even getting a chance to hold this tiny little person they created and carried in their body (even if it was with someone else’s egg and sperm).

This is stemming from the birth of the Rancic’s baby yesterday and the article that talks about how Bill cut the cord and Giuliana was the first to hold him…etc.

There was no word on the gestational carrier. No news on how she’s holding up, what with the process that is childbirth and then the after – sans a little baby to hold and make it all better.

(maybe the paycheck was worth it, I have no idea…I wouldn’t be able to do this for millions of dollars, so…)

Again, I have nothing against those who use gestational carriers or those who sign up for the job – they are a stronger woman than me, that’s for sure. I know they are giving a couple an opportunity to be parents who may otherwise never have the chance (to have a biological child). Granted, I would imagine they should have to be a mother first, before they literally hand over their first born, because if you have never felt the immediate connection and overwhelming sense of love when you first see that baby you have carried with you, twenty four hours a day, then you are in for a really rude awakening. Couple that with all of the hormone craziness that happens after that baby is no longer inside of you and WOW.

They should be paid quadruple for that mess alone. Post-pregnancy hormones are the WORST. Everything makes you cry. EVERYTHING.

And yet, there is no baby for you to care for or comfort or find solace in.

I remember when Kellan was first born and the movements he would make…I would be like, “WOW. That’s how he moved his foot in my ribs!” or “That’s what he always did during an ultrasound [putting his hand over his face]!”

I could not imagine Kellan coming into the world and someone whisking him away, handing him off to someone else. But…wait…

He knew my voice and the rhythm of my heartbeat and…me. Gestational carrier or not, that baby bonded with the person who carried them and kept them within their womb. Then, instead of giving that baby the comfort it probably craves after the birthing process, it is handed off to strangers who sound different…who have heartbeats that do not match the person it has come to know and seek comfort in. I have to imagine there is some biological design built into a newborn that makes it want to be near the only person it really knows.

That thought alone breaks me. That is why I could never do it, I could never – would never – just hand over a baby after having so many experiences and tender moments with him, before he was even “here.”

I’m sure the baby…turned child…is fine in the long run…but had I been the person who carried the baby and then never really saw him or her again, save  birthday here or an impromptu visit there, I don’t think I could handle it. Even just seeing that baby for a brief moment. How do you not look at that child and remember what it felt like while they were inside of you? Growing…developing…kicking…?

It would break me.

I would be broken.

It would feel like part of me was out in the world…and I wasn’t there to guide them, love them…even though it may not be *my* egg or *my significant other’s* sperm…*I* still grew that child and that child got to know *my* voice, *my* heartbeat. Got to know ME.

Nope.

Couldn’t do it.

it’s nothing personal

Uuuugggggghhhhhhhhhhhh.

Ok. Now that I got that out….let’s talk about what that’s really about.

After you have a baby…your marriage takes a ginormous backseat.

At least this is what happened in my experience.

The life of phone calls just to say hi, ‘I love you’s’ after everything, lingering kisses and long talks morphs – overnight – into: gI’ve me the quick and dirty version all I want is the most pertinent information here’s a quick peck on the cheek I have to go, the baby is crying.

Your brain and your body is in a constant state of distraction and motion. There is always something to do and something to think about and something else to think about to try to remember to do at some point in the future (which may or may not ever happen, despite your best efforts, hello bag of dirty diapers that never made it to the trash)

The worst part?

Hubba bubba time.

(I was going to call it hubba hubba time but it autocorrected and that just sounded way better. Thank you, Apple…?)

More accurately, intimacy on all levels.

The hubba bubba time hasn’t happened since…..um…..before Kellan.

Whenever it *did* happen right before Kellan it was pretty much hostage sex with me all, “I need your sperm to soften my cervix!” and Tim all, “I can’t! It’s weird! THERE’S A PERSON IN THERE!” and then I’d shoot back, “And he’s going to STAY IN THERE UNLESS I HAVE YOUR SPERM!”

Completely romantic, right?

Point is, I wish someone would have prepared me for this part of post baby. I have zero percent interest in hubba bubba anything, mostly because the whole idea of doing THAT…with TIM?

WEIRD.

It’s been so long since I’ve felt…since I’ve been wooed and touched – and we’re talking simple things like a hug that’s longer than two seconds and Tim scratching my head or something…holding hands…simple things…it’s been so long that that intimate part of our marriage kind of feels lost. I don’t have those simple things and so the bigger things (hubba bubba) feel really distant and foreign and just…weird.

My entire world right now is diapers and boobies and crying and entertainment and teaching and enrichment with Kellan. I haven’t felt like my “old” self – the self that can look in the mirror and feel pretty or sexy – in a long time. First it was the giant belly and now I’ll look in the mirror and six times out of ten there is a boob hanging out that I forgot to put away.

I’m tired. I feel – and probably look – like I’ve been worn ragged and the intimacy has been lacking for so long that I’m just kind of in a state of autopilot at this point. Intimacy and Tim and me all seem like separate entities that I’m not sure how to link back together again.

Small steps…like I told Tim he needed to woo me again before all the hubba bubba started.

He laughed.

But I was serious.

I don’t think it is the same for him. He’s primed and ready to just hop right back on the horse while I’m still trying to find my old body and get over the idea that the vaj isn’t irreparably broken. And the hormones. OMG. The worst. I need to feel that love and intimacy again before I act on it……..

I’m sure this is all normal…and I know it will get better. I don’t want anyone to think I’m wallowing in a sea of self pity and sadness. I’m not. I’m actually really enjoying Kellan and making new mommy friends. This entire week has been full of activity for Kellan and me, meeting up with other moms for lunches and dinners, play dates and walks in the park.

I guess just a forewarning to those who have yet to have their first child: be prepared to lose a bit of what you had with your significant other for a little while when the baby first arrives. Understand that you’ll be so distracted and tired and worn down that you’ll forget about that part of your relationship where holding hands and being sweet and making the other person feel loved kind of gets shoved to the side.

I wish someone would have prepared me. That’s for sure.

And now the baby is crying….

friday photo – ouch (photo tmi)

The before:

The after:

They really shouldn’t have left it all out like that….just sayin.

And yes, that giant shot went right into all areas of the perineum and hurt like a SOB. The OB was all, “it’s going to hurt like a bear for a minute…try not to tense up.”

Ummm….riiiiight. Sure. No problem………

I really don’t have anything more to say other than now I remember why a day after Kellan was born I said having another child was insane.

The local has worn off and Tylenol is doing nothing for the pain.

I’ve already got an SOS call into the OB.

Also of note: apparently if you’re super swollen post birth and need to be stitched up, it’s like sewing pudding. The OB’s words, not mine.

the state of the vaj

It’s been….entirely too long since I’ve updated anyone on my post-rocketing-a-baby-from-my-bits progress.

And he absolutely rocketed. That isn’t an exaggeration.

So, the positive…I only have about ten pounds to go before I’m back to pre-baby weight. I’ve read that some women hold onto those ten pounds until they stop breastfeeding.

I’m hoping that isn’t my body.

Oh, right. I probably forgot to mention that I gained like, forty pounds.

So much for the desired “I’m only gaining 25-35 pounds.”

Granted, ten pounds or not, my belly is still all sorts of sadface. It’s ah-mazing what almost nine months can do to your abdominal wall (read: zip. zilch. nada). Lately, I’ve been putting Kellan in his crib to talk to his stuffed animal friends while I lay on the floor in his nursery and attempt to fire off a few rounds of reverse crunches and sit-ups.

Some days he cooperates and some days my abs continue on the road to remain flabby.

I’m pretty positive my butt and my thighs are still ginormous. I made small progress the other day when Tim asked if I had lost weight because he thought both looked smaller.

Bonus points to you, dear, whether you were serious or were just trying to make me feel better.

To combat those? Walks with Kellan in the stroller.

I’ve yet to be cleared to run because…………

My ass is still broken.

More accurately, my perineum.

This is the part where it gets into TMI territory. Fair warning.

For whatever reason, the area right before my literal hole where the poop comes out isn’t healing. According to the OB….begin tangent….My OB who I currently want to kick in the teeth because she isn’t helping me. At. All.

After examining my sutures last Friday from the 3rd degree tear and telling me it was still open/not healing I looked at her all, “Well, I have no idea what to do about that.”

And then she looks at me, dead pan serious face all, “Me either.”

Uhhhhhhhhhh……………..what?

To top it all off, her nurse person who weighed me added an extra pound because I was *almost* at a higher number.

You’re supposed to subtract a number. Not add one.

For clothes.

I was not happy.

This was the second time I’d gotten a non-answer about how to deal with my issue down below. The only other words of wisdom she gave me at my six week check up were “No sex” and “No running.”

Awesome.

How about no pooping because that still hurts like a mother. I cry when I even have the slightest urge to go because I know how badly it will hurt when I actually do the deed. It’s like part of the sutures re-rip every single time, regardless of the “softness” of the poo.

(related: Colace doesn’t work for, well, you know. That is unless you’re aiming for harder poo than normal)

And then? It hurts “down there” ALL DAMN DAY.

Sitting after pooping is absolute torture. There is a semi-permanent donut on the chair at the kitchen table where I sit. I have to nurse Kellan lying down because I can’t handle sitting in any position that involves my butt cheeks touching anything.

It’s like my ass aged fifty years in one childbirth.

It’s like my perineum “trauma” – because that’s exactly what it is – has taken away my two most favorite activities: running…and pooping.

(and you thought I was going to say sex)

(you’re all liars if you say you don’t enjoy a good poop)

….end tangent. Kind of.

Point is: I’m currently looking for another OB to get a second opinion and to also switch to because I’m not driving ALL THE WAY INTO DENVER FOR YOU TO TELL ME YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO FIX IT and to come back in another month.

Because time heals all wounds, right?

Fail, OB. Massive, massive fail.

Anyway, I don’t even remember where I was going before that tangent….right. According to my OB, she has no idea why that part isn’t healing and I should just rub a whole bunch of A&D ointment on it because, obviously, diaper rash team will do the trick.

Choke me with a Cheerio. Gag me with a Fruit Loop.

I had no idea the recovery phase would take so long.

It’s extremely upsetting because I figured I’d be off and running by now. That was my fail safe weight loss ka-blam!

My perineum has taken away, or at least delayed, the ka-blam! potential.

And that is no bueno.

I’m afraid of a subsequent childbirth and third degree tearing incident. I’d rather not lose the capability to “hold it” and have poo literally falling out of my hiney.

Hiney is way more appropriate than my other option with a two month old in the house.

Just sayin.

leaving him alone

Kellan has this new thing…it’s not an all the time thing or a perfect thing but it’s a new thing where he actually lets me put him down and sometimes he’ll even fall asleep or other times he’ll just lay there and stare and babble at whatever interests him.

He does all of this when I’m not there. I’ll leave the room, bring the baby monitor with me and watch him (we have a video monitor).

I almost plotzed yesterday when I put him down on the bed because I had to pee (it happens) and when I came back to check on him…he was asleep! Granted, he had his binky with him…but, still. ASLEEP! ON HIS OWN!

This was a first and is a big deal. For the child who (still) (99.9% of the time) never wants to be put down, it’s like he’s gaining a little bit of independence. It’s the thing I’ve been hoping for since I realized he and I would be attached at the hip forever because OMG. The child would not let me leave.

Except…it’s actually hard for me to leave him in a room by himself, wide awake, and not be there with him. It’s harder than I thought it would be when I begged him, albeit silently, to let me have a few minutes to myself.

Go figure.

This must be one of those mommy things no one warns you about.

The only reasoning I can muster is because he and I have – literally – been together for almost a year. He was with me everywhere I went for nine months. Then, when he came out into the world, he was still with me everywhere I went. I feel like I’m neglecting him or not stimulating him or teaching him things he needs to know when I just leave him all by himself.

And right now? He’s just hanging out upstairs on the bed, happy as can be while I’m downstairs in the computer room, watching over him on the tiny monitor.

I know it is healthy for me – and him – to be separated from time to time. I know he needs to figure the world out on his own sometimes. I mean, it’s gonna happen anyway…he’s going to be apart from me sooner or later. I guess I just had no idea how hard it would be to cut the cord – the non-literal one. All you moms out there who have a hard time letting go…I totally understand why, now. 100% get it. I have no idea how I’m going to cut my own bloody cord (ha…accidental double entendre).

But, once he gets cranky or wakes up, I am right there to comfort him. And that smile and look of recognition I get upon my return?

Worth every second I was away.

It is absolutely priceless.

it’s all fun and games…until somebody has a baby

I remember when Tim and I first learned I was pregnant (I’d say ‘we’ but let’s be honest. My body was the one that was inhabited). We were all, “Aww…we’re having a baby!”

I remember the first time we saw the sprout on the ultrasound as a tiny little bean, a mere six weeks old. We were all, “Aww…how adorable.”

I remember when we first felt him kicking and rolling around inside of me. We were all, “Aww…how incredible!”

I remember the first time we watched my belly jump up and down when he had the hiccups. We were all, “Aww…how cute! Poor thing!”

I remember the bubble we were in at the hospital right after he was born. We were all, “Aww…we’re parents!!!”

Flash forward seven weeks.

Now we’re all…

Dear Sleep, I miss you.

Dear Arm, I know you’re asleep and tingling and about to fall off and run away whimpering but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD don’t you dare move a muscle because then he’ll wake up and we’ll have to START ALL OVER.

Dear Sanity, Will you ever return?

Dear Date Night, You’ve been replaced by a tiny human who doesn’t care about dinner and a movie unless it’s by My Breast, Producer: Milk.

Dear Romance, ….(excuse me…laughing hysterically).

Dear Intimacy, See above.

Dear Husband, One day I’ll be able to pay attention to you, again.

Dear Body, I have no idea what happened, either.

Dear Vaj, I’m still sorry. There really is no way to properly warn you RE: outgoing – human head.

Dear Pooper, Will you ever forgive me and be normal again? There was no warning for you because I DIDN’T KNOW.

Dear Life Before Baby, Sometimes I really, really miss how simple and easygoing you were.

Dear Gym and Running, I will return…once the Pooper is cleared (ha…punny). Cleared medically, I mean. And once I don’t feel like I’ve been hit by a bus, day after day.

Dear Brain, How long, exactly, until we’re functioning on at least one cylinder?

Dear Anyone Who is Pregnant, Trust me when I say that being pregnant is a cake walk compared to life post-childbirth. Sometimes you’ll wish for the day your little one was oh so conveniently packaged up inside your uterus.

Dear Anyone Considering Getting Knocked Up: It’s not as easy as it looks on TV. In fact, it’s ten bajillion times harder. Unless you have a live-in nanny. If you do, I hope they let your child color the walls, couch and carpet with Sharpies and fabric dye.

Dear Boobs, I know, right?!!!! (!!!!!!!!)

things that happened while i was preoccupied

Lots of things happened while I pounded out Kellan’s birth story……

He turned a month old (WOW):

I had to give up dairy products. Poor Kellan kept having serious tummy troubles and I read that dairy products tend to be the culprit. So far, it’s looking like dairy was the gastrointestinal offender, as we haven’t had any major tummy rumbles/ridiculous gas/baby screaming in discomfort.

So…..I guess this means I made my first big motherly sacrifice (Not really. The broken vajayjay trumps dairy free).

Do you know how hard it is giving up dairy? Did anyone realize how many things OTHER THAN MILK contain dairy??

Me neither.

Related: I miss cheese.

Over the weekend, this happened:

Tim left early Saturday morning with my car and came home Saturday afternoon with that.

I think it means I’m officially a mom, now.

I also probably should have bid farewell to my (now former) car.

I mean…it was a good car….loyal and faithful and dependable. It’s like I sent it packing without it even knowing it was going anywhere. Mean little game I (didn’t know I) played.

(Honestly, I haven’t driven it since before Kellan, which is over a month ago)

(Related: I hope I remember how to drive)

(Also related: the new car is a Toyota Highlander Limited)

I sucked my first booger from Kellan’s nose (gag, gag, gag). I’m a booger-phobe and believe me I tried to avoid said action at all costs.

I’m still coming to grips with my new reality: I can no longer escape free range boogers. This makes me sad. And cringe.

I’ve realized I miss being married.

Whoa, right?

Good news: I’m still 100% married.

Not as good news: I miss my marriage.

(more on that later)

I’ve become a pro at the super fast, OMG-did-he-wake-up-is-he-crying?! shower.

Related: The water hitting my nipples stings like a crazy, tiny person walloping on my little nubs with a mini whip, so I’ve also mastered shielding them from the dagger water.

I finally understand why, as hard as it is and as sleep deprived, grungy and non-sexy one feels, you miss this infant phase.

Why?

Because they’re so tiny and helpless and love you without question.

You are their entire world.

They never disobey and they will never snuggle and melt into your arms the same way when they’re two.

the footnote: recovery

We were able to spend about an hour in the labor and delivery room before being moved to recovery.

It was nice, mostly because our little family of three was in this little bubble of denial…denial that life really was changing forever. Denial that we would soon be solely responsible for Kellan’s well being. Denial that life was about to get really hard…yet extremely rewarding.

The nurses had cleaned all the blood off of the floor, which was probably for the best, considering it looked like someone had slaughtered a very large animal. I have no idea how that much blood came out of me without my needing some kind of medical intervention.

Tim and I noticed they had missed a small spot to the right of the bed…but we were too consumed with Kellan to make a big deal about it.

After a bit, a nurse came in to remove the epidural from my back. In order to keep the line annd tube in place, they had put a loooooong piece of tape on my back.

(I don’t remember any nurse names after Laura. My brain was too tired to remember that kind of unnecessary information)

Anyhow, the nurse apologized before she gave my back a “wax job.”

And holy goats. Ripping that tape off hurt like a SOB (an SOB?).

Then, probably to make me feel better – or really to try and get my blood sugar and energy up – the nurse brought me what she called a “tequila sunrise without the tequila.”

(After repeatedly asking for it once we got to recovery, I learned it was a combo of Sprite, OJ and cranberry juice)

And this tequila sunrise sans tequila? Heavenly. I had not eaten since dinner the day before and it was something like 9pm, so it had been waaaay over 24 hours, 17 of those in labor, since my body had any sustenance.

They also brought me a boxed lunch, since the cafeteria was closed. I tried to eat…but the most I managed was a cracker or two and a few bites of the sandwich. It was tuna. I wasn’t really feeling tuna. And I guess I still didn’t have much of an appetite.

Finally, before we were taken to a recovery room, the nurse made me waddle to bathroom to try to pee.

This is the dreaded Walk of Shame where you, a fully capable adult, have to be assisted in the bathroom. It’s not torture enough that you’re still half naked, swollen and bleeding everywhere…NOW you can’t even urinate without supervision.

I sat on the toilet for a few minutes all, “I’m pretty sure I don’t have to go…” so she had me stand up to walk back to the bed….

And then the room went fuzzy and I grabbed the wall all, “I’m feeling kinda light headed…”

I’m not entirely sure what happened other than the nurse grabbed my arm and sat me back down on the toilet (but I said don’t have to go?…..) while calling to Tim to tell him to find and bring her an alcohol swab. When he came to the bathroom door, Kellan in hand, he took one look at me and was like, “You’re white as a sheet!”

The nurse gave him a “No shit” look and then told him to page another nurse to bring smelling salts while she ripped the swab open and wafted it under my nose.

Another nurse rushed in all, “Is everything ok?? It’s usually not good when the dad is paging the nurse….”

My nurse filled her in and found that smelling salts were hard to come by, since the nurse who rushed in also brought alcohol swabs.

Future reference – that alcohol swab trick really works.

Tim told me later that he was freaking out inside, wondering how anyone expected him to keep Kellan from crying while they were helping me not get a concussion.

Once I was guided back into bed, the nurse started pushing around on my bladder (I forgot to mention that they also do a lot of pushing on your uterus right after you give birth. The nurse doing the pushing had me put my hand on my stomach to feel how much it had already shrunk and WOW. It went from being all up in my ribs to under my belly button in the span of mere minutes).

Apparently, my bladder was full and I couldn’t feel it, thanks to the epidural meds.

This meant more fun (NOT) for me, as the nurse had to straight cath me to empty my bladder.

I’m glad I was still numb because OUCHY! I could feel what she was doing, just not the pain associated with it.

A little while later, we were moved to recovery. Initially, the nurse wanted Tim to push our cart full of our bags AND the rolling bassinet that contained Kellan.

As we walked out (well, the nurse and Tim walked. I was in a wheelchair), we passed the nurses station where a nurse saw Tim trying to maneuver the bassinet and overflowing cart and was like, “Do you need some help?”

I didn’t even wait for him to answer, as I knew he was uncomfortable pushing a brand new baby – our son – and a cart full of heavy things, and blurted out, “YES. He does.”

The nurse came out from behind the desk, grabbed the cart of heavy things and took off towards our recovery room.

In our new room, we kept Kellan with us for a bit before deciding to send him to the nursery so we could get a few hours of sleep. I felt guilty doing so but knew I wouldn’t be any good to anyone without some rest.

(which didn’t really happen because I had what I thought at the time was serious heartburn…though in hindsight I think I squished/pinched my esophagus during all of the pushing).

Honestly, I don’t remember much of the hour and a half of pushing and eventual delivery.

Tim says it was because I went inside myself.

That’s probably exactly what happened, my body had a job to do, so it shut off my brain and just did it, though I vaguely remember telling him he wasn’t holding my leg the right way at one point.

And as for Tim, he says he remembers it all…and that his arms were tired from holding my leg…..(I’ll refrain from comment….).

Lastly, giving birth didn’t feel like taking a giant poop….there was a lot of pressure…but I was centered in a different area than the pooper hole.

And no, I didn’t poop on the table (yay!!).

And no, much to everyone’s surprise, I didn’t get the ‘roids (double yay!!)

birth story: the final chapter

Fair warning: this is the part where it gets real. And by real I mean fairly graphic, so if you’d rather live in blissful ignorance, know that the stork came and brought me a perfect, beautiful baby boy and stop reading. Right now.

To be honest, *I* didn’t even want to write it.

If this wasn’t enough and you want *more* gory details, email me.

Also, if there are any typos or misspellings, let me know because my iPhone sucks at notifying me of both and I’ve been writing this over the course of however many days through naps and feedings and OMG cut me some slack

So, where were we? Yes…Tim left to get breakfast.

He ended up walking to Einstein’s Bagels, which was probably close to half a mile or so each way.

I decided to try and rest.

And then about five minutes later, it happened.

All of a sudden, three nurses rushed in, none of which were Laura, got on either side of the bed, rolled me over, shoved an oxygen mask on my face and kept staring at the monitors to the left of the bed.

No one told me anything, other than to breathe.

Then Laura came in, thanking the nurses for helping her out.

I start freaking out, taking the mask off all, “What happened?! Is he ok?!”

Apparently, Kellan’s heart rate dropped super low and that was no bueno.

It came back up, though I had to lay there with the mask on my face, which was the worst form of torture. I cannot stand the hot breath feeling on my face where you can feel the moistness start to settle on your face….ugh! It is a major pet peeve…a thing that makes me want to crawl out of my skin…and that’s what the mask did to me. Dislike.

All of the nurses left once they decided Kellan and I were in the clear, telling me to try and get some sleep (wasn’t that what I was trying to do??).

Then, just as I think I’m nodding off, I start to hear this dinging coming from outside the room. It went on and on for a good ten minutes, just long enough for me to start to get annoyed, wondering why no one would turn it off.

Well, joke’s on me, because some dude in super casual there-is-no-way-you’d-know-he-worked-in-the-hospital from the anesthesiology department came in, clipboard in hand.
I’m like, “What now?”

He started checking the monitors (I sense a theme, here), telling me they’d need to adjust the flow of meds if my blood pressure didn’t come up.

(I had already warned everyone that my blood pressure does funny things, ie plummet, with anesthesia medicine. I guess they weren’t listening.)

He also told me to press the button that would give me a shot of meds every ten minutes.

I was like, “Actually, I think you can turn it down, some because I can’t feel or lift my legs.”

He thought I was crazy. And left, saying he’d be back to check on me later.

Laura came back in a few minutes after the other guy left and told me I could take the mask off and to make sure my arm with the blood pressure cuff was straight when it tightened or else it wouldn’t read correctly.

Would’ve been nice to know that in the first place…just sayin, Laura. Just sayin.

I had a few minutes of zero interruptions before Tim came back from breakfast.

I was all, “You missed all the drama.” and proceeded to fill him in.

Then, we spent hours upon hours just…waiting. Tim would watch the contraction monitor that showed all of the rooms with women in them and hooked up to the monitors. The monitor didn’t show names, just room numbers.

We tried to see if I could feel contractions. I couldn’t.

I also legit could not lift my legs, which bothered me. I could still wiggle my toes but my legs were like dead weight. They felt all buzzy inside when I touched them, like a body part feels when it falls asleep.

Around 1pm, Laura checked me and
I was still 7-8 cm. I’m pretty sure it’s because of the epidural. They tend to slow things down…

Anyhow, Laura told me she was going to talk to my OB to see if she wanted to break my water to speed things up.

Off she went…and soon came back with a resident to break my water.

In my brain, I imagined I’d feel something when this happened…but the resident was all, “I’m going to use something that looks like a knitting needle…” and then it was done and they were both all, “It’s clear! Yay!”

(basically, Kellan hadn’t pooped in the womb)

The resident left, her job done.

I asked Laura if the epidural could be turner down since i could barely move my legs to assist in the whole breaking of the water process.

The anesthesiologist came in and turned down the speed at which the medicine dropped into the tube that was attached to my back.

Things were much better, then…kind of. At least I could move my legs without assistance and they didn’t feel like two giant tree trunks that didn’t belong to my body.

Then….Tim and I waited some more.

We did a lot of waiting.

A LOT.

To pass the time, Tim started telling me about the graphs of the other women on the monitor, some of which were having crazy contractions and some who were on and then their little long rectangular graph would disappear from the monitor.

We found out later that the ones who disappeared from the monitor were women who *thought* they were in labor, weren’t, and got sent home.

Sucks to be them.

Laura had told us she’d check me again at 3pm and let us be.

However, I guess she failed to mention that to my OB, because she came in at 2:48pm (Tim had texted family at this time, which is why I can be so exact) to check me and Kellan’s position.

She was my least favorite of the four at the practice and wasn’t much for chit chat or telling us anything at all, really. I managed to get her to tell us that I was 9 cm and that he was head down.

This is good, right? Yay?

I don’t really have an answer to that because the OB left without so much as a goodbye.

Fortunately, Laura came in at 3pm and asked us if our OB told me he was transverse.

Um……NO.

Apparently, he was head down but sideways, kind of turned at an angle, NOT in the right position for pushing.

As in: hope he turned before time to push or else c-section.

Tim and I were left alone again….to wait and hope Kellan turned.

Laura came back at 4pm to check me. I had made it to 10cm…but I guess Kellan still wasn’t in the right position because she said nothing about pushing.

At some point in between all of that, the casual clothes dude came back in to ask if I had been pressing my button every ten minutes.

I think I had pushed it twice, maybe?

I wasn’t looking to be so numb I couldn’t feel anything but apparently that was their goal: zero feeling = zero pain.

Laura came in again around 5 and out of nowhere was all, “I think we should start pushing.”

Um…what?!

I wasn’t expecting that to come out of her mouth at all.

Her theory was to see if I could get Kellan to move down, which would hopefully kick start the “desire” to push, which I didn’t have. Kellan had decided to stay at a -2 station, which is above my pelvic bones, and he needed to be at like, +4 or 5, which is OUT.

Laura gave Tim directions as to how to help me – aka hold my leg – and told me we were going to do pushes in three counts of ten and that I wasn’t allowed to breathe during each count.

This was the part I dreaded all throughout pregnancy. The holding of the legs, hooha exposed and all kinds of unladylike noises coming out of all orifices.

At that moment, though, I honestly didn’t care. I also didn’t care that I had to hold myself up by grabbing my calves and putting my chin to my chest whist pushing or that Laura put her hand up my vaj while I was pushing to feel to see of I was pushing correctly, since I had never done it before and couldn’t feel any kind of need to push anything.

At first, Laura would do the three counts of ten. Then, she put “dad” in charge.

Either way, holding your breath like that is beyond difficult. Laura never told me I could breathe between counts, so I ended up feeling like I was suffocating and was sputtering and spitting around “7″ during the second and third sets, my cheeks all puffed out like a chipmunk from trying to hold in the air that wanted to come out.

Finally, Laura was all, “You can take a few breaths between pushes…”

Woulda been nice to know from the start, Laura. Just sayin…

I ended up finding a little routine that worked of one deep breath followed by a quicker, shallower one, between each push.

According to Laura, I still had a tiny lip of cervix left that I needed to “push” out of the way before Kellan could start moving down.

Let’s just say I got that bad boy out of the way after one set of pushes. I wasn’t playing around. I wanted this child OUT.

After I had been pushing for a few minutes, Laura still helping me figure out if I was pushing correctly, the OB came in to check on me. Laura told her we had started pushing and the OB was convinced it would take me 3 hrs to get him out due to his position – which was still a bit sideways but not as bad as before – and station.

I decided right then and there was no way I was pushing that long. No. Way.

On we soldiered. Tim and Laura would watch the monitor and tell me when I hit the peak of contraction. That is when you push. At the peak.

Tim was really loud and methodical with the counts of ten and Laura kept cheering me on, telling me I was doing great and pushing perfectly, moving him down. At one point, she pulled her hand (yes…hand) out of my vaj all, “bloody show…” and had to throw her gloves, which were covered in blood and clotty looking stuff, and put on new ones.

Another nurse came in for a minute and she and Laura told me that room 10 was at the same point as me. They joked and said they’d see who could get baby out first.

Tim was all, “You don’t know her…bad idea to do start a competition because she likes to win at everything.”

And I do.

Game on.

I started pushing as hard as I could, giving a little extra oomph right at the end of each ten count. Much to everyone’s surprise, I moved that baby down from a -2 to +1 station in 45 minutes, which was way faster than anyone expected.

Onward with the pushing.

Eventually, Kellan was low enough that I could feel the “urge” to push and OMG there is no denying it.

Once Laura realized I could decide when it was time for me to push, she told me I was in charge and to let her and Tim know when I was ready.

Typically, I’m not one to be super demonstrative in front of strangers, but in this particular instance, I had no qualms in letting them know all, “I need to push, now.”

I’d grab my calves, they’d hold my legs and off we went.

Soon, he was starting to crown.

In the pre-labor talk, I told Tim not to look South of my knees.

By the time we had reached the crowning point, I honestly didn’t care who was looking where.

Tim said he only saw Kellan beginning to crown through my reflection in a picture on the other side of the room (I didn’t know this until post delivery).

Anyhow, Laura asked me if I wanted a mirror to see crowning – I said no. I felt enough of what was going on down there to know I didn’t need to watch.

After another few rounds of pushing, I asked for more meds because the pain was unreal and the need to push was beyond necessary. It was primal, like my body completely took over.

Tim would still watch the contraction monitor and was amazed when I’d say I needed to push right when the peak of the contraction started to peak.

I didn’t need a monitor to help me anymore, that I knew for sure.

The Anesthesiologist came in fairly quickly after my request – and because I was literally minutes from birth – gave me a straight shot of meds into my IV. Good thing, too, because I’d need the extra numbing post birth more than I did during the actual act. The nurses even commented to themselves afterward all, “Good thing she asked for that…”

(You’ll see why soon enough)

Laura then paged OB and the pediatric nurses to come in and get ready.

And then she did the most awful thing in the entire world: she put my feet on these paddle-type things (like stirrups, only flat) and told me not to push.

NOT pushing when everything in your entire body is screaming otherwise is absolute torture. I was breathing like a haggard dog, trying desperately not to give in to the urge, Tim trying to help me not push, while everyone else worked at a frenzied pace to prep the room.

I was mostly oblivious to what they were doing, save the part where they removed the bottom half of the bed so my ass was basically hanging off the edge, my vaj completely open for business.

The OB came in wondering why she had been paged, Tim said the look on her face was like, “It’s only been an hour and twenty minutes. WHY are you paging me??”

Then saw me crowning and was like OH.

Finally, after going through non-pushing hell for two ridiculously strong contractions, I asked if I could push.

Laura said yes, so during the next contraction I pushed like hell.

And I totally felt him crowning, the pressure was intense and I could feel a faint “ring of fire” as his giant head started coming out.

The epidural had definitely been turned down enough. I could feel everything.

The whole time I was pushing, all of the nurses were openly cheering me on, saying I was almost there and doing a great job.

It was like I had my own rah-rah section.

During the next push, he literally shot out like a rocket.

I kept waiting to feel rest of him come out but didn’t happen right away, which confused me. I figured the force of which his head shot out would have meant his body would come immediately after.

WELL. Turns out the rest of him *did* come out but the OB wasn’t ready and had to hold him in so she could be sure she caught him.

OMG. Seriously.

Tim watched him come out and once he did, everyone was telling me how well I did and told me to sit up and look down to see my baby.

I did…though I only vaguely remember seeing his squirmy little body…then laid back down and started crying as they put a towel on me and then laid him on my chest.

The feeling of A: no more baby/pressure inside of me and B: a warm, wet, heavy mass of a baby on my chest was indescribable. It was like I was finally finished and here was my prize…that I loved unconditionally already.

Kellan was coughing a lot and nurses kept suctioning his nose and mouth to clear his airway, telling me what he was doing was normal.

Tim looked at me almost in shock. No tears or smiles. He was totally freaked out because Kellan’s head was severely misshapen and swollen.

Apparently, all the pushing to try and turn him and get him past my pelvic bone had done a number on his poor head.

I laid there and held Kellan, my attention solely on him, in utter disbelief that this little person had come out of me….and then to make light of the situation, he pooped right on me.

The nurses started asking us what his name was, since we had refused to tell them beforehand.

I was too choked up and exhausted to talk, so I told Tim to tell them, and he announced to the room, “Kellan Reece Bold.”

Then, for whatever reason after Kellan came out, everything started to happen really fast…so fast that Tim didn’t even get to cut the cord (which I’m still bummed about). We still aren’t sure why it was clamped and cut so quickly. The only thing we could figure was because I tore so badly. Tim told me later that there was blood everywhere.

The nurses asked me if I really liked my socks at one point. I was like, “Yes?…” I had bought them special for the hospital. They had grippy bottoms and were super soft…

Then they were all, “I hope you don’t like them too much…they’re covered in blood.”

My answer turned to no pretty quickly after that.

They left Kellan on me for awhile, which was nice. I was peripherally aware of the OB seated at the helm of my vaj, doing something…probably pulling lightly on the umbilical cord because shortly after, my placenta came out in a warm gush of tissue. I looked down to see what was going on and OMG. It was HUGE. Like, the size of Kellan and then some. It was also bloody and slimy and bulbous.

Another nurse, one who would take care of me post-birth, grabbed my camera and took a first family photo without us asking.

I am SO grateful for that because we wouldn’t have had one without her.

Once Kellan stopped coughing, they pulled down my gown, put him to my boob and helped me try to feed him.

During all of this, the OB was still sitting at my vaj. Though I wasn’t paying total attention to what she was doing, I could feel lots of pulling and tugging.

(This next part is where the extra shot of pain meds came in handy)

As in: she was sewing up the third degree tear that went all the way to my pooper hole and was so deep it went through every layer except the muscle, which was the last line of defense.

While the OB was still stitching me up, the nurses took Kellan to be weighed, measured, etc.

A nurse came to ask if I wanted to forego any of the routine things they do, like the Vitamin K shot and eye ointment, etc. I vaguely debated on not doing the Hepatitis shot…but eventually relented when she came over with a form to sign and was all, “Just go ahead and do it.”

I was too tired to think or make any decisions at that point.

The nurses brought Kellan back to me while the OB continued her stitching. She was down there for forever, barely paying attention when a nurse would ask her a question.

She may not be one for words, but at least she was thorough with my vajayjay.

After 30 minutes or so, she finally finished and finally after an hour and a half of pushing plus however long with the placenta+stitching, I got to put my legs in a non-spread-eagle position.

Before everyone left to give Tim, Kellan and I some bonding time, I asked the nurses if I had won…if I had beaten room 10 in the baby race.

I had.

Go me.

…to be continued…