Nate is doing absolutely marvelous. My champion nurser is back up to his original birth weight of 6lbs 11oz after dropping down to 6lbs while in the hospital. He still has a bit of jaundice, but it’s getting better each day, especially with his mini sky gazing/window seat tan sessions next to a natural light source. For now, we wait for Mr. Carrot Skin to become Caucasian once again.
I have so many thoughts screaming to get themselves into written words, like my c-section experience this time around and dealing with a head on the verge of explosion from a spinal headache to the marvels of double duty electric breast pumps to establish my milk supply while Nate was on oxygen, but tearing myself away from him sort of feels like what I would imagine removing one of my own limbs might feel like.
For now, his still beaming father has put together this marvelment of a video debut of our little Rockstar baby.
Let the precious art of bottling every single moment and memory of this kid begin.
You are officially one week old today and I awoke this morning in a bleary haze of astonishment that you have actually finally arrived safe and sound into my arms. Your gentle face has cast new light on my soul and your sweet blue eyes, so wide open and so full of luminous hope, makes me tingle from my head down to my toes. I want to absorb every last precious thing about you from the dimply creases of your neck to the darling little faux hawk you’re sporting on your head.
I can sit for hours and stare in a mesmerized trance of bewilderment at you. When I hold you in my arms I want nothing more than for you to feel all the love that I have inside of me wrapping you in warmth, safety and love.
Feeling the softness of your baby skin next to is like receiving a bucket overflowing with Babylon and promised bliss. You are truly the greatest gift ever and your arrival fulfills the dream that is closest to my heart, and that is to cherish, cradle and nurture you with all of the motherly love that has been building inside of me since the day you were conceived.
Because of you my dear baby Nate, I am now a firm believer in innocence and magic once again.
We have finally made it home. Baby Nate was released today.
I have affectionately nicknamed him my Rockstar baby because he was born with the sassiest faux-hawk and baby mullet I have ever seen.
And just like a true Rockstar, he loves boobs and nurses like a champ every 2 to 3 hours. Of course, not one to miss out on the privileged lifestyle of a Rockstar, he also insists on hourly cluster feedings at ungodly hours that should only be permitted for zombies and shadows.
Mark and I are doing well. I believe that in total, I have slept for 4.6 seconds since December 21st and sleep deprived confusion has started to set in. Last night I told the nurse that I am not Rebecca and I do not want her stool softener.
Sleep deprivation aside, I am just so relieved that Nate’s TTN (Transient Tachypnea of the Newborn) has finally resolved and thank you to all of you dear sweet souls out there for your notes of congratulations. You have all touched my heart at certain depths I didn't know existed with your well wishes.
I am a blubbering mess of motherly emotions right now, and feel like the most blessed woman on the planet. I am swollen with pride and love and a newly bebreasted chest and I am so relieved and in complete awe to finally be home with my son.
Hi everyone. Just wanted to give everyone an update on Mom and Baby Nathan's progress.
Unfortunately Baby Nate is still in the NICU (level 2 now, down from level 3) due to his difficulty breathing but he's doing great and is otherwise healthy and active. We weren't able to hold him for the first day which broke Mom's heart but now he's coming out the incubator for feedings and cuddle time. Needless to say, even though Nate is ok, its hard for Mom and I to see him in the NICU and not be able to hug and kiss him as easily as we'd like. He is being monitored closely and will come out permanently when he says he's ready so for now, we're waiting.
Mom is doing great and Nate is enjoying all of the wonderful colostrum that Mom is pumping which is fed to Nathan and they are working at breastfeeding.
As for me? I'm soaking in the most wonderful Christmas ever even in the absence of sleep. I'm blessed with a wife who I love dearly and who is passionate about our love and our family. I've got a new and beautiful baby boy who has already wormed his way into my heart.
Karla delivered the baby sometime this afternoon. It was supposed to be at 1:30, but surgery was delayed. He is 6 lbs 11 oz. He's having a little difficulty with his breathing, but the doctors say it's normal and it should clear up in a couple hours. Otherwise mom and baby are both doing great. I got to talk to Mark and he is very pleased and proud. Congratulations to the whole family!
Omigod, somebody pinch me. I must be dreaming because it hardly feels real that I am going to have a baby tomorrow.
Nate’s about to enter this world and I am firmly convinced that his arrival will forever change the way I see Christmas.
As a little kid, Christmas was all about the gifts because I didn’t understand the meaning of anything deeper than stuffing the limbs of my Popple into it’s built in body bag or whether or not my brother’s plastic Heman had a crush on my Shera the Princess of Power doll. The magic of Santa was also pretty fascinating because really, what could be more majestic to a small child than a jolly old man navigating the earth’s skies bringing gifts to all of the good little boys and girls around the world, particularly, me.
As I grew older, the joy of Christmas became more about the wholesome innocence of children and their belief in magic, mixed with the fuzzy warmth of the holiday spirit spreading its vapors of love, giving and sharing like a gentle mist in the holiday air.
This is our second Christmas without Ava and knowing she was not with us last year tainted that feeling of wholesome innocence and giddy warmth that was once so easy to believe in during the holiday season. This Christmas however, I am filled with a newfound sense hope and happiness. This year, joy and happiness will once again find its way into my heart and I will finally be bringing home the long awaited gift of life that I have been yearning for.
I can think no gift more precious or grand.
Thank you to everyone who has offered support, kind words and prayers as I journeyed through these long nine months of pregnancy. I can’t even begin to find words appropriate enough to express how helpful you have been, and thank you hardly sounds like enough, but know that I truly am grateful for so many well wishes and words of encouragement.
Wishing everyone warm blessings and a Merry Christmas.
My heart is bursting with excitement and I am so ready to believe in innocence and magic once again.
Instead of schlepping the giant rotundness that is my belly downtown Toronto for the Non Stress Test today, my OB set me up to take a short trip down the road to my local hospital.
Nate performed beautifully, and being the unabashed little baby that he is, caused many giggles amongst the female nursing staff as he wiggled and squirmed and shimmied his knees, feet and baby bottom up and down and back and forth along the walls of my stomach. That’s one of the strangest things about my belly, even with a full term pregnancy weight gain of 28 lbs, you can clearly distinguish what body parts are what when this kid starts to squirm. Fascinating, perhaps, but also freakishly similar to the scene from that movie where an alien bursts out of Sigourney Weaver’s stomach, no?
When the on call OB came to check me out, she asked if I have experienced any contractions. I told her that for the past few days I have been getting some annoying “twinges” around my cervix, but that they felt very similar to the false labour or “uterine irritability” sensations I experienced when we had the false labour scare at 32 weeks.
Concerned, she insisted on an internal exam to see what was going on. Of course, as luck would have it for the girl trying to avoid labour at all costs, I am dilated a few centimeters. Exactly how much however, she doesn’t know because she didn’t want to push my luck and poke around too much in case prodding around up there triggers full blown labour.
So, here I am, partially dilated with only two days before my scheduled c-section.
Nature versus the Scalpel.
Let’s see who wins the race to get this babe born alive first.
Knowing that Nate will be born shortly after 1:30 pm this Friday is one of the strangest feelings, but at the same time, having some control over this birth has been extremely comforting after the tragedy of Ava’s arrival, and admittedly, it’s kind of fun having a countdown. And since I am about as spontaneous as a slug, it’s been absolutely wicked being able to plan the logistics of Nate’s arrival.
Since I have no family or friends nearby, it’s nice to be able to plan around making sure my 80 lb canine and two 15 lb feline fur balls will continue to survive under the continued care of humans with opposable thumbs capable of dispensing their kibble. Also, because Mark commutes into work, the idea of going into labour alone again with no one to take me to the hospital is a non issue.
Both of our parents have graciously agreed to each spend a night and take care of our household farm of animals while we are in the hospital. We did consider a doggy camp for Samson, but holy highway robbery, during the Christmas season there is a minimum 10 night stay and the daily rate is $40. I can’t justify $400 for a dog who insists on shredding and then eating his own bedding and drinking out of the toilet bowl, especially when my parents will dogsit for pizza and wings. Despite my insistence that his letter of instructions sounds arrogant and pretentious, Samson insists that it is left on the fridge for his replacement human caregivers to study.
Mark's parents are spending the night at our house on the 22nd and mine will be here on the 23rd. On Christmas Eve, Mark gets to come home and sleep with the dog, and I get to spend a night with Nate all to myself. The plan is to come home on the 25th one big happy family with a healthy baby in tow.
My awesome friend Julia has so kindly offered to update my blog on the 22nd with news of Nate’s arrival. If you are still around that close to Christmas, stop by and say hello. I’d love to hear from you while I’m stuck in the hospital mending a stomach wound held together with surgical tape and figuring out how to transform my breasts into a talented food source.
"Dad, can I use the fact that I only have one eye to ensure lots of sympathy attention and love when the diaper factory gets rolling in a few days?"
"So if Mom will be in the hospital, does that mean she won’t be using the oven anymore?" Say’s the dog who now runs and hides under the futon whenever I open the oven door.
I had my last doctor’s appointment and ultrasound today. All is well, and my doctor has suggested keeping my feet up this week to help ensure I don’t go into labour. It’s a good thing we did some Christmas baking last weekend. Now I absolutely have an excuse to sit on my ass and pig out on reverse chocolate chip cookies and cookie stuffed brownies.
I’m scheduled for a non stress test this Wednesday as a final means of reassurance that baby is doing well before the c-section.
At this point I feel:
- about as graceful as a centipede on crutches. - as limber as an arthritic thumb - as heavy as a one could expect to feel with the weight of a bowling ball hovering between her legs - 100% excited to meet my baby this Friday
To take advantage of our last Friday together as a couple flying solo without kids, we attempted to go out on a date.
The night began with a wholesome meal consisting of grilled cheeses made on my hand-me-down sandwich maker and french fries. I dipped mine in BBQ Sauce because that is something I have done since I was 5 and discovered that McDonalds has the best BBQ flavoured sauce on the planet.
To set the mood after dinner, I cleaned the explosion of melted cheddar cheese encrusted down the sides of the sandwich maker while Mark scooped clumps of cat shit out of the kitty litter.
My black cat, Sebastian, has another eye infection. The poor guy is a breeding ground for conjunctivitis. Since it’s viral, he gets chronic pink eye infections every time something stressful happens in his life, like getting shoved into his cat carrier and apparently, the introduction of baby gear into a household. He peers with suspicious eyes every time a baby swing, vibrating chair, bassinet or mobile that projects dancing stars onto the ceiling makes an appearance. He is also a jealous little suck who pouts when I kick him out of the complicated mesh of white frills that is the bassinet beside my bed. Now he must get a ¼ inch strip of pasty medicine in his eye three times a day for 10 days. As a result, he has become as clingy as a fleck of lint and insists on hourly petting sessions.
After dishes and pet duties, we headed out for some frothy goodness and a chance to sit in comfortable and perfectly plush pregnancy appropriate chairs at a nearby coffee shop.
And then we walked around the mall because it was raining outside. Mark bought a new pair of jeans and I became jealous that I could not even attempt to fit into them.
Once home, I had the bright idea of being romanticized by candle light in a sensuous bath filled with gossamer apple scented bubbles. Being the Veritable Venus that I am, I insisted we could both still fit in the tub together, despite the nine months of belly proliferating from my midsection. It was a slippery squirmy struggle of limbs repositioning horizontally, vertically and sometimes perpendicularly at angles that should never be attempted without adult supervision. Eventually we both managed to contort our bodies in a way that fit us both comfortably. It was like having heaven served on a bun. Nothing sooths an aching back better than the warmth of water and man hands. Also, little else is as funny when sober as bubble bath head art creations or watching a hyperactive baby make disfiguring bumpy distortions along the outer confines of his gestating capsule in an attempt to either stretch his legs or violently kick enough to make like a prison inmate and bust outta there.
Then, it was 11:00 pm and we fell asleep talking about getting haircuts the next morning.
I’m not very good at playing the waiting game. Just like a watched pot never boils, peering at my stomach, repeatedly, will not result in a Universal fast forward time lapse to speed up the arrival day of this baby.
I’m about as comfortable as I'm going to get with the date of the c-section and I think I have watched enough episodes of scalpel happy doctors on Nip/Tuck and uncensored c-section videos on the internet to be at ease with the whole idea of going through with another surgery again as I can be.
I’ve been told how much easier the recovery is when you haven’t been given general anesthesia, but I have also been told that this time around I won’t have a new best friend called morphine intravenously attached to my hand for four days of pain free self medicated bliss. I am also trying to prepare for the fact that I will not be coming home with a week’s supply of percocets. Apparently, Tylenol is supposed to suffice, and apparently, all the drugs I had last time are the reason why I was constantly itching a non-existent tickle on my nose and why I ended up in the emergency room for constipation pain that was seriously worse than labour. I have also heard that you are allowed to eat after having a spinal block. Eat glorious and copious amounts of food. Oh joy. The thought of four days of ice chips and apple juice makes me want to cry.
Also, I have read and heard many stories of people who had their hands tied to the operating table during a c-section. When I asked my doctor about this, she assured me that will not happen. Why would someone need to have their hands bound during this type of surgery? I cannot understand the idea behind this. It seems cruel and barbaric. Can anyone enlighten me this matter?
I managed to grab the last available seat as I boarded the 7:07 express train to Union Station yesterday. A window seat. Reflections of bleary eyed commuters could be seen in the window. If I shifted my gaze just so, I could see the paleness of the early morning moon burning and a highway engulfed in a sea of red brake lights fighting their way through morning rush hour madness.
Yesterday was my second last doctor’s appointment before Nate is born and it’s hard not to feel the weight of time passing. While sitting on the train I had a moment of overwhelming sadness for Ava and tears began to well in my eyes. I quickly hid my emotions behind feigned sleepiness and an exaggerated yawn.
She would have been 20 months old now, and this would have been her second Christmas. It hurts deeply that she isn’t here to meet her brother and sometimes I worry that meeting Nate will be anticlimactic and less joyful than it should be because I still miss Ava so much. I still yearn to hold her one last time.
I know my love must find a new direction - and it is, but it still hurts knowing she's gone.
I have managed to catch a horrible cough and cold and have lost my voice and ability to breathe. I can’t breathe through my nose because it is blocked and trying to blow it results in a murderous red nose bleed and my throat is too raw to draw air down it without spasms of razor sharp pain. To add insult to injury, my baby is so large that he has collapsed my lung capacity to zero. I think I am slowly suffocating. To compensate I now spend my days moving between islands of sleep and wishful thinking for those days when I can self medicate once again. Do you put a baby to bed with or without a sheet? I’ve heard yes and no and to use a sleep hugger or a baby sleeping bag to lower the risk of SIDS.
My front entrance closet has smelled like sweaty sandal clad feet for months now and I really should clean it.
In two weeks my baby will be born.
How frustratingly infuriating it is to get a second medical opinion. After the conflicting opinions of my OB and Pediatrician about the timing of medically intervening to birth this baby (who both incidentally work at the same hospital and both followed my care with Ava), I tried to get a third, unbiased opinion. To see an OB in Ontario requires a referral from your family doctor and then about a three month wait to see the OB. My family doctor had no openings until after Christmas. Not one midwifery organization would speak to me about my concerns for fear of legal issues.
Should or shouldn’t we buy one of those angel care sleep monitors that detect your baby’s movement and sound an alarm if they have stopped breathing for more than 20 seconds?
At what point is concern for one’s baby considered abnormally neurotic?
Mother of all Ebenezer’s, I am a total Scrooge. I didn’t buy Nate a Christmas present. Instead I wrapped a silicone soother and put it under the tree.
Why the hell is it so complicated to know what the right thing to do is? When my mom had me I was put to sleep on my stomach, I slept with a big huge baby comforter, I wasn’t breastfed, car seats were not yet invented and horror or all horrors, I wore rubber pants.
With just over two weeks left in this pregnancy, I am already starting to feel a little nostalgic about letting go of my bump. Not only is it fun to watch Nate struggle to stretch his legs inside his cramped quarters, but my stomach has finally reached proportions large enough to conveniently balance a plate of food on it, and I quite like the novelty of having my own built in food tray.
Nate has been standing on his head for over three months. The last time I tried to stand on my head for an extended period time was when I wanted to show off what an accomplished expert I had become at playing Super Mario and hung upside down off the edge of my couch to demonstrate my prowess while playing at a reversed angle with compromised blood flow to my lower extremities. Show off I might have been, but even just a few minutes of blood rushing to my head caused great spasms of dizziness. I just don’t understand how babies find that position the least bit comfortable.
It has become very easy to distinguish what parts of him are what by touching my stomach. You can clearly feel the outline of his back and feel the small roundness of his baby bum. His feet are firmly planted just below my right rib, and occasionally, a little hand can be felt pushing near the lower right of my uterus. Judging by how quickly she snapped her hand back, I suspect that I made my Mother-in-Law completely uncomfortable when I asked her if she wanted to feel him move. I really must remember that not everyone finds squirming babies’ inutero a form of thrilling entertainment.
Nate was rather sleepy during Monday’s Biophysical Ultrasound and I was put on a Non Stress Test machine for half and hour to monitor his movements. There is something so entirely blissful and serene about being alone on a room and listening to nothing but the sound of your baby’s heart beat. I heard it accelerate when he moved, and sometimes when I talked to him.
I have managed to escape stretch marks yet again. My boobs on the other hand? Well let’s just say it never occurred to me to massage my Body Shop Cocoa Butter on them too. (I swear by that stuff by the way).
Nate appears to be growing consistently. He weighs about 5.5 lbs now. Ava was 6lbs 6oz at birth and it appears that he will be about the same, maybe just a smidge smaller.
I didn’t put on any weight last week, which is shocking considering the piggish extent of my jam binge, and I am still up 26lbs. I gained 28lbs total with Ava, but lost a pound a few weeks before labour began. In both of my pregnancies my weight gain was most dramatic in the second trimester and slowed considerably near term.
While engulfed in oversized chairs and sipping latte’s and hot cocoa by a cozy fireplace at a local café last weekend, Mark asked what sort of fun stuff pregnant people can do on a Saturday night. I suggested the same thing we’ve been doing for the past 9 months and that was watching movies and blowing wads of cash on expensive frothy drinks.
I would be eternally grateul if the cleverness of internet land could help us out. Time is quickly running out for our last supper date as a family of two (plus a pooch and two cats). Since I can’t indulge in alcohol, I shuffle like a duck when I walk, I have no nice maternity clothes, I am supposed to stay relatively close to a hospital and I can’t very well act like a belligerent hooligan at almost nine months pregnant, I am at a loss for what constitutes an exciting night out anymore. Any suggestions?
Baby’s Movement His ability to wallop and bash my spleen and bladder simultaneously and with enough force to take my breath away has virtually stopped as he runs out of room in his gestating capsule. He now only wiggles and moves his rump in a series of rolling undulations that feel gentle in comparison to the sucker punches he was capable of only a few short weeks ago. Oddly enough, I miss the abuse and worry about him now more than ever that his movements have changed so much in intensity.
Language Adjustments In anticipation of the easily influenced ears that will soon be entering our household, Mark refrained from cursing obscenities at the asshole who almost hit our car this weekend and belted out a “Whoa Pumpkin” instead. Admittedly, it’s not as satisfying, but at least it’s G rated.
Preparing for Baby Slacking in this department continues, but today we plan to vacuum about a small animals worth of dog fur out of the car and install the car seat. Sadly, this means there will be no more room for our spoiled dog to lay down in the backseat and rest his chin on the arm rest between the two driver’s seats.
Christmas Shopping I am done and all the presents are wrapped, tagged and bebowed. Bloody Nose I have never seen such murderous red spillage pour out of my nose at random like this before. Odd? Concerning?
Days Left Until Nate is Born 19
In Other News I have hugeified to the size of a tree
I can’t say that pregnancy has ever defeated me into a quivering pile of drool and madness over unrelenting food cravings, except maybe for Rice Krispies, but even that craving is mild compared to my recent need for jam.
It all started innocently enough one morning as I was walking the streets of downtown Toronto and happened upon someone handing out free bagel samples. Free handouts from manufacturers trying to market a new product at busy pedestrian intersections is not uncommon, so it's not like I was accepting food from a toothy villainous crank trying to contaminate me with pastry sprinkled in suspicious grayish-white arsenic or rat poison cleverly hidden in a nitrogen sealed bagel bag, and besides, everyone else was grabbing the free handouts, so like the vulture that I am, I took one, horded it in my purse, and at the next street corner, took another one for good measure.
The bagels came with two tiny packets of Smuckers strawberry jam and at first I was bummed that they didn’t come with peanut butter instead because I am so not a jam kind of gal. It’s oozy and clumpy and wobbly and peanut butter is just so much better, or so I thought. Ever since the monumental event of spreading jam on that bagel and the resulting explosion of bliss in my mouth, I have not been able to stop thinking about jam.
For a couple of weeks I tried in vain to ignore the tiny voice in my head screaming for some jelly on my morning bagel and every time I did, those voices must have used my stubbornness to avoid the sugary mass of clumpy fruit to gain momentum and grow louder and stronger because the day finally came that I cracked and gave in to my craving.
Yesterday I could not withstand the intensity and desire any longer and went on a jam binge. I made a special strip to the grocery store for the sole purpose of purchasing jam, and managed to eat 3 bagels with pb&j throughout the day, and before bed last night, a piece of toast with, yup you guessed it, more pb&j.
Today, I plan to eat more. I’m weak, I know, especially since eating heaping piles of jam leaves little room to fit any of the other food groups in my stomach, but I swear I cannot control this overpowering need for jelly. I feel like I’ve spent my entire lifetime missing out on one of the universes best kept secrets and me and the jelly jars have a lot of catching up to do.
When I found out that Ann Douglas would be in Ajax last night at Chapters for a book signing, I knew I just had to meet her. Ann is the author and mastermind behind the Mother of All Series of books as well the author of countless other bestselling books on pregnancy and parenting. She is a columnist for Glow, Cahoots and many other magazines, the expert behind the WebMD blog called Pregnant Pause and countless other online articles, radio and TV segments and goodness knows what else I have missed. Her most profound work for me has been a book called Trying Again: A Guide to Pregnancy After Miscarriage, Stillbirth and Infant Loss. As someone who has experienced her own loses, including miscarriage and a daughter born still, Ann has managed to capture with much delicate empathy the emotionally challenging rollercoaster ride of emotions that a couple faces when they decide to start trying for another baby after a loss.
For me, the decision to become pregnant again after losing Ava was easy. I wanted to become pregnant as soon as possible but was strictly advised to wait at least nine months before trying to conceive again to give my body the optimal 18 months of healing between pregnancies, particularly after having a c-section. For Mark however, the decision was not as easy, and when the nine month waiting period was up and I was ready to start trying for another baby, he wasn’t. I remember feeling like a cosmic 2x4 had rammed me in the back of the head when he met my optimism for new life with resistance. The shock was overwhelming and I was devastatingly crushed because I had just spent almost a year of my life waiting for one of the most important things in the world ever to me and when the green light to proceed came, he hit the brakes.
I felt misunderstood, he felt misunderstood and somehow we let the newfound closeness and bond that had developed between us after losing Ava slowly drift us apart. It got the point where I didn’t even want him to touch me despite how lonely and alone I felt knowing our child bearing efforts were going nowhere.
I’m so happy to have finally met the woman behind the words that helped my husband and I find the courage to work through our fears, hopes and concerns together while embarking on the difficult journey of pregnancy after a loss.
Although I’ll never forget how truly helpful her wisdom and written words have been, I’ll also never forget the kindness, warmth and charisma that she also exudes in person.
