Monday, June 15, 2015
Who's feeling lucky?
The drama of our false labor reminded me that there was something else I needed to do, which is to start a baby pool. Feel free to add your guesses here:
Saturday, June 13, 2015
False Labor
I'm hoping that the title of this post makes it very clear that the events that I'm about to relay have not resulted in the birth of a baby. Just want to put that out there before you continue reading so that nobody gets too excited . . . Also, upon re-reading it, I think I should also take a moment now to reassure you, the reader, that the baby and I are fine.
On Friday morning, I woke up at 2:30am with some painful contractions. This isn't too unusual for me. I tried the usual tactics -- emptying my bladder, lying on my left side, drinking water, pooping, taking a shower, etc. Nothing was helping. I started timing them and they were fairly irregular -- most of them coming every 3-6 minutes, but a few were more like 6-9 minutes apart and some were as close as 2.5 minutes apart. Most of them were lasting about a minute. If they had felt more intense and been more regular, then the alarm of "5-1-1! 5 minutes or less apart! Lasting 1 minute! For one hour!" would have been going off in my head. But although they were painful and I had to stop and breathe to get through them, they just didn't feel like real labor to me.
Eventually, around 6am, I stopped timing them and decided to try to just get some rest. They were spacing out a bit by then, and so I figured this was my chance to see if I could sleep them off. I wrote a note to Ben to update him on what was going on and then got back in bed. I dozed a bit between contractions, but didn't really sleep much.
They weren't stopping. At 9am, Ben and I dropped Greta off at her drop-in daycare. As he went to take her inside, I gave her a kiss on the cheek and then, as I watched them walk off, I started crying, wondering if this was the last time I'd see her before she became a big sister.
We came back home and I sat on the yoga ball while Ben packed our bags for the hospital -- a task which we'd prepared for, but not yet actually accomplished (it had been on my to-do list for that day while Greta was at drop-in daycare). When we were done, I tried to distract myself for awhile and began to notice that the contractions were slowing to about 7-13 minutes apart. I felt fairly confident that things were chilling out.
By about 1pm, though, they were back to 2-5 minutes apart, and more intense. Ben arranged for his parents to pick up Greta from drop-in daycare and left for a nearby meeting. I called the midwife on call to check in and ask what she'd recommend. She asked whether my water had broken or if I'd had any bleeding. No. She asked what my GBS status was. Negative. She asked if I had been dilated at my last appointment and I sheepishly admitted that I had declined to be checked. She asked if I could talk through my contractions and, as I had one, I breathlessly said that I could, but that I didn't enjoy it. She said I sounded like I was in labor, warned me that second labors can be very different from first labors (I had protested that I hadn't had any bloody show or mucus plug loss), and reminded me that now might be a good time to come to the hospital because during the middle of the day we wouldn't have to worry about highway rush hour traffic. But my contractions still felt really manageable and lying down in my own bed was where I wanted to be. I said that I would try to stick it out at home for a little while longer and see what happened and she said that if I decided to come in, I should just call and have them page her that I was on my way rather than waiting for a call-back.
Ben and I chatted about it a few times. I now was convinced that this was the real deal. With each contraction, I could feel that my breathing was changing about 5 seconds before the actual contraction hit, it was rising to a peak that I could feel externally on my abdomen and that radiated down into my legs, and then gradually fading away after about a minute. Between Greta's pregnancy and this one, I had had plenty of contractions that didn't result in any cervical changes or baby births -- these ones felt legit.
But I still didn't want to be at the hospital yet. I wasn't panicked enough. I wasn't experiencing enough outward signs of labor. Heck, I was only 37 weeks -- the baby hadn't even dropped yet! It just didn't seem plausible that my baby was ready to be born.
This is the problem with having a first labor that has such a distinct starting point. With Greta, I had bloody mucus and almost immediately I was having time-able contractions. So when I couldn't sleep through them anymore and woke up in blinding pain, it felt reasonable to assume that I was in labor. This was so different. It felt like what I expect early labor to feel like, but the timing was more closely matched to active labor. I didn't want to be at the hospital if I was in early labor, but I didn't want to be at home if I was about to hit transition and give birth.
We operated off of instincts, which were telling us that this was the real deal, but that it might be awhile still and that we'd wait for things to get more intense before making the call to go to the hospital. The midwife called me back at 5:30pm towards the end of her on-call shift to check in and I asked whether I should keep trying to rest and lie down, or whether I should be up and moving around to get things progressing. She told me to do whatever felt best -- and that if I could rest, that was a good thing.
By around 8pm, things were slowing down again. The contractions were still coming about as frequently, but feeling even more manageable as far as intensity, and seemed to be shortening up to about 40 seconds instead of a minute in duration. I was feeling exhausted, so I took my usual half-tab of Unisom and tried going to sleep around 9pm.
In the night, I woke up and noticed that my contractions were gone. Completely gone. In fact, my uterus felt more relaxed than it had in months. I felt a flood of emotions -- relief that the pains had stopped; sadness that I wouldn't be meeting my baby soon; confusion as to what all that had been for! Having had so many contractions, it was eerie to not have any.
I woke again at 3:30 and went to use the restroom. Not a single contraction -- not even when I was sitting on the toilet (a position which often causes contractions for me during the third trimester). I tried to go back to sleep, but couldn't and so I ended up going downstairs and eating a bowl of cereal.
As I sat at the dining table with my cereal, I shook my head, thinking how bizarre it felt to go from 60 to zero. To go to sleep with contractions 3 minutes apart and wake up with none. I rubbed my belly and thought about how calm my uterus felt. That I didn't even feel pregnant.
Then I froze. I didn't even feel pregnant. I realized that I hadn't felt a single movement from the baby since waking up, despite the fact that 3am-5am is usually a busy time for her. I started panicking and crying as I poured myself a tall glass of ice and apple juice and downed it. I lay down on my left side and turned on my kick count app. Within a couple minutes, I got two tiny movements, which was very relieving -- but they were tiny little flickers and not like her usual morning kicks. I started periodically poking my belly, shaking it this way and that. Lately, it has felt like every time I even lightly touched my belly, she'd roll around and move. Not now, though. Shaking my belly and poking and prodding did nothing. While I eventually got to 10 movements, it took awhile and I could barely stay awake to record the tenth movement. I fell back asleep, still a little worried.
When I woke again a few hours later, though, I still was feeling barely any movements. I was starting to panic. Only baby knows when she's ready, is a common phrase amongst childbirth experts. There is increasing evidence that there's something in the baby's brain -- rather than the mother's body -- which triggers the start of labor. Here my baby had been trying to get me into labor for 17 hours without success . . . and now she wasn't moving. Was something wrong? Was she in danger and needed to get out?
I called the midwife who was currently on-call and explained that my contractions had stopped, but that I now was worried about a decrease in fetal movement. She asked a few questions and then had me come in to be monitored.
The ride to the hospital was so long. Resting my hands on my motionless belly, I felt more scared than I ever have before. The hormonal drop from the previous day's excitement mixed with flashbacks to emptiness I felt on the day that we lost Sparkie. I found myself crying. I don't even feel pregnant. My own words kept ringing in my ears.
They hooked me up to the monitors at the hospital and began tracking the baby's heartbeat. The heartbeat wasn't all that reassuring -- after all, I knew that she had a heartbeat because I had felt a handful of movements. What worried me more was that she wasn't moving as much, and she wasn't responding to external stimuli (food, cold drinks, me poking at her) the way she normally did. I was worried that something was wrong and that she was in danger.
The midwife, nurse, and student midwife explained that the limited movements that I was feeling were correlated with excellent heart accelerations and that her heartbeat sounded "perfect." What's more, even when I couldn't feel the movement, they could tell that she was moving fairly frequently by the other sounds that the heartbeat monitor was picking up. I wanted to see her and see that everything was okay, but they don't send you for an ultrasound when they can confirm that everything's okay with the other monitors. So after some more anxious crying and the reassurance of a few more kicks-associated-with-accelerations, we headed out.
For what it's worth, she's been moving more normally since then. Things are looking good for both of us. I'm a complete emotional mess, but that's just par for the course with me.
The take-home message? False labor is insane. It is a total head trip. I had heard of it, of course. I knew it was possible to have contractions that really do feel just like real labor without being in labor. I had heard of people arriving at the hospital, only to be sent home. But after my experience with Greta -- in which I had had plenty of contractions, but felt distinctly different when it was "the real thing" -- I had thought for sure that I would know the difference. Now I don't know what to think. Yesterday I felt progressively more convinced that there was no turning back, that no matter how long it took, I was on my way to having a baby. Today, I have no fecking clue. Is labor going to pick up again in a couple days? In a couple weeks? Will I go overdue?
Although I had intended to decline pre-labor cervical checks unless I went overdue, I am now wondering whether I should get myself checked out at my next appointment -- if only to satisfy my curiosity and to make it easier to answer the, "And what were the results of your most recent cervical check?" question by midwives and nurses. As much as I know that it's my right to decide whether to get checked, I felt bad for not having an answer to a routine question.
On the other hand, if I am still not dilated at all, I will feel angry at my body for not knowing how to properly dilate a cervix. I will feel like my 17 hours of "labor" are all for nought.
Except that we got those bags packed. That is definitely worth something.
On Friday morning, I woke up at 2:30am with some painful contractions. This isn't too unusual for me. I tried the usual tactics -- emptying my bladder, lying on my left side, drinking water, pooping, taking a shower, etc. Nothing was helping. I started timing them and they were fairly irregular -- most of them coming every 3-6 minutes, but a few were more like 6-9 minutes apart and some were as close as 2.5 minutes apart. Most of them were lasting about a minute. If they had felt more intense and been more regular, then the alarm of "5-1-1! 5 minutes or less apart! Lasting 1 minute! For one hour!" would have been going off in my head. But although they were painful and I had to stop and breathe to get through them, they just didn't feel like real labor to me.
Eventually, around 6am, I stopped timing them and decided to try to just get some rest. They were spacing out a bit by then, and so I figured this was my chance to see if I could sleep them off. I wrote a note to Ben to update him on what was going on and then got back in bed. I dozed a bit between contractions, but didn't really sleep much.
They weren't stopping. At 9am, Ben and I dropped Greta off at her drop-in daycare. As he went to take her inside, I gave her a kiss on the cheek and then, as I watched them walk off, I started crying, wondering if this was the last time I'd see her before she became a big sister.
We came back home and I sat on the yoga ball while Ben packed our bags for the hospital -- a task which we'd prepared for, but not yet actually accomplished (it had been on my to-do list for that day while Greta was at drop-in daycare). When we were done, I tried to distract myself for awhile and began to notice that the contractions were slowing to about 7-13 minutes apart. I felt fairly confident that things were chilling out.
By about 1pm, though, they were back to 2-5 minutes apart, and more intense. Ben arranged for his parents to pick up Greta from drop-in daycare and left for a nearby meeting. I called the midwife on call to check in and ask what she'd recommend. She asked whether my water had broken or if I'd had any bleeding. No. She asked what my GBS status was. Negative. She asked if I had been dilated at my last appointment and I sheepishly admitted that I had declined to be checked. She asked if I could talk through my contractions and, as I had one, I breathlessly said that I could, but that I didn't enjoy it. She said I sounded like I was in labor, warned me that second labors can be very different from first labors (I had protested that I hadn't had any bloody show or mucus plug loss), and reminded me that now might be a good time to come to the hospital because during the middle of the day we wouldn't have to worry about highway rush hour traffic. But my contractions still felt really manageable and lying down in my own bed was where I wanted to be. I said that I would try to stick it out at home for a little while longer and see what happened and she said that if I decided to come in, I should just call and have them page her that I was on my way rather than waiting for a call-back.
Ben and I chatted about it a few times. I now was convinced that this was the real deal. With each contraction, I could feel that my breathing was changing about 5 seconds before the actual contraction hit, it was rising to a peak that I could feel externally on my abdomen and that radiated down into my legs, and then gradually fading away after about a minute. Between Greta's pregnancy and this one, I had had plenty of contractions that didn't result in any cervical changes or baby births -- these ones felt legit.
But I still didn't want to be at the hospital yet. I wasn't panicked enough. I wasn't experiencing enough outward signs of labor. Heck, I was only 37 weeks -- the baby hadn't even dropped yet! It just didn't seem plausible that my baby was ready to be born.
This is the problem with having a first labor that has such a distinct starting point. With Greta, I had bloody mucus and almost immediately I was having time-able contractions. So when I couldn't sleep through them anymore and woke up in blinding pain, it felt reasonable to assume that I was in labor. This was so different. It felt like what I expect early labor to feel like, but the timing was more closely matched to active labor. I didn't want to be at the hospital if I was in early labor, but I didn't want to be at home if I was about to hit transition and give birth.
We operated off of instincts, which were telling us that this was the real deal, but that it might be awhile still and that we'd wait for things to get more intense before making the call to go to the hospital. The midwife called me back at 5:30pm towards the end of her on-call shift to check in and I asked whether I should keep trying to rest and lie down, or whether I should be up and moving around to get things progressing. She told me to do whatever felt best -- and that if I could rest, that was a good thing.
By around 8pm, things were slowing down again. The contractions were still coming about as frequently, but feeling even more manageable as far as intensity, and seemed to be shortening up to about 40 seconds instead of a minute in duration. I was feeling exhausted, so I took my usual half-tab of Unisom and tried going to sleep around 9pm.
In the night, I woke up and noticed that my contractions were gone. Completely gone. In fact, my uterus felt more relaxed than it had in months. I felt a flood of emotions -- relief that the pains had stopped; sadness that I wouldn't be meeting my baby soon; confusion as to what all that had been for! Having had so many contractions, it was eerie to not have any.
I woke again at 3:30 and went to use the restroom. Not a single contraction -- not even when I was sitting on the toilet (a position which often causes contractions for me during the third trimester). I tried to go back to sleep, but couldn't and so I ended up going downstairs and eating a bowl of cereal.
As I sat at the dining table with my cereal, I shook my head, thinking how bizarre it felt to go from 60 to zero. To go to sleep with contractions 3 minutes apart and wake up with none. I rubbed my belly and thought about how calm my uterus felt. That I didn't even feel pregnant.
Then I froze. I didn't even feel pregnant. I realized that I hadn't felt a single movement from the baby since waking up, despite the fact that 3am-5am is usually a busy time for her. I started panicking and crying as I poured myself a tall glass of ice and apple juice and downed it. I lay down on my left side and turned on my kick count app. Within a couple minutes, I got two tiny movements, which was very relieving -- but they were tiny little flickers and not like her usual morning kicks. I started periodically poking my belly, shaking it this way and that. Lately, it has felt like every time I even lightly touched my belly, she'd roll around and move. Not now, though. Shaking my belly and poking and prodding did nothing. While I eventually got to 10 movements, it took awhile and I could barely stay awake to record the tenth movement. I fell back asleep, still a little worried.
When I woke again a few hours later, though, I still was feeling barely any movements. I was starting to panic. Only baby knows when she's ready, is a common phrase amongst childbirth experts. There is increasing evidence that there's something in the baby's brain -- rather than the mother's body -- which triggers the start of labor. Here my baby had been trying to get me into labor for 17 hours without success . . . and now she wasn't moving. Was something wrong? Was she in danger and needed to get out?
I called the midwife who was currently on-call and explained that my contractions had stopped, but that I now was worried about a decrease in fetal movement. She asked a few questions and then had me come in to be monitored.
The ride to the hospital was so long. Resting my hands on my motionless belly, I felt more scared than I ever have before. The hormonal drop from the previous day's excitement mixed with flashbacks to emptiness I felt on the day that we lost Sparkie. I found myself crying. I don't even feel pregnant. My own words kept ringing in my ears.
They hooked me up to the monitors at the hospital and began tracking the baby's heartbeat. The heartbeat wasn't all that reassuring -- after all, I knew that she had a heartbeat because I had felt a handful of movements. What worried me more was that she wasn't moving as much, and she wasn't responding to external stimuli (food, cold drinks, me poking at her) the way she normally did. I was worried that something was wrong and that she was in danger.
The midwife, nurse, and student midwife explained that the limited movements that I was feeling were correlated with excellent heart accelerations and that her heartbeat sounded "perfect." What's more, even when I couldn't feel the movement, they could tell that she was moving fairly frequently by the other sounds that the heartbeat monitor was picking up. I wanted to see her and see that everything was okay, but they don't send you for an ultrasound when they can confirm that everything's okay with the other monitors. So after some more anxious crying and the reassurance of a few more kicks-associated-with-accelerations, we headed out.
For what it's worth, she's been moving more normally since then. Things are looking good for both of us. I'm a complete emotional mess, but that's just par for the course with me.
The take-home message? False labor is insane. It is a total head trip. I had heard of it, of course. I knew it was possible to have contractions that really do feel just like real labor without being in labor. I had heard of people arriving at the hospital, only to be sent home. But after my experience with Greta -- in which I had had plenty of contractions, but felt distinctly different when it was "the real thing" -- I had thought for sure that I would know the difference. Now I don't know what to think. Yesterday I felt progressively more convinced that there was no turning back, that no matter how long it took, I was on my way to having a baby. Today, I have no fecking clue. Is labor going to pick up again in a couple days? In a couple weeks? Will I go overdue?
Although I had intended to decline pre-labor cervical checks unless I went overdue, I am now wondering whether I should get myself checked out at my next appointment -- if only to satisfy my curiosity and to make it easier to answer the, "And what were the results of your most recent cervical check?" question by midwives and nurses. As much as I know that it's my right to decide whether to get checked, I felt bad for not having an answer to a routine question.
On the other hand, if I am still not dilated at all, I will feel angry at my body for not knowing how to properly dilate a cervix. I will feel like my 17 hours of "labor" are all for nought.
Except that we got those bags packed. That is definitely worth something.
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Baby Names
We've been playing the "Should we name the baby _______?" game with Greta. So far, she's offered her approval ("Yeah!") of several lovely and normal names, as well as some unusual choices such as Truck, Cookie, and Stalin. We've decided that we shouldn't rely on her guidance for naming this baby.
Interestingly, despite her general approval of virtually any name or word that we suggest, when asked directly, "What should we name the baby?" she has steadfastly replied with only one suggestion: Pie.
Or is it π?
With our first two pregnancies, my due date was within 2 days of March 14 (Pi Day). Greta was due March 16, but born March 18. The baby boy that we lost would have been due March 12. In both cases, my initial excitement over discovering that I was pregnant involved mentally marking my due date and noting its proximity to Pi Day. I hoped and hoped that I would be lucky enough to have a "Pi Baby."
So imagine my surprise when Greta announced that the baby should be named Pi. We don't eat a lot of pie in our household. She's familiar with the word from books, of course, but there are many words that she is much more familiar with -- like "milk" or "puppy." Why she has decided that the baby should be named Pi(e) has mystified us. Perhaps she has a distant memory of me expressing my hopes that Sparkie would be a "Pi Baby" -- but if that's the reason, the would be remembering comments from last summer.
For awhile, when she would suggest Pi(e), she would laugh like it was our inside joke. She then began to chuckle and say, "Pi(e)!" even when we were laughing about something else -- as if to say, "It's fun to laugh -- remember when we laughed and laughed about the word Pi(e), Mama?"
Now, though, she takes it so seriously and almost seems confused as to why we haven't simply taken her at her word. The other day when I asked for her name recommendations, she didn't miss a beat -- "Pi(e)," she said, as though she was puzzled by my lack of memory.
I am starting to wonder whether Greta is going to call the baby Pi(e), no matter what. It might be a cute nickname for her to give the baby. A funny story about how I finally got my Pi Baby.
Interestingly, despite her general approval of virtually any name or word that we suggest, when asked directly, "What should we name the baby?" she has steadfastly replied with only one suggestion: Pie.
Or is it π?
With our first two pregnancies, my due date was within 2 days of March 14 (Pi Day). Greta was due March 16, but born March 18. The baby boy that we lost would have been due March 12. In both cases, my initial excitement over discovering that I was pregnant involved mentally marking my due date and noting its proximity to Pi Day. I hoped and hoped that I would be lucky enough to have a "Pi Baby."
So imagine my surprise when Greta announced that the baby should be named Pi. We don't eat a lot of pie in our household. She's familiar with the word from books, of course, but there are many words that she is much more familiar with -- like "milk" or "puppy." Why she has decided that the baby should be named Pi(e) has mystified us. Perhaps she has a distant memory of me expressing my hopes that Sparkie would be a "Pi Baby" -- but if that's the reason, the would be remembering comments from last summer.
For awhile, when she would suggest Pi(e), she would laugh like it was our inside joke. She then began to chuckle and say, "Pi(e)!" even when we were laughing about something else -- as if to say, "It's fun to laugh -- remember when we laughed and laughed about the word Pi(e), Mama?"
Now, though, she takes it so seriously and almost seems confused as to why we haven't simply taken her at her word. The other day when I asked for her name recommendations, she didn't miss a beat -- "Pi(e)," she said, as though she was puzzled by my lack of memory.
I am starting to wonder whether Greta is going to call the baby Pi(e), no matter what. It might be a cute nickname for her to give the baby. A funny story about how I finally got my Pi Baby.
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
5-4-3-2-1
Today I am 35 weeks pregnant exactly. This also means that I have 35 days left of pregnancy (well, 35 days until my due date . . . so take that with a grain of salt).
But still . . . Days. I've gotten to the point where I am counting down days.
A few days ago, I found a handout called "40 Reasons to go the Full 40." It's a list of reasons to aim for a 40 week pregnancy, instead of trying to induce early. I figured it would be neat to read one reason every day for the last 40-ish days of pregnancy. Unfortunately, because each one was short, it was difficult to resist reading the whole thing in one sitting. It's probably best that I did, though, because trying to space them out one at a time would have likely been anti-climatic. Although some of them are good reminders of why it's good to still be pregnant (like "Relish parenting . . . right now you know exactly where baby is and what he's doing,") many others were just repetitive ("Ignore people who say an induction is more convenient . . . there's nothing convenient about a longer labor and increasing your risk of cesarean," right next to "Respond to requests to speed baby's birth with the facts that inductions often create more painful labors and can lead to cesarean,"*) and others ("Splurge on pedicures") just didn't interest me. The last one was "Write your own healthy reason," which I think would have pissed me off if I had read it on my due date.
I'm feeling very hopeful that this baby will stay put, although I must admit that the little lingering thoughts of "I'm 35 weeks today -- that's the same day as my mom was when she had my sister!" are starting to get to me. I remember that starting at 35 weeks when I was pregnant with Greta too. And although I assume I will go all the way to 40 weeks again, it's impossible to resist that panicked-excited voice that says, "It could be any day now!"
Even though I hope it's not.
My own reasons to go the Full 40:
1. The birth experience I am hoping for does not involve the extra monitoring and potentially-challenging breastfeeding experience that would come from a labor and delivery prior to 37 weeks. Plus, it would be stressful to go into labor before I've finished up the workyear -- entered grades, cleaned my classroom . . . all that.
2. Well, once I get to 37 weeks, I'd kind of like to enjoy a little of my vacation before giving birth. And since I turn 37 weeks on the last day of work, I'd like to wait at least a little while before going into labor.
3. Yeah, in fact, I think I'd enjoy as much vacation as possible before I have to start the new-parent haze.
Yes, of course, I have reasons like "So the baby will be healthier," and "So I get to spend more one-on-one time with Greta," and "So we feel more prepared to welcome a new baby into our lives." But, quite frankly, when the "BUT IT COULD BE TOMORROW!" bug starts to get under my skin, it's the hope of a stress-free and option-full labor and delivery, and the promise of vacation that keeps me sane.
*Note: My midwives won't do an elective induction before 41 weeks anyway. So the "Inductions are a PITA!" types of reasons aren't relevant to me and only make me more nervous that I'm going to end up having to be induced at 41w5d. What I need are reminders about why I shouldn't HOPE for a spontaneous early labor, not reminders about why inductions and c-sections can be problematic.
But still . . . Days. I've gotten to the point where I am counting down days.
A few days ago, I found a handout called "40 Reasons to go the Full 40." It's a list of reasons to aim for a 40 week pregnancy, instead of trying to induce early. I figured it would be neat to read one reason every day for the last 40-ish days of pregnancy. Unfortunately, because each one was short, it was difficult to resist reading the whole thing in one sitting. It's probably best that I did, though, because trying to space them out one at a time would have likely been anti-climatic. Although some of them are good reminders of why it's good to still be pregnant (like "Relish parenting . . . right now you know exactly where baby is and what he's doing,") many others were just repetitive ("Ignore people who say an induction is more convenient . . . there's nothing convenient about a longer labor and increasing your risk of cesarean," right next to "Respond to requests to speed baby's birth with the facts that inductions often create more painful labors and can lead to cesarean,"*) and others ("Splurge on pedicures") just didn't interest me. The last one was "Write your own healthy reason," which I think would have pissed me off if I had read it on my due date.
I'm feeling very hopeful that this baby will stay put, although I must admit that the little lingering thoughts of "I'm 35 weeks today -- that's the same day as my mom was when she had my sister!" are starting to get to me. I remember that starting at 35 weeks when I was pregnant with Greta too. And although I assume I will go all the way to 40 weeks again, it's impossible to resist that panicked-excited voice that says, "It could be any day now!"
Even though I hope it's not.
My own reasons to go the Full 40:
1. The birth experience I am hoping for does not involve the extra monitoring and potentially-challenging breastfeeding experience that would come from a labor and delivery prior to 37 weeks. Plus, it would be stressful to go into labor before I've finished up the workyear -- entered grades, cleaned my classroom . . . all that.
2. Well, once I get to 37 weeks, I'd kind of like to enjoy a little of my vacation before giving birth. And since I turn 37 weeks on the last day of work, I'd like to wait at least a little while before going into labor.
3. Yeah, in fact, I think I'd enjoy as much vacation as possible before I have to start the new-parent haze.
Yes, of course, I have reasons like "So the baby will be healthier," and "So I get to spend more one-on-one time with Greta," and "So we feel more prepared to welcome a new baby into our lives." But, quite frankly, when the "BUT IT COULD BE TOMORROW!" bug starts to get under my skin, it's the hope of a stress-free and option-full labor and delivery, and the promise of vacation that keeps me sane.
*Note: My midwives won't do an elective induction before 41 weeks anyway. So the "Inductions are a PITA!" types of reasons aren't relevant to me and only make me more nervous that I'm going to end up having to be induced at 41w5d. What I need are reminders about why I shouldn't HOPE for a spontaneous early labor, not reminders about why inductions and c-sections can be problematic.
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
Things are Getting Real
My belly hurts. Not like a stomach-ache (although I get that too), but the muscles and skin and whole abdominal area just hurts. I think I had thought that I couldn't get much bigger, and I don't take weekly photos, so it's hard to tell for sure . . . but I think I can safely say that I am still growing quite a bit based on how my belly feels. It feels heavy and taut. It's harder to take deep breaths and I'm easily made breathless by activities that shouldn't make me feel breathless.
I'm amazed by my pregnant body. It feels so different than just the extra weight. I have been heavier than my current weight even when not pregnant, and so I have a certain appreciation for how different it feels to be pregnant. Despite the fact that it's still me, it feels so foreign and bizarre and out-of-control when one gets to this stage. Coughing feels uncomfortable in so many places that aren't just my chest. Turning over in bed is a very . . . real struggle. I often wish that I had long ropes attached to each side of the bed so that I could use them to help me rotate. The emergency room visit a few weeks ago due to severe abdominal pain caused by either a gallbladder attack or some kind of insane muscle spasm has made me terrified of both high-fat foods (gallbladder attack?) and sitting up in bed (muscle spasm?). In particular, I hate turning over or sitting up in bed. I always now feel like it is somehow an extremely risky experience. I can't handle the idea of the pain of that evening again . . . and then when I freak out over the memories of my gallbladder/muscle spasm pain, I worry that I've forgotten too much of what labor is like and I am woefully unprepared to go through it again.
I've had labor and birth on my mind a great deal. We've registered for labor/birth classes and I am in the process of writing a birth plan. I feel comfortable and confident some days, and completely terrified at others. I think it will help when we have the house more prepared, but I'm too exhausted to get excited about any nesting projects right now.
I've added a weekly countdown to my due date to the whiteboard in my classroom. I am surprised by which students seem to take an active interest in it. Sometimes I wonder whether they are just eager for me to have my baby and leave them in the care of a substitute (despite the fact that I've told them they should expect me to be with them all the way until the end of the schoolyear, since there are only 3 weeks left of school, but 6 weeks left until my due date). But I know that some of them are genuinely interested in the fact that we are getting closer to the big day.
I'd be excited too, if I weren't so gosh darn terrified.
I'm amazed by my pregnant body. It feels so different than just the extra weight. I have been heavier than my current weight even when not pregnant, and so I have a certain appreciation for how different it feels to be pregnant. Despite the fact that it's still me, it feels so foreign and bizarre and out-of-control when one gets to this stage. Coughing feels uncomfortable in so many places that aren't just my chest. Turning over in bed is a very . . . real struggle. I often wish that I had long ropes attached to each side of the bed so that I could use them to help me rotate. The emergency room visit a few weeks ago due to severe abdominal pain caused by either a gallbladder attack or some kind of insane muscle spasm has made me terrified of both high-fat foods (gallbladder attack?) and sitting up in bed (muscle spasm?). In particular, I hate turning over or sitting up in bed. I always now feel like it is somehow an extremely risky experience. I can't handle the idea of the pain of that evening again . . . and then when I freak out over the memories of my gallbladder/muscle spasm pain, I worry that I've forgotten too much of what labor is like and I am woefully unprepared to go through it again.
I've had labor and birth on my mind a great deal. We've registered for labor/birth classes and I am in the process of writing a birth plan. I feel comfortable and confident some days, and completely terrified at others. I think it will help when we have the house more prepared, but I'm too exhausted to get excited about any nesting projects right now.
I've added a weekly countdown to my due date to the whiteboard in my classroom. I am surprised by which students seem to take an active interest in it. Sometimes I wonder whether they are just eager for me to have my baby and leave them in the care of a substitute (despite the fact that I've told them they should expect me to be with them all the way until the end of the schoolyear, since there are only 3 weeks left of school, but 6 weeks left until my due date). But I know that some of them are genuinely interested in the fact that we are getting closer to the big day.
I'd be excited too, if I weren't so gosh darn terrified.
Sunday, April 26, 2015
30 Weeks! Let the countdown begin!
I'm currently 30 weeks pregnant and getting excited for the home stretch. I remember getting to the last 10 weeks with Greta and feeling like every week was this huge chip away at the remaining time.
30 weeks pregnant means that there are 7 weeks left in the schoolyear. This is both exciting and terrifying. I'm looking forward to the last 7 weeks going by quickly (please! please!), and hoping that the last three weeks of pregnancy will go by nice and slowly (so long as I'm still relatively comfortable and healthy, of course). I fully expect Piccola to wait until her due date to arrive, although I must admit I am hoping that she doesn't come much later than that. I am really, really hoping that she doesn't arrive on July 4. July 4 was the day that we found out we were pregnant with Sparkie last year. I'm sure, if it happens, with time it will simply become Piccola's birthday and I won't have such strong associations with Sparkie. But I'd just rather not go there at all. I'm just really hoping that Piccola makes her appearance before that anniversary.
In pregnancy news, I'm feeling her kicking around quite often now. These are the days when I'm actually glad that I have an anterior placenta -- Piccola's kicks are consistent, but still mostly pleasant and fun. It is rare that she delivers a jab that is truly painful -- and usually when it happens it is to the cervix, which makes sense because it is (thankfully) not covered with placenta.
I still sometimes have to stop myself and recognize that we are going to have a baby in 10 weeks or so. A baby. What should I be doing? How should I be preparing? I feel weirdly even more clueless than with my first baby. I think it's because, ultimately, a newborn doesn't need all that much and can't get into all that much trouble. The rest of us adults can adapt to the newborn and we can decide as we go how we're going to do that. But a newborn entering a home with a toddler? That's a whole different picture. I have no clue what that's going to look like to get Greta on board with our adaptations.
Today I took Greta out for a walk and she was very upset that I made her ride in the stroller when she wouldn't listen to directions about holding my hand. I thought about how grateful I am that we have a double stroller so that I can have both kids buckled in at the same time. I also thought about how scary it would be if the single stroller had had a little baby in it when I was reaching for my disobedient toddler.
The biggest worries that I have right now are around whether to speed up or slow down Greta's transition from babyhood to childhood. She's in a crib right now -- do we transition her to a toddler bed before or after the baby's arrival? She's in diapers -- do we potty train now or after the baby arrives. With 10 weeks left to go, I feel like we have to fish or cut bait. Either we can make these transitions now and have enough time that she might not regress when the baby arrives, or we have to wait until after we've settled in with our new arrival. I feel like waiting until the last couple weeks of pregnancy to make big changes is a bad idea. It's just darn awkward timing.
And then, besides the baby's arrival, there's the worries about the actual birth. At this point, I'm sort of in la-la land about that. I'm just kind of assuming things will go however they're going to go and there's not much I can do to prepare. Which is probably mostly accurate. But I'd like to be somewhat prepared. Maybe have a few breathing techniques in my back pocket. Certainly have a bag packed. Perhaps have purchased some supplies for taking care of myself during and after labor.
There's a lot to do in these last 10 weeks. It's hard to focus on anything except surviving the last 7 weeks of school, though. Head down, power through.
30 weeks pregnant means that there are 7 weeks left in the schoolyear. This is both exciting and terrifying. I'm looking forward to the last 7 weeks going by quickly (please! please!), and hoping that the last three weeks of pregnancy will go by nice and slowly (so long as I'm still relatively comfortable and healthy, of course). I fully expect Piccola to wait until her due date to arrive, although I must admit I am hoping that she doesn't come much later than that. I am really, really hoping that she doesn't arrive on July 4. July 4 was the day that we found out we were pregnant with Sparkie last year. I'm sure, if it happens, with time it will simply become Piccola's birthday and I won't have such strong associations with Sparkie. But I'd just rather not go there at all. I'm just really hoping that Piccola makes her appearance before that anniversary.
In pregnancy news, I'm feeling her kicking around quite often now. These are the days when I'm actually glad that I have an anterior placenta -- Piccola's kicks are consistent, but still mostly pleasant and fun. It is rare that she delivers a jab that is truly painful -- and usually when it happens it is to the cervix, which makes sense because it is (thankfully) not covered with placenta.
I still sometimes have to stop myself and recognize that we are going to have a baby in 10 weeks or so. A baby. What should I be doing? How should I be preparing? I feel weirdly even more clueless than with my first baby. I think it's because, ultimately, a newborn doesn't need all that much and can't get into all that much trouble. The rest of us adults can adapt to the newborn and we can decide as we go how we're going to do that. But a newborn entering a home with a toddler? That's a whole different picture. I have no clue what that's going to look like to get Greta on board with our adaptations.
Today I took Greta out for a walk and she was very upset that I made her ride in the stroller when she wouldn't listen to directions about holding my hand. I thought about how grateful I am that we have a double stroller so that I can have both kids buckled in at the same time. I also thought about how scary it would be if the single stroller had had a little baby in it when I was reaching for my disobedient toddler.
The biggest worries that I have right now are around whether to speed up or slow down Greta's transition from babyhood to childhood. She's in a crib right now -- do we transition her to a toddler bed before or after the baby's arrival? She's in diapers -- do we potty train now or after the baby arrives. With 10 weeks left to go, I feel like we have to fish or cut bait. Either we can make these transitions now and have enough time that she might not regress when the baby arrives, or we have to wait until after we've settled in with our new arrival. I feel like waiting until the last couple weeks of pregnancy to make big changes is a bad idea. It's just darn awkward timing.
And then, besides the baby's arrival, there's the worries about the actual birth. At this point, I'm sort of in la-la land about that. I'm just kind of assuming things will go however they're going to go and there's not much I can do to prepare. Which is probably mostly accurate. But I'd like to be somewhat prepared. Maybe have a few breathing techniques in my back pocket. Certainly have a bag packed. Perhaps have purchased some supplies for taking care of myself during and after labor.
There's a lot to do in these last 10 weeks. It's hard to focus on anything except surviving the last 7 weeks of school, though. Head down, power through.
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
The Rough Days of Pregnancy
We're in the third trimester. And things are getting tough.
Last week I had a cold/hot/clammy dizzy spell and ended up having some food and lying down for about a half hour in the nurse's office at school before continuing with my day. That evening, I had seven hours of painful, semi-regular contractions. They eventually spaced out and I was seen in clinic the next day and there hadn't been any cervical changes, so we just sat down and made a plan of action for finding opportunities to drink more water and empty my bladder more frequently throughout the day.
Then yesterday I actually fainted. During 2nd block, in front of my students. I felt embarrassed and frustrated. It was likely just due to a bad combination of low blood sugar and not drinking enough. (My co-teacher was unavailable because he was filling in for another staff member and so I wasn't taking care of myself the way I usually do.) I left work early, moved up my midwife appointment, and made another plan -- this time to eat more frequently to keep my blood sugar up.
That afternoon, Ben and I went to get some food and then headed home so I could rest. I was lying down and then got up to use the restroom. As I was sitting up, I suddenly felt a bad pain in my upper abdomen. I gasped and held my belly and stumbled to the bathroom, hoping it would improve after emptying my bladder. The pain continued and, in fact, got considerably worse. I called out to Ben in a panic. I was pushing on the top of my abdomen because it felt like my belly was about to explode outward. It felt like a combination of an uncontrollable pushing contraction, mixed with the baby lodging a foot behind my placenta. I don't know that that makes much sense, but that was the only thing that came to mind.
I asked Ben to get me a hot pack and to Google whether it was okay to use one on my belly. When he brought it back, I was standing in the doorway, swaying and holding my belly. I put it on my belly a few times, but the pain was the same or worse and so I took it off. I was moaning and pushing on my belly, which felt hard and like it was bulging. I was gasping and having a hard time breathing in and I told Ben I thought I should call the midwife on-call line. I called and the midwife on-call directed me to go to the ER immediately, and to go to the ER at the hospital where they could deliver a 28-weeker, if necessary.
By the time we got to the hospital, the pain had subsided considerably. It felt more like just gas pain or heartburn or a muscle ache. After several tests and some monitoring of the baby's heartrate, the midwife who saw me felt convinced that it was probably due to a muscle spasm of the thinned walls of my abdomen where the muscles separate -- perhaps compounded by the baby pushing on the muscles as they spasmed, and perhaps also compounded by gas or heartburn pain.
As happy as I was that the baby was okay and that nothing that I was experiencing was putting either of us at considerable risk, it was also very scary to know that there was virtually nothing I could do to prevent this kind of pain from happening again. I am hoping it was a fluke accident and I am thinking I should do more to strengthen my core as much as possible . . . but I'm also afraid of straining those muscles at all now. I stayed home from work to recuperate and even talking has been difficult.
I'm also nervous because the midwife mentioned my gallbladder several times while I was there (although at the time I had no idea what she was talking about and so I wasn't really paying attention), and today I looked up what a "gallbladder attack" is like and realized that it sounded exactly like what I experienced. But without knowing if that's what it was, I'm not sure what, if anything, I should be doing.
I think that this is my modus operandi during pregnancy. I seem to have a lot of frustrating, painful, uncomfortable stuff happen to me (like fainting, dizzy spells, braxton hicks contractions, sciatica, food poisoning, this weird muscle spasm/gallbladder attack, anemia, nosebleeds -- oh yeah, more on that in a bit...), some of it very scary, and then it turns out to be relatively normal and without much that can be done for treatment (except the anemia, for which I take iron and then suffer the side effects of that). Am I a wimp? Or just super unlucky?
Speaking of unlucky . . . the nosebleeds. Holy moly, this is a new thing with this pregnancy. I don't remember having any trouble with nosebleeds when I was pregnant with Greta. I have been having bad nosebleeds from my right nostril for a few weeks now. At least a couple a week, and sometimes more than one in a day. They got worse last week after I began having a bad cold and needing to blow my nose more frequently. No matter how gentle I am about blowing my nose (or even if I am only blowing the side that doesn't bleed), I run the risk of starting a gushing stream of blood. The morning that I fainted, I had been awakened at 3am with a nosebleed, which took a long time to stop and then didn't allow me to get back to sleep because I couldn't lie in a good position. At other times, I have had one start just as I am getting ready to go out the door -- necessitating a prolonged period of management and then clean-up, followed by a complete change of clothes.
Yeah, the third trimester is rough. I am so grateful that the baby is doing so well (the nurses and midwives commented that her heart accelerations were particularly good for a 28-week fetus), but I am really hoping I can get a few weeks of just blissful pregnant-lady normalcy before the summer heat sets in and we get to those last few weeks where I know I'll be especially uncomfortable.
C'mon, Piccola! Just one or two weeks to enjoy my pregnancy? Pretty please?
Last week I had a cold/hot/clammy dizzy spell and ended up having some food and lying down for about a half hour in the nurse's office at school before continuing with my day. That evening, I had seven hours of painful, semi-regular contractions. They eventually spaced out and I was seen in clinic the next day and there hadn't been any cervical changes, so we just sat down and made a plan of action for finding opportunities to drink more water and empty my bladder more frequently throughout the day.
Then yesterday I actually fainted. During 2nd block, in front of my students. I felt embarrassed and frustrated. It was likely just due to a bad combination of low blood sugar and not drinking enough. (My co-teacher was unavailable because he was filling in for another staff member and so I wasn't taking care of myself the way I usually do.) I left work early, moved up my midwife appointment, and made another plan -- this time to eat more frequently to keep my blood sugar up.
That afternoon, Ben and I went to get some food and then headed home so I could rest. I was lying down and then got up to use the restroom. As I was sitting up, I suddenly felt a bad pain in my upper abdomen. I gasped and held my belly and stumbled to the bathroom, hoping it would improve after emptying my bladder. The pain continued and, in fact, got considerably worse. I called out to Ben in a panic. I was pushing on the top of my abdomen because it felt like my belly was about to explode outward. It felt like a combination of an uncontrollable pushing contraction, mixed with the baby lodging a foot behind my placenta. I don't know that that makes much sense, but that was the only thing that came to mind.
I asked Ben to get me a hot pack and to Google whether it was okay to use one on my belly. When he brought it back, I was standing in the doorway, swaying and holding my belly. I put it on my belly a few times, but the pain was the same or worse and so I took it off. I was moaning and pushing on my belly, which felt hard and like it was bulging. I was gasping and having a hard time breathing in and I told Ben I thought I should call the midwife on-call line. I called and the midwife on-call directed me to go to the ER immediately, and to go to the ER at the hospital where they could deliver a 28-weeker, if necessary.
By the time we got to the hospital, the pain had subsided considerably. It felt more like just gas pain or heartburn or a muscle ache. After several tests and some monitoring of the baby's heartrate, the midwife who saw me felt convinced that it was probably due to a muscle spasm of the thinned walls of my abdomen where the muscles separate -- perhaps compounded by the baby pushing on the muscles as they spasmed, and perhaps also compounded by gas or heartburn pain.
As happy as I was that the baby was okay and that nothing that I was experiencing was putting either of us at considerable risk, it was also very scary to know that there was virtually nothing I could do to prevent this kind of pain from happening again. I am hoping it was a fluke accident and I am thinking I should do more to strengthen my core as much as possible . . . but I'm also afraid of straining those muscles at all now. I stayed home from work to recuperate and even talking has been difficult.
I'm also nervous because the midwife mentioned my gallbladder several times while I was there (although at the time I had no idea what she was talking about and so I wasn't really paying attention), and today I looked up what a "gallbladder attack" is like and realized that it sounded exactly like what I experienced. But without knowing if that's what it was, I'm not sure what, if anything, I should be doing.
I think that this is my modus operandi during pregnancy. I seem to have a lot of frustrating, painful, uncomfortable stuff happen to me (like fainting, dizzy spells, braxton hicks contractions, sciatica, food poisoning, this weird muscle spasm/gallbladder attack, anemia, nosebleeds -- oh yeah, more on that in a bit...), some of it very scary, and then it turns out to be relatively normal and without much that can be done for treatment (except the anemia, for which I take iron and then suffer the side effects of that). Am I a wimp? Or just super unlucky?
Speaking of unlucky . . . the nosebleeds. Holy moly, this is a new thing with this pregnancy. I don't remember having any trouble with nosebleeds when I was pregnant with Greta. I have been having bad nosebleeds from my right nostril for a few weeks now. At least a couple a week, and sometimes more than one in a day. They got worse last week after I began having a bad cold and needing to blow my nose more frequently. No matter how gentle I am about blowing my nose (or even if I am only blowing the side that doesn't bleed), I run the risk of starting a gushing stream of blood. The morning that I fainted, I had been awakened at 3am with a nosebleed, which took a long time to stop and then didn't allow me to get back to sleep because I couldn't lie in a good position. At other times, I have had one start just as I am getting ready to go out the door -- necessitating a prolonged period of management and then clean-up, followed by a complete change of clothes.
Yeah, the third trimester is rough. I am so grateful that the baby is doing so well (the nurses and midwives commented that her heart accelerations were particularly good for a 28-week fetus), but I am really hoping I can get a few weeks of just blissful pregnant-lady normalcy before the summer heat sets in and we get to those last few weeks where I know I'll be especially uncomfortable.
C'mon, Piccola! Just one or two weeks to enjoy my pregnancy? Pretty please?
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