Our Hospital Stay

I got to hold my baby girl for a glorious four hours before they took her to the nursery. They had told me about two hours, so I was thrilled to pieces. We'd been told by several staff that it was very busy that weekend; it had taken quite some time of laboring in triage before I'd gotten a delivery room, and now they were waiting for a recovery room to be made ready. She was born at 12:57 and they took her from me at 5:00PM, after placenta delivery, stitching up, checking her APGAR (9 and 9!), and then several hours of cooing relatives after the room and myself had been cleaned up. (I never saw the crime scene that was described to me - ninjas must have cleaned up before I sat up!) My wife went to the nursery with Ellis because I was determined that she not be out of our sight for even a minute.

When they first took her, I ordered food since I hadn't eaten anything but a cup of blueberries at 11PM the night before. I ate and just tried to get myself together and absorb what had happened and that I had a BABY, and was fine for a while...but then it started to feel like a really long time without her. I'd never been separated from her before, and it ended up being an hour and a half that she was in the nursery. No one was talking to me OR my wife about what was taking so long, and I was getting really antsy! I finally got my baby and my recovery room.

The weekend was really rough. We were there from the wee hours Friday until Sunday night. Every day and night was full of interruptions, and we got far less sleep and recovery than we would have at home.

We finally learned that the reason Ellis had been in the nursery so long was that she had a periurethral cyst, and no one seemed to know what it was or how serious and hadn't seen it on a baby. They were all looking at it and calling in other people to look at it. When we finally saw the pediatric urologist late the next night, he reassured us that he'd seen it a million times and they almost always disappear on their own. But everyone before him that rotated in and out of the room had made us anxious. The first we even knew of this was when an adult urologist came in to look at it. We'd been asked frequently whether she was wetting diapers but had no idea this was why they wanted to know. We had to strip the baby down and take off her diaper for the doctor to look at it, and she said we needed to track the wet diapers to make sure the cyst wasn't blocking the urethra or making it painful to urinate so that the baby was holding her urine and damaging her kidneys. We were told she would need a sonogram to make sure of this also.

We finally got the crying baby swaddled (with the help of a kind and patient nurse - ours were never snug enough) and back to sleep, and then another woman came in, introduced herself as a resident, and asked to check out the cyst. I am normally pretty passive and afraid to say no to people who seem in authority, but the mama bear in me flared up. Babies sleep about 22 hours their first day of life, giving both baby and mother time to recuperate from birth, and no one was letting the poor girl rest! (They also frequently interrupted us while breastfeeding.) I said, "Someone just looked at it." She said, "yes, but I need to call the pediatric urologist about a sonogram and describe it to them." I said, "We just got her calmed and back to sleep again. I don't want to unswaddle her and strip her down again. Ask the last doctor about it." She said, "I really need to be able to see it for myself so I can describe it in detail." I said, "Then you should have come in with the last doctor and looked together. Have her call it in since she saw it. I'm not waking the baby again." She said she would check with the other doctor, and I never saw her again.

Meanwhile, they also kept unswaddling her to prick her heel to test her blood sugar. I know this goes with the territory of gestational diabetes, but I had kept to the diet so well so I knew she wasn't overproducing insulin (and sure enough she tested normal each time) so it was really frustrating to see them needlessly waking her so often. Then they would do weight checks after midnight. I was hooked up to a catheter and an IV after my blood pressure situation, and they kept coming to monitor me too. Neither of us got much sleep even when we could and should have! I remember clearly one time when a nurse came to do all this and left the light on. It was the one light not controlled by my remote, and I was bed-bound because of being hooked up to so much on both sides of me. I rang the call button three times in 45 minutes pleading for someone to just come in and turn the light back off - 45 minutes!! The sun was coming up some after 5:00 by the time someone came to turn it off, and I was near tears begging in that last call. It was the only thing I needed to try to finally get some shuteye and was such a stupid barrier to getting rest!!

Our stream of visitors was absolutely perfect. Only people close to us came by, and they kept their visits short and sweet. It was just enough to help us feel supported and not lonely or bored, but not so much that we would feel overwhelmed or stressed. I felt surprisingly comfortable nursing with people around and just assumed they would leave if THEY felt uncomfortable. (That has remained true.) My mother stayed with me the entire day so that my wife could rush out to feed the cats, get a change of clothes, etc. without me ever being left alone.

There was one morning they both were going to go somewhere, but Mom said she would stay with me while my wife went. I encouraged them to both go because I had the help of nurses and would have to practice being on my own a little bit with Ellis anyway. It was a terrifying hour or so!! She started crying and I couldn't figure out how to help her. When I tried nursing her, she would try to latch but just couldn't. I knew she knew how, so I didn't understand why she wasn't doing it. She would act hungry (they eat CONSTANTLY in the beginning) but would get so frustrated and angry. She would be at my breast with her mouth around my nipple but not closing on it and shake her head violently with frustration and scream. I felt lost without my wife who would pace the room and comfort the baby while I could barely stand even after being unhooked from the machines. I felt panicked at my lack of instincts in how to help her and comfort her. I felt so responsible for her distress and so helpless!

I called for a lactation consultant, and she didn't come for almost an hour which felt like torture. She was very reassuring, though, and said that something was distracting Ellis from being able to latch. We checked her diaper and she did "bicycle legs" in case she had gas and rocked her around and then we tried again, and she latched. She said that you may never know what it was that worked, but just keep trying different things and then offering the breast. I soon learned that Ellis wouldn't eat (would WANT to, but couldn't focus enough to be able to, thus the frustration) if she had anything else wrong, so I had to check everything and just keep trying. When my mother and wife returned, I burst into tears, so grateful for their return, which probably confused them because we appeared to be calmly and successfully nursing!

The sonogram experience was terrible. We'd been seen by the pediatric urologist finally (Saturday night) who was surprised that it hadn't already been done that day, but said he didn't even think it was necessary. What he saw was so commonplace and benign that he wasn't worried, but he said to go through with the sonogram since it had already been ordered and it would put our minds at ease. (The cyst was gone by the time her pediatrician saw her that Tuesday.) We were told discharge would be around lunchtime Sunday, but by 5:00PM they still hadn't seen her for the sonogram! I was so tired and annoyed by then. Every nerve was frayed from lack of sleep and the anxiety of all that was happening nonstop at the hospital all weekend. I just wanted to get home! We were told that the sonograms were backed up because it was a holiday weekend (Memorial Day) and they would get to us soon.

When they finally came for us, they put her in this rolling incubator type thing that enclosed her completely. The place we had to go was so far from where we were, and walking behind her hearing her muffled wails was absolutely heartbreaking. It took forever to get there, and as soon as we did, I asked to hold her until they had the equipment ready so I could comfort her a little. Then the sonogram itself seemed to take forever, and back into the incubator she went. It was absolute torment, seeing her left alone in there, separated from all caregiving adults by plastic, not being held or even touched, no one responding to her desperate cries. She had to be so scared and lonely. What a traumatic early experience! And knowing the sonogram probably wasn't even really necessary just made it all seem that much worse. I couldn't bear it.

We then had to wait for the results to be reviewed and discussed with the pediatrician before we could get cleared for discharge. It was 9:00PM before that happened. We were all absolutely exhausted, and also disappointed that our homecoming would be nothing like we had imagined. When we finally received approval for discharge, my wife went to get the car and my mother and I put Ellis into her coming home outfit (anticlimactic so late at night). We were then told that no one was yet available for "patient transport" (to roll me in a wheelchair downstairs) and they couldn't tell us when they'd be ready. So I sat down to feed my always hungry newborn. While she was still eating, patient transport suddenly arrived. I explained that she would probably be done eating soon, and I didn't want to unlatch her and leave her hungry when she'd been interrupted from sleeping and eating all weekend (SINCE BIRTH). They said they couldn't wait and we had to leave now. So I unlatched my two-day old infant from my breast and buckled her screaming into the carseat. She screamed and cried hysterically all the way home, where I rushed her to the couch to feed her again.

All in all, it was a terrible experience. We were already anxious new parents trying to figure out our newborn who was terrified at this new world, and with having not slept in about two days, and on top of that we had staff constantly interrupting the baby's breastfeeding and sleeping. She'd be crying endlessly, and we'd be trying desperately to soothe her, with no sleep and no experience and no energy left, and finally would have her settled nursing or swaddled and sleeping, and someone would come in and wake her up and then leave us to have to settle her again. I felt like I would go crazy.

The second we got into our house, I felt such relief. We were in OUR space, with our baby in her own clothes and with her own things around her, and suddenly I could really connect with her. Suddenly it wasn't just about soothing this screaming creature that was dependent on us and for whom we were responsible, but it was about us being a family with our daughter and beginning the process of raising her. And I immediately understood why many women choose to give birth at home!

It's a Girl!

And she's here!!! Ellis Juliette was born on 5/22/15 at 12:57PM. I was telling my best friend about the birth when she came to visit at the hospital, and she said I should write it down quickly because she has already forgotten so many of those details of her 14-month-old daughter's birth. So I will try to do that, even though I'm blinded by exhaustion and my little one may wake and realize she pooped herself any minute. (Edited to add: This actually ended up taking me over two months to finish writing...)

Thursday (5/21) I spent the day getting the house ready. I'm told now that might have been my nesting that should have warned me of what was to come that evening, but even in retrospect it doesn't feel like the stories of crazed, manic cleaning that I've heard so much about from my doula and peers and the books I've read. I just felt like I had the day to do things and the clock was ticking so I might as well get to some of it. For instance, in the days since my due date, we had gone through all our fresh veggies, so I thought we should go grocery shopping to make sure we didn't come home to an empty fridge after delivery. I had just done laundry a few days prior, but again, since I hadn't yet had the baby, it was adding up again and I didn't want us to come home from the hospital to a full basket of dirty clothes. So I did that load, and also one of towels and sheets so I could make the bed up fresh.

It was a very productive day, and by the end, I was looking forward to Talmud study at temple. My rabbi does a three-part course every year around this time as we lead up to Shavuot, my favorite Jewish holiday. I love, love, love Talmud study so I figured I'd make the best of the situation (being "overdue") by taking advantage of going to this class that I would have missed if the baby had been born by the due date. About halfway through, around 8:00PM, I felt some severe back pain, like I would get before my period except worse. It eased up after a bit, and then came back a little later. Having it come and go immediately made me wonder, and I checked the time on my phone. It had been 13 minutes. I waited to see if it happened again, and it did, around 11 minutes. Then it happened twice more ten minutes apart. The last time was so uncomfortable that I was shifting around in my seat and had to get up to walk around. Sitting down didn't help, walking didn't help, nothing. And I realized I was definitely in labor.

After that fourth contraction passed, I went back to the room where class was finishing up. As we ended, a woman asked me how I was feeling, and I said, "I think I'm in labor." Everyone looked at me and she said, "Right now??" I said, "For the past 40 minutes or so..." Someone commented on how calm I seemed, that they were in a panic with their first baby while I sat there silently laboring in class. Rabbi offered to call Nicole to come get me, but I was so uncomfortable and didn't want to have to wait for her and figure out what to do with two cars at that point. I said I lived only ten minutes away and could always pull over if it became unmanageable or unsafe while I had one on the way. Another woman offered to follow me home to make sure I was okay, which I gratefully accepted.

I came home around 9:30PM, and my mother, who had arrived in town the previous week, was watching TV and my wife was upstairs getting ready for bed. I said, "Um, I think I'm in labor," and she got so excited. I then went up and told my wife, who yelled at me for driving home and then instructed me to call the doula. I didn't want to disturb her because some part of me was skeptical as to whether this was really labor since I felt it so much in my back. I knew it was supposed to start there and move around, but it was unbearably there. I would have to lean over my exercise ball or furniture just to get through each contraction, even though they had just started and the abdominal discomfort itself was minimal (a bit of a gassy, bloating feeling). I decided to call the doula because it was early enough to give her a heads up now rather than having to surprise her in the middle of the night. She said she was glad I let her know and that it was probably still early so to take it easy and relax since I would need to conserve my energy for the morning.

I told my mother and wife to go to bed because it was probably still early and I would need my support team as rested as possible when this started to really get underway. But it started moving fast! I tried to take a bath, I tried to lay on the couch and distract myself with light TV programming, but nothing could help me rest when my back was being ripped apart every eight, six, four minutes. By 12:30AM, the contractions were three and a half minutes apart. I knew my doctor wanted to be notified at three minutes, and that my wife needed to pack a bag and my mother was hoping for a shower if she had time. So I called the doctor, who told me to go ahead in, and then I woke my wife and mother and told them to get ready. They couldn't believe I had labored down to contractions three and a half minutes apart without waking them for support. But some primal part of me was just focused and trying to get through them, and I didn't realize how quickly everything was progressing. I'd had such a different picture of early labor - that I would just feel discomfort every twenty minutes or so for a while and bake or watch TV to distract myself, maybe even sleep for a while, before ultimately having the doula meet us at our house and help with pain management as I worked my way down to three minutes. I didn't think I'd just be alone in pain over an exercise ball and then suddenly leaving for the hospital!

Contractions hit me on the way to the car and in the car that had me doubled over and unable to speak or move. I had one on the way through the front doors of the hospital and almost collapsed on the sidewalk because there was nothing to lean over as it ripped through my back. I finally got registered and taken to triage, where our doula soon met us. I was anxious and scared by this point. I had always taken such a peaceful, almost hippie-like view of labor and childbirth and did not expect to feel as scared as I did. I had not expected the pain to feel this excruciating, and it completely threw me off. We had learned so many pain management techniques with our doula, and now I could barely move to even do any of them! I was in too much pain to even change position IN bed, let alone get out of bed and into any other position.

My blood pressure, which was slightly elevated pre-pregnancy but had maintained a steady 110/70 my entire pregnancy, was now starting to rise. I was attached to a fetal monitor and a sonogram was done. My doula asked about the baby's position, and that's when we learned that she had turned facing forward. She had been in the proper position for months, at least since the 32 week sonogram and as recently as the 40 week sonogram, so I'd had no reason to suspect that I was having the dreaded back labor! The back labor was so intense that I wasn't getting a break between contractions as nature intends. My back felt like it was splitting in half, and that pain was continuous between and during contractions. My doula applied counterpressure on my lower back to try to help me get through the contractions; sometimes it helped, and sometimes it almost felt worse.

When I was finally checked and told I was at 4.5cm and the baby was still high, I burst into tears. The contractions were so close together and so painful that I felt sure I had progressed more than that, considering I was already over 2cm before I even went into labor. I began wailing in pain and desperation, just crying into my wife's chest and shutting my eyes to try to escape it all. Someone came to gently talk about the option of an epidural, "even though your birth plan says not to." They also said that they would admit me if I took one, and otherwise I would not yet be admitted and could just walk around the hospital floor until I was farther along. I couldn't even imagine getting out of bed. My doula was encouraging me to get on my side and I felt like I couldn't even move. I wailed into my wife's shirt and looked up at the doula and said something like, "I'm only 4.5, how can I keep doing this to 10!"

The doula reminded me of what I'd said I wanted and said she would support me through whatever it was I wanted now. She asked what I was afraid of, what was getting in my way of feeling I could do this, and I said, "It hurts so much in my back, without a break, even between contractions, that I feel like I can't survive it, and I still have so far to go." Then I just cried and wailed and couldn't speak, and she said gently, "Remember we talked about the difference between pain and suffering. You seem to be suffering. What do you want to do?" I closed my eyes and cried against my wife and said, "I want the epidural." It was the hardest thing to say, even with her passive permission and non-judgment. I felt like I'd wasted her time and mine by spending all these prenatal sessions learning alternative pain management techniques, reading books and watching documentaries that I felt empowered me to choose an unmedicated birth. I felt like I'd given up so fast. Tears spike my eyes even as I write this now (two weeks to the day, since it's taken me a long time to write up this entire post that I started shortly after birth). I felt like I'd failed, like I wasn't anywhere nearly as strong as I'd thought I could be, and like women in many places in the world and throughout history have had to be.

But I also knew that I had crossed that line. No part of me questioned the decision - I knew I needed it, I didn't feel physically or emotionally capable of going through the rest of labor this way, and I knew without a doubt that I would not regret it. I just had to push through the shame and disappointment to say the words out loud. Once I had, every contraction while we waited for the anesthesiologist felt even more unbearable; the idea of relief was so alluring and I needed it NOW once I'd made the decision to ask for it. The anesthesiologist was very sweet and professional, and that bedside manner went a long way in helping me relax about it and accept my decision. I leaned forward and tried not to picture what he was doing in my back.

Once a delivery room opened up for me and I was being wheeled away, someone asked if I still needed my birth plan. Uh, yeah, please don't assume everything just got thrown out the window because I got an epidural! The anesthesiologist heard and, smiling sweetly, asked, "Was I in your birth plan?" He said it so gently that I knew he was really asking whether I felt like I'd betrayed myself already or whether I was accepting of my decision. No way would I have made him feel sorry for me by saying, "No, and I feel disappointed and ashamed at how NOT strong I am!" so I said, "Yes, you were there as 'if I ask for it,'" and I realized as I said it that it was true.

Finally being moved into a delivery room was anticlimactic now. I was restricted to the bed and my doula and wife were much more passively involved now because there just really wasn't much to do when I wasn't in agony. Seeing my doula almost kind of check out broke my heart, because it reminded me of how involved she would have been if I'd been able to have an unmedicated birth. We would have been walking around together, she would have been urging me into the shower or different positions, she would have helped my wife help me. She would have turned on soothing music. She would have snuck me a snack from my bag as I leaned over the bed on my own blanket that I'd brought from home. But instead, she sat there chatting with me and my wife and fighting sleep, waiting until she was needed and seeing me through. That singlehandedly made it sink in that my birth experience was now completely different than what I had expected and wanted.

At some point, the nurse on duty came in and said she would be starting Pitocin as per the doctor because my contractions had stopped. I felt panic, envisioning the "cascade of interventions" that would now follow. I knew it! This was part of why I hadn't wanted an epidural! Now it had stalled my labor and they would use Pitocin to get it going again and then baby would probably end up in distress and there I would go into a C-section, and couldn't I have just suffered through the back labor to avoid all this?? I was also confused because I was feeling the contractions! I choked back my fear and said, "How can she tell you to start Pitocin without even consulting with me first? I need to speak with her before you do anything." Then I sent my wife out to get our doula because I was afraid the doctor would steamroll me with jargon and I would end up consenting to something unnecessarily. But the doctor never came, and instead the nurse came back in and said she was to double check about the contractions. She adjusted the monitor and the contractions were once again registered on the screen. I was proud of myself for speaking up, but also pretty horrified that I would have been started on Pitocin that casually because of a slip of the monitor!

The next time that a wave of sadness hit me about the epidural was when someone told me I was in transition. I could feel each contraction, but very mildly, and no different from the contractions before. I had braced myself since our childbirth class for transition being the most painful part, and how I would push through knowing that it was also the shortest and that it meant I was almost there. I felt like I should be feeling something, enough to acknowledge transition. It felt wrong that I was coasting through it without feeling it.

Once I was fully dilated, I was told to push when my body told me to, but not before. They didn't want me to start pushing too soon because the baby was still high and I could use up all my energy pushing for so long. The pressure was intense, and when it was time to push, I couldn't imagine what this would feel like without an epidural! It was the most painful thing I'd ever felt. It felt like I had to poop out a bowling ball, and the bowling ball just stayed there even between contractions, miserably uncomfortable as I waited for the next wave. At a certain point, I felt like I had done so much pushing that the baby HAD to be in the birth canal. I just assumed the head was at least starting to come through my cervix. And then the doctor or someone told me, "You're doing great, the baby's coming a little lower!" A little lower??? You mean the baby isn't even close to my cervix yet and I still have to push it out? I felt so drained and exhausted and in pain, and I felt my pushing weaken after that with the prospect of still having so far to go. I felt so discouraged. I remember someone pointing out the sporadic cries of newborns down the hallway and attempting to use that to encourage me, and all I felt was bitterness that those women were done with this and I wasn't! I was too miserable to be able to think all those happy, peaceful thoughts about being closer to meeting my baby. I felt disconnected from my baby and just drowned in the bodily experience.

Soon I started feeling searing pain in my lower left side, so severe that I couldn't even focus on my pushing (which my body did with or without my help, as involuntarily as throwing up). I was crying out and saying, "I can't do this anymore!" and all kinds of other things that, even in the moment, made me think, "Wow, I sound so weak and whiny, I can't believe I'm that person." An anesthesiologist came in to adjust my epidural and I realized that the pain was in the location where I'd had my surgery just over a year ago to remove a 7cm ovarian cyst. The pain was in the exact spot, deep inside, just where I'd felt the pain from the cyst itself before its removal. All the pushing or something was making that spot flare up, which I found interesting and horrifying all at the same time, because what would I have done if I'd gone unmedicated and that had flared up during pushing? I guess I just would've had to get through it, but it was absolutely paralyzing! I couldn't even focus on the pushing and that pain and pressure because this pain was so sharp and severe. They turned me on my side so that they could direct the epidural medication toward that spot. I was told to take a break in that position while I let the medication take effect, and to let them know when I was ready for coached pushing again.

The period of spontaneous bearing down was very different from the coached pushing, and I'm honestly not sure which I prefer. I had put in my birth plan that I did not want to be coached and they did it anyway, but it felt helpful in the moment so I hadn't argued it. They went with my contractions, so it's when I had the urge to push anyway (I had pictured coached pushing being at arbitrary intervals when my body may not have felt the need to push), and it helped me get the most out of each one by doing it the way they encouraged me to. (Although my asthmatic lungs could only handle two rounds of breath-holding and they wanted three, so the third was almost always let go halfway through.) During the spontaneous pushing, I felt more alone and afraid. It was like something just took over my body and I was just trying to get through it, waiting for it to pass, like hanging over a toilet waiting for the next heave during a bad stomach bug. I didn't have the same support that I got in the coached pushing, and it felt more like something happening to me rather than a process I was participating in, and I felt really alone and shaken up. I certainly didn't expect that!

I'm not sure of the chronology of all this, but at some point toward the end of labor, my blood pressure skyrocketed to something like 257/190. My wife recalls feeling utterly panicked as staff flooded in chatting a mile a minute and hooking me up to magnesium, which brought it down. I barely registered any of this, and just whispered hopefully to my wife, "Maybe they'll do a C-section now because of my blood pressure. Maybe they'll just cut it out of me and this will all be over!" My wife says that's when she got really scared, because she knew I had to be in a bad place if I was asking for a C-section, which had been the number one outcome I'd been so determined to avoid if I safely could. She says the doula reassured her with words and the doctor with a wink and a smile.

I later learned that the baby turned the right way about an hour before she was born. So 16 out of my 17 hours of labor were back labor, but at least she wasn't born that way which would have been even more painful and drawn out.

I knew when she was getting close because a nurse started setting up tools down by my feet. I had a "holy shit!!" moment of realizing I was really about to have a baby, that this was really it.

I don't remember exactly what happened (and wasn't clear at the time, being in the state that I was) but somehow when it was actually time for her to be born and her head started moving down the birth canal, that happened faster than expected. I remember a nurse telling me to hold on and not push. Apparently that was so they could get the doctor rushed in because she was about to be born. At the time, I thought it was because she was moving too fast and they thought I would tear really badly or otherwise be more injured if I didn't slow down, so I listened and tried not to actively push. A nurse came over to unbutton my gown for skin-to-skin contact, and I felt a rush of intense excitement that this meant my baby would be on my chest within minutes! I remember my doula saying she could see the head and the baby had a lot of hair. My wife got excited then and went to look, which she had previously sworn she wouldn't do because she thought she would get sick! I heard my wife say excitedly, "I see the baby's head, Rach! It's right there!" I felt so encouraged knowing she was that close that I pushed harder than ever to move her the rest of the way down. They didn't even have time to push the table down under my feet so that the doctor could more easily deliver her, and she was born right on the table.

My wife announced the sex, checking several times because she had been so convinced we were having a boy. She said, "Rachel, guess what! We got our little girl!" I started crying and said, "Ellis, I knew it was you. I knew it was you!" I had started getting a gut feeling the last month or two that we were having a girl, and when a song came on the radio that made me feel my grandmother's presence so strongly that I cried on the way to a final OB appointment (her Hebrew name will honor my grandmother), I felt certain. I could hear my baby crying but couldn't see her past my legs. It felt like forever before they put her on my chest, and I just snuggled her and repeated over and over, "Hi, baby! Hi, baby girl, I knew it was you! Oh Ellis, I love you so much! You're here, you're here!" She calmed down pretty quickly, comforted by our voices and my smell and the warmth of my skin, and she reached a hand out and grasped my nipple tightly. Soon I started nudging her over to it, and she immediately latched on as soon as she felt it, less than an hour after being born. All my fears of breastfeeding obstacles went out the window, and I knew we could do this together.

Because this took me two months to finish and is so long already, I'll write a separate post about the rest of our hospital stay and our early days at home.

Ready to Meet You!!!!

Friday was supposed to be my last day at work, but I started feeling random sharp pains Thursday around 5:30 so I didn't go in the next day. I was afraid of having that progress while at work or going into full-on labor in the Bronx, over an hour from home. But it faded during the day Friday, returning Friday night and alternating with cramping. Then nothing most of Saturday except off-and-on intense pressure on my cervix. Same Sunday. I kept thinking labor might be imminent, and then nothing! But my sister pointed out that my body is preparing in a smart way - starting to get ready, and then relaxing so I can rest. Working its way up to the big task ahead. So I've let myself enjoy the sloooow lead-up, appreciating that at least something is happening to let me know my body is progressing.

Yesterday (Monday) was my due date. As planned, my mother and I celebrated by getting pedicures and lunch before going for the 40-week sonogram. The sonogram showed everything to be healthy and well. A week earlier, I had gone in for my weekly appointment and the doctor had said that if I hadn't gone into labor by my due date, we would schedule induction. I really don't want to be induced, on a practical level because it will make it more difficult to fulfill my wishes for an unmedicated vaginal birth and on an emotional level because I want to have "my story" about how it happened when I went into labor rather than memories of being hooked up to an IV. If there's a valid reason to be induced, then okay, but I don't want it taken lightly. I asked her if there was any way to avoid induction, and the doctor said she would give me a week after my due date if everything looked good with the gestational diabetes.

So yesterday, she said, "I remember that you don't want to be induced. Your sonogram still looks really good, fluid levels are good, and your sugar numbers are good, so I could let you wait until 41 and a half weeks. How does that sound?" Knowing that it's medically unsafe to let a baby go past 42, I thought that sounded quite reasonable, and I felt relieved that she remembered my reservations about induction, respected it, and brought it up herself with some flexibility. Then she did the cervical check and said, "You're over 2cm dilated and your cervix is stretched really, really thin. We'll schedule a sonogram for Friday, but I honestly don't see you making it that long." This made sense with what I've been feeling. I feel so much pressure that, even sitting, it can make me gasp and shift around in pain when the baby is moving. It feels like the baby is pushing right up against my cervix but just can't get out because it's not open enough.

The house finally feels ready, and now that I'm off work, I feel relaxed and mentally and emotionally ready. Instead of rushing around and trying to finish things up, I'm now just sitting and waiting. That impatience is so much better than the panic of "But wait, there's still so much to do!!!" I feel like I'm open and ready and waiting for this baby to come when it's ready, and that's a welcome feeling. Though the delicious torture of anticipation is very difficult!

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Baby preparation has been utterly overwhelming in the past few weeks. I've barely had time or energy to stop, think, feel, let alone write. It seems like we were coasting for a while and then suddenly had a deadline racing toward us (but an ambiguous one, which makes it even more stressful!). I feel disorganized, unfinished. stressed.

We finally put the nursery together two weekends ago. At 37 weeks pregnant, it was pushing it in my opinion, but we just kept not getting around to it. I felt great relief when the crib and dresser were put together and in place, and I was able to start washing baby clothes and bedding and set up the room. That relief was short-lived when I realized how much still needed to happen: putting together the changing table for downstairs, setting up both diaper stations, hanging things in the nursery, sorting out what toys and items we need right away versus which are for older ages and can stay stored in the basement a while longer, realizing we needed more bins and ways to store these items, trying to figure out how we re-arrange our own overflowing stuff in this cramped space so that we can fit in baby's stuff (WHERE WILL ALL THE BATH THINGS GO), figuring out where the litter box goes because we don't want it in our room where baby will be sleeping for a while and breathing it in yet we have no other good places, reorganizing the basement which we had just made into a beautiful guest area and now looks like a crazy storage zone after our baby shower, getting a carseat check which is apparently booked up at EVERY LOCATION until mid-June and then panicking about how well we were possibly figuring it out on our own, practicing buckling in a teddy bear, watching the infant CPR DVD my sister lent us, watching Happiest Baby on the Block my doula recommended and my parents had actually gotten us before we conceived, putting the cloth diapers through the mandatory five wash cycles (even though we don't need them right away, I won't be focused on that the first few weeks postpartum), putting finishing touches on the hospital bag so that we have everything we need, making sure we know what to do with the cord blood kit (free processing by the bank owned by our sperm bank so we just have to pay for the kit and shipping, $320!), waiting for our living room furniture which was supposed to be here in 3-5 weeks and the 5 week point just passed this weekend and WE HAVE NOTHING, bringing up the cradle from the basement and figuring out somewhere for it to go on the main level as a napping zone because we have no room upstairs, learning at 38 weeks that the glider that was going to be handed down to us no longer is and we now have nowhere upstairs (which is just bedrooms) to rock a fussy baby in the middle of the night until we figure out a new plan, choosing a mohel in case we have a boy, booking a newborn photographer, booking a maternity session which now at 39 weeks I'm just trying accept isn't going to happen.

On top of this, I have a stack of about fifteen pregnancy and childbirth books - most handed down and a few bought that I was really interested in - that I've barely touched in the "third trimester and birth" sections and feel super guilty about, like I'm not informing myself enough and not making use of these resources And my doula spent time teaching us all these exercises for keeping baby in optimal position and sent us a video for a routine that will help prepare my body for labor and I bought two prenatal yoga DVDs at 36 weeks so that I could relax and prepare my body in the last month, and I've had time for NONE OF THIS. Or maybe I don't MAKE time for it. I get home late from work, cook, feel exhausted, and just want to relax with TV the last couple of hours. If I have energy or time to do something more, it's one of the million tasks listed above (of which I've currently completed about 5%) and certainly not the self-care I claim to value so much, the ways I can soothe and prepare my body for labor and read and prepare myself mentally for it. Those get pushed to the wayside.

I broke down to my wife today and she was such an amazing support. Generally she is the one stressing about how the house looks and the tasks ahead, and it can make her irritable and snippy and unpleasant to be around. This time it's me, pregnancy-induced as it may be, and it helps me empathize with her because I can't imagine feeling like this about life all the time! I had gone upstairs to change into pajamas before she shut the lights to go to bed, and when I went to the bathroom, she called out, "Are you okay?" She really meant physically, because she's been worried about my exhaustion and near-constant Braxton Hicks (after only having like five ever in my pregnancy until the past week) and sudden inability to do much after making it 37 weeks being quite limber and active and comfortable. But I just said, "Cranky. I feel cranky and irritable and that's not like me. I don't like feeling this way. Is it okay that I'm feeling this way?" And she came out of the bedroom to meet me in the hall and hug me and said, "Of course it's okay, you're 39 weeks pregnant! Be cranky! What's bothering you?" And I went into all of the above. I love my wife to death, but she is not generally known to know the right things to say or to be the strong one in our relationship. But boy did that kick in when she saw I needed it, that I was the one who needed a rock this time. She reassured me while also not minimizing my stress, and gave realistic solutions to almost everything I said. Most of which were, "I'll take care of that this week/when I come home for a shower and to feed the cats while you're at the hospital/with Dad in the first few days after baby. It'll be okay and I'll take care of it. You don't need to worry about anything."

I'm so, so, so excited and ready for this baby to join our lives. We both can barely stand the excitement. I love seeing my wife kissing and talking to my abdomen, saying, "Come let us meet you, we love you and miss you!!!" And yet the pressure of feeling my home, my nest, isn't ready is killing me. I'd like to write about the incredible baby shower our families threw for us, and the one my coworkers threw for me that incorporated so much about my personality and preferences and current dietary restrictions that I felt so known and loved. I'd like to write about the excitement of our temple community who are on the edge of their seats, waiting for the Friday night they DON'T see us and know it's time, checking in with us excitedly and happily every week. I'd like to write about the snuggly moments in bed with my wife and our baby-to-be nudging against her hand when she talks to it, moving around at the inflections in my wife's voice as she reads to our friends' two-year-old daughter, dancing as it listens to us singing to the radio (so much more active when we're singing along than when we're not). I'd like to write about finding a mohel, and my anxiety regarding circumcision despite my certainty about our decision. I'd like to write about the experience of working with our doula and all the amazing empowerment and support that has provided us already. But my head is swarming with tasks, to-do's, unfinished business, and I went over a month not processing anything here. Losing those moments that I would love to be able to relive in ten or twenty years through my descriptive writing. Losing the opportunity to revel in them and think through them in the way that only writing can help me do.

Is this what parenting will be like too? Will it feel like frantic chaos that I'm constantly lagging behind in preparations for? Will I always be stressing about the next thing I need to do, or the things I should have done but haven't? Or is this pregnancy-induced panic that is part of trying to prepare for something that is about to turn our world upside down, and then after the birth, I will let go of some of this need for perfection and just start enjoying it and realizing I have everything I need? I'm hoping the latter, because this way of feeling and being is out of character for me. I'm glad it didn't take over until the end and that I got to fully enjoy and revel in pregnancy for the vast majority of this journey. Now I need to let my wife be my rock, allow and trust her to lighten my load, and try to stay focused and calm on the transformative experience right around the corner.

The Motherhood of Sisterhood

Late last year, somewhere in my second trimester of pregnancy, a pregnant panhandler came through my subway car. She was farther along than myself, looked to be in her third trimester, and she was in pretty rough shape.  She asked for food or money, and my heart just broke. Homeless people are always hard on my heart, but seeing this woman down and out while her body was creating a life just ripped at my every seam. I gave her a snack from my bag and she thanked me profusely while I tried to brush it off as no big deal.

She may not have even been able to tell I was pregnant in my coat, but I was painfully aware of our shared truth. We are both insatiably hungry while our bodies are undergoing total transformation, building new bodies. But I can pack snacks in my bag for the day to help stave off the hunger and cravings, and tonight I will go home to my house and my supportive wife. My friends and family will throw me a baby shower to help me get the things I need for this baby. They will ensure this baby is never in need, and if they didn’t, we have steady jobs and would still somehow be able to figure it out for ourselves. We are safe and warm at night. We can prepare for our child.

Who helped you make this baby and where are they now? Did you even feel you had a choice, or are you just left to deal with the consequences of someone else’s choice? Where are you sleeping tonight? What fears and anxieties keep you up at night as you feel your due date looming closer and have no one to turn to for help and advice? Do you worry that your child will be taken from you because you can’t provide proper care? Do you worry that your child WON’T be taken from you and you will spend every moment frantically trying to prepare for the next, worrying about how to keep your child safe and thriving? How do you protect yourself and stay safe as you become increasingly more vulnerable? Who helps you when your back and hips are aching so much you feel you can’t walk one more step, and yet gathering another few quarters makes the difference in whether you can eat tonight? I wanted to cry and scream at the injustice of the world, and also take her home and let her run a hot bath and elevate her swollen feet and be able to feel the wonder of the creation within her instead of the exhaustion and anxiety and loneliness I saw weighing her down.

Then a week or so ago, as spring finally turned the corner (how far away my spring baby seemed when winter was only just approaching!), I saw a fat squirrel sitting on a tree branch. In unspoken agreement, my wife and I always sit still in the car when we pull into our driveway and see cardinals in the backyard. This time there were a male and a female bouncing around from branch to fencepost to bush, and we watched them until they finally flew off. Then I noticed the squirrel on the branch of our tree, contentedly eating a nut. I was initially surprised at its rotundity after a long, harsh winter, and then after a few seconds it hit me that she wasn’t fat, she was pregnant! It seemed like a logical conclusion at this time of the year, and I just watched her in awe. I wondered if this was her first pregnancy and if she knew what was going on. Did she feel extra hungry and thirsty and tired? Did she start to notice more and more strange stirrings and squirming in her abdomen and wonder what the heck was going on? Or does she just go through life unblinking and not pay much attention to these changes when she’s just trying to survive each moment, focusing on finding food and safety? She’s so strong - she just goes through her pregnancy finding the next nut, lugging her heavy body up the tree. She can’t play the pregnancy card. Other squirrels don’t encourage her to just relax in the grass while they watch for predators or offer to fetch her an acorn. She’s just gotta keep going! She doesn’t know any different, and those male squirrels have no clue what she’s quietly enduring in order to propagate the species.

Pregnancy is the first nearly universal condition that has made me feel so connected to beings across demographics and even species. I wonder about the teen mothers I work with, both the reluctant and the intentional. I wonder about the experiences of people older than me, like my mother, my wife’s grandmother, and my rabbi (who adopted, but who I imagine experienced similar planning, anticipation, fear and excitement, and impatience waiting for her daughter to join their family). I feel so connected to all of these mothers, and also so curious about how different their outer experiences are or were within their own contexts despite the fact that exactly the same thing was happening inside each of us. Sometimes this breaks my heart and sometimes this lifts and moves me, but I’m always grateful for the connection.

Pregnancy Guilt

(Written in December 2014 for Kveller.com)

After four failed cycles of intrauterine insemination, my wife and I conceived a few months ago. We’re elated, but during the time leading up to our pregnancy, we faced much uncertainty and anxiety. Before beginning insemination, I was tested for every possible fertility barrier and all of the test results were negative. This was a mixed blessing, since my insurance would have covered the $1900 per cycle process fully if I’d had even the slightest issue. But of course I was grateful for my health.

That was an incredibly difficult time, when hopes rose and fell. For support, we reached out to family and friends as well as our dear rabbi, who witnessed many tears and helped comfort and encourage us.

We also reached out to a couple of friends who, like us, were experiencing difficulty conceiving. We bonded intensely during that period, because we got each other. When a very close friend of mine became pregnant immediately, we struggled as we watched her abdomen grow every month and felt envious– like that’s where we should be too. With our friends who also faced difficulties conceiving, we were able to commiserate, share stories, and vent about our hurt.

And then we did get pregnant, and suddenly we were the ones struggling to figure out how to tell our friends who hadn’t yet conceived.

(Read the rest at the link below)

http://www.kveller.com/after-struggling-with-infertility-i-feel-guilty-about-being-pregnant/

All the Sugar

Before the fertility clinic would proceed with our first cycle, they sent me for a one-hour glucose tolerance test to screen for prediabetes, due to my bloodwork having shown that my blood sugar levels are slightly elevated. I passed the test and all was well. When I had to take the same test around 29 weeks gestation, I did not pass and was referred for the three-hour test. I had read that many people who fail the one-hour pass the three-hour because many people’s bodies just need that little extra time to handle the sugar. Many people in my personal life confirmed this, telling me that they’d failed the one-hour also but then had been fine. So I went in pretty optimistic. I drank the nasty, syrupy drink and then, ravenous, sat and read a book while getting blood drawn every hour. The phlebotomist asked with each blood draw if I was feeling okay, and since I was, that also made me optimistic.

I was a little anxious anyway, just because I know I’m genetically predisposed to diabetes and have already had signs of insulin resistance since high school (rough, scaly dark patches of skin in my armpits and under my belly; some skin tags; cellulitis at 20 years old which took doctors forever to diagnose because it’s usually only seen in elderly, obese diabetics), but after hearing even my own mother and sister say they passed the three-hour, I kept talking myself down and convincing myself that I really probably didn’t have it. Then I got the call from my OB’s office saying my results were “abnormal” and I needed to call an endocrinologist RIGHT AWAY to schedule an appointment.

Heart in my mouth, I called the one they recommended who took my insurance and set up an appointment for the following day. The doctor was very warm and friendly. He showed me my results from the three-hour test, showing what levels are normal at each hour and how high mine stayed throughout. He asked me about various symptoms (excessive hunger and thirst, how many times I pee in a night, etc.), family history, etc. He explained why this can happen in pregnancy, and that since the placenta is the source of the issue, it will go away as soon as the placenta is delivered, but for now may worsen as the placenta grows. He said the baby is not harmed, but that the baby is overmaking its own insulin to counteract the high blood sugar flowing into it, and that high insulin can lead to too much growth and complicate delivery if the baby gets too big. Having the baby’s pancreas on overdrive throughout gestation can also increase baby’s risk of developing diabetes and childhood obesity later in life, so it’s important to regulate my own blood sugar so the baby doesn’t have to overcompensate for me.

Then he talked to me about diet change and handed me a whole packet with recommendations for meals and snacks, what I can have in unlimited quantities, what I can have in moderation, and what I can NEVER EVER have. Some of the never evers really surprised me – I mean bananas, really?? The “bad” things that I craved and had been indulging in freely were on that list, as well as some things I thought were really healthy for me (like watermelon and grapes).

He showed me my target range and what numbers should worry me. He told me to stick to this diet and test my blood sugar fasting and then an hour after every meal, fax in the results every few days, and then come back in a week to evaluate. If the numbers were concerning in that first couple of days, like my blood sugar was out of normal range even with diet changes, then I would need insulin and have to come back in immediately for that. He offered to show me how to do it then and send me home with some supplies so that I wouldn’t have to come back in so soon if that happened, but said it was my choice. I said, “No thank you, I’m feeling utterly overwhelmed as it is and would rather not have to learn injections on top of it when I may not even need them. I’ll come back in if I have to.” He told me to keep fat in my diet because now is not the time to be losing weight. Then a nurse came in to show me how to use the glucose monitor, which looked intimidatingly complicated at first use.

I didn’t even make it to the car before tears were streaming down my face. I felt utterly overwhelmed at all that was in front of me – having to plan every meal and snack, having to avoid so many things I love and just am not sure how to replace at meals, figuring out the glucose monitor and remembering to take my blood and log my food choices after every meal. And I felt overwhelming guilt at my poor diet up to that point and how my baby had been having to work its poor little pancreas to death to try to make up for it. It didn’t matter that this was coming for me no matter what, and that people get it no matter how they were eating before and during pregnancy. It didn’t matter that baby was fine and not being harmed right now. I couldn’t stop blaming myself for not doing enough to protect my baby and keep it as safe and healthy as possible. I’ve struggled with willpower when it comes to food my whole life, and all I could think was that even my baby hadn’t been enough for me to change that, and how shameful that feels. I felt anxious and overwhelmed by the path ahead of me, the major diet overhaul and monitoring, and then ashamed that it felt so difficult. I called my mom to get it all out of my system, and then faced the challenge of figuring out where to go for lunch that wouldn’t make my first blood sugar check be elevated. (I chose Chipotle: brown rice, grilled chicken, tomatoes, guacamole – all approved items.)

As I sat at home and tried to remember all the steps for using the glucose monitor, stuck myself multiple times trying to figure out how to take the needle back out, and then tried to plan what I could eat the rest of the day and the next day at work, I let myself shed a few tears of frustration and then told myself that I would be a master in no time. This was all new and a lot to learn and figure out at once, but soon it would become routine. It just felt so unsettling to have everything in my daily life have to be looked at and managed differently, and to not be exactly sure how yet. Feeling incompetent is my quickest route to frustration and tears, and my instinct is to quit immediately (usually when it's something like assembling a product), but I couldn't with this. And I told myself, "You're going to feel this times a hundred when you're suddenly responsible for the care of a newborn, so you'd better humble yourself and get use to feeling this way and still functioning through it to get the job done."

My numbers were stable with the diet change so I didn’t need to come back in for insulin. This was and is my main motivator to sticking to the diet strictly, because I desperately want to avoid injections. I’m grateful that, while my body is clearly very sensitive to sugar (I’ve seen it spike just going from half to a whole wheat English muffin in the morning), limiting that has been enough to keep it under control. My fasting numbers are good, which they look at closely because blood sugar spikes overnight and is the highest in the morning, so some people wake up with high blood sugar no matter what they eat during the day and need at least nighttime insulin. Meeting with the dietician has been helpful, teaching me things like which foods equal how much of a serving of starch, how to pair a starch with a protein at every snack or meal (apple with string cheese, plain yogurt with blueberries) because the protein helps my body process the sugar, how to split up my breakfast (NO fruit in the morning when your blood sugar is most sensitive) into two small meals so that I stay satisfied without sending my sugar overboard, how to watch my patterns and what sets me off and what doesn’t so that I can find what works for me (“I hate telling a pregnant woman that any fruit is completely off limits – have a small banana and then check your sugar, it’s about what YOUR body can handle”).

I lost four pounds the first week. Actually, within the first four or five days. I was at a 13 pound total gain and went down to 9. I couldn’t eat enough butter, full-fat dairy, and nuts to keep my weight from going down. I called my OB’s office out of concern, and the nurse said that she was surprised the endocrinologist said not to lose weight because it’s impossible not to with such a diet overhaul, but that it’s only my own weight and I should just be focused on making sure I’m getting proper nutrition. She said as long as the baby’s weight is on target, they’re not worried about mine dropping. At our 32-week sonogram the next week, the OB confirmed that baby’s weight was perfect, exactly average, and that I didn’t need to be worried about my own. I stayed stable at this new weight for many days, and then slowly started gaining again, and I’m now up to 11 pounds total gain.

My wife has gone on this diet with me. I did not ask for that, and in fact told her just not to eat things I love right in front of me (cakes, ice cream) but that she could do it behind my back and not tell me, just so I’m not tortured. And she could eat anything she likes that DOESN’T torment me (chips, hard candies). But she insisted that this is how we both should be eating and that she knows she is predisposed to diabetes too, so why not use this as our wake-up call to being healthier? She doesn’t have to be as picky with planned out snacks or about having fruit in the morning, but she’s made her own diet overhaul. She measures her starches at dinner and has the same amount I do, and has cut down on how often she snacks and the portion size of her snacks. She’s been losing weight too!

At my second dietician counseling yesterday, we were going over my charts and she asked if she could keep the most recent week’s. I had an immediate reaction that made me want to say, “No, it’s mine!” and I had to figure out where that came from and how to explain it rationally to her. I said, “I’d like to keep the originals. I have all the rest of them and it just helps me look at my own patterns.” So she made a copy for herself and gave it back. She had told me earlier in the meeting to keep trying to fatten myself up, to make sure I’m getting enough nutritious calories in, and said I could make my breakfast more filling by having a whole light wheat English muffin instead of a half. I’d had to go back a few weeks to show her where I had tried that and my sugar had gone right over. Clearly I can’t do that! But that reference point is important to me. It’s important that I could look back at all the times whole wheat pasta has been fine for me, and try to figure out why the fresh whole wheat fettucini made me go over that one day, and then realize that I’d used store-made Bolognese sauce instead of our own homemade sauce, which the dietician pointed out usually has starch in it to thicken it. I’m not just tracking numbers for a doctor to look at and approve or disapprove. I’m learning my body and foods that are problems for me and foods that work for me and how much I can tolerate of different things. I want control over that, because this is for me.

The Home Stretch (AKA OHGOD are we there yet?!?)

I've been extremely comfortable with only minor complaints throughout my pregnancy. One of my friends teases me for it because she was miserable in both of her pregnancies: throwing up until the day she gave birth, swollen in her whole body, just very uncomfortable. When she sees me at work, she rolls her eyes with a smirk and says, "Oh here Rachel comes all glowing again. Haven't you thrown up yet?? Tell me when it gets bad, I don't want to hear anything til then."

I have a coworker due three days before me who reports utter misery and discomfort, and has from the beginning with little relief. I had another coworker tell me about a different pregnant coworker, "I'm glad I can see how much you're enjoying pregnancy, because if I was only seeing ____, I may never want to do it! She does NOT make it look appealing!"

I read a "humorous" pregnancy book recently where the author started off by saying that this book is not for the perfect, non-complaining pregnant women that seem to breeze through everything, but for the REAL pregnant women who deal with the REAL issues of pregnancy, which she then listed and most of which did not apply to me. I felt like I was supposed to feel this instant relief and sense of inclusion in the sisterhood of exhausting and uncomfortable pregnancies: "Oh yes, I hate those women who never get a varicose vein or a stretch mark or morning sickness or swelling! Who ARE they anyway??" I felt like a model starting to read a book that was meant to validate "curvy girls" by creating an atmosphere of comfort and laughter that I'm not a part of, but also know I'm privileged not to be a part of. Like maybe I should put this down since I can't sigh and say, "YES, I go through that too, isn't it awful?? I'm glad I'm not the only one! I hate those women who seem to have it easy, they make me sick!"

The reality is that I was turned off to the idea of most foods except simple carbs and had passing waves of nausea, but never threw up. It also only lasted a few weeks. I had smell sensitivity for maybe a week, with a few specific issues, but none that made me feel sick or have to leave a room. I haven't had insane hormonal swings where I've screamed at my partner or demanded she meet certain needs; I was just a little extra sensitive and more emotional my first trimester, and it's just starting to come back a few weeks into my third. My feet swelled for about two days, though I'm sure that can get worse later on. I haven't been constipated my entire pregnancy, which is supposedly one of the most common complaints, though I do the things naturally that are recommended such as drinking a ton of water and walking (I get a decent amount just in my commute) and eating lots of fiber. I haven't yet gotten stretch marks, though I'm pretty sure the last month will fix that. Discharge has been very minor and almost odorless (I know people who had to wear pads for it at this point in their pregnancy). My lower back started to ache around 28 weeks from carrying the off-center load in front, but I bought a pregnancy support belt that was recommended to me and wear it just during my commute and that has been a miracle. Nothing but my belly has grown or changed, so I haven't had to buy new underwear or change styles to find something flattering to my new shape. I feel very fortunate, and I also think I probably minimize the few inconveniences I HAVE experienced because they feel like just that, and I don't expect pregnancy to always be cushy and comfortable. Those same inconveniences have also always been fleeting.

The only one that was bad enough for me to complain much about was severe lower back pain that made me actually feel like I was breaking in half when I went from a lying or sitting position to standing. It was so bad that I needed to use my arms to pull myself by grabbing onto something, and then would have to stand hunched over and sloooowly come up as I stretched it out. This made commuting and midnight peeing a source of great dread and anxiety! This was happening for almost three days, and yesterday I became concerned and called my OB to make sure it was normal. I was told that it is, as long as I don't feel any cramping in my lower back, and that it will come and go depending on how baby is positioned, what he or she may be laying on. Today has been much better so I'm optimistic that it's not something that will be consistent for the rest of my pregnancy.

I still have eight weeks left, and I know they'll be the toughest eight weeks. So maybe all of this will start happening. But I feel grateful that I've made it this long feeling mostly comfortable. Even my   one main issue I feel I have well under control now, but that's a long enough story to merit its own post.

(Update: four weeks left and still feeling great!!)

My Bear Cub

The level of protectiveness I've felt while pregnant is unlike anything I've ever experienced. The first time it washed over me was as raw instinct. When I was about four months pregnant, one of my teen male clients was becoming very disruptive at the front of the agency, and as the supervisor, I had been called out to assist. He was becoming loud and verbally aggressive, so several people had gathered, and his social worker was there also, attempting to de-escalate him. He finally got around the staff to charge into the lobby, and I immediately stepped back behind a column, with my hand on my abdomen.

This may sound like a normal precaution for anyone to take. But I am not easily scared off by my youths' anger. They have plenty of reason to be angry, and if I know their personalities, their triggers, and their behavior patterns, I can negotiate the situation boldly and safely. This is a youth I've known for many years, and one who has never physically hurt staff. I honestly do not believe he would, and logically I did not feel in danger. I certainly did not feel like his target, and there is no part of me that rationally thinks he was going to head in my direction or throw something at me or do anything else that would put me and my baby in danger. But my instinct to protect this baby forming inside me disregarded all of that. Had I not been pregnant, I would have approached him, followed him, addressed him. Instead, I shot back the second I saw him shoot through the doors, and noted that his social worker was following so I knew it would be okay.

On a more regular basis, my protectiveness come through as hyper-cautiousness. When I walk through Penn Station on my way home every evening, I keep a hand over my belly. The evening rush is always more dangerous than the morning rush because no one wants to get home late and everyone needs to MAKE THAT TRAIN!!! People are just running amok. I've always just been part of it, but now I walk more slowly and I keep my hand on my belly because otherwise people and bags will just slam into it. I'm used to being prodded and slammed, and fat squishes and it's usually fine. But my baby bump is firm and sensitive and just so damn out there, the first part of me to reach any destination, and I find myself having to really ensure its protection. I walk further to the inside of subway platforms than ever before. I always grab railings on staircases.

My wife feels this in a whole different way - and she worries about both me and the baby! She gets so nervous about me going to work on snowy or icy days. I had my 28 week OB appointment this morning, which I planned to drive to and then drive to work, and she went into work a few hours late just so she could walk me out to the car before she got on the train, since our driveway was full of thick ice. She stays on the outside of me on any sidewalk or pathway. She texts me throughout the work day to make sure I'm okay and that I made it safely. She worries about BOTH of us, while also having the least amount of control over what's happening in a typical day and what I'm doing to keep us safe.

Many times I am disappointed by how people will watch me in late pregnancy leaning on a subway pole, my back and pelvic area just ACHING, and not offer me a seat. But recently I was surrounded by a pack of mama bears and that's what I will choose to remember for as long as I can. It was a holiday weekend (MLK Jr. Day?) and everyone was getting out of work early and there were train delays and cancellations because of ice. I squeezed onto a car where I literally took up the last standing space. There were a bunch of women around me, and one of them noticed my belly and said, "Oh dear, you should ask for a seat!" Even if I'd felt comfortable doing that, I couldn't have made my way to the aisles to do so. You could barely have thrown a jelly bean into that train car. So I said, "Thank you, but I'm comfortable enough to stand. I'm just worried about being pushed into people and protecting my belly, so I'll stay here where I can lean against the door." Someone said, "We're all women here, and we're going to keep this bubble around you. No one's going to push into you!" One joked that she was a nurse but didn't think she could do much if I went into labor. I said, "At least I hit 24 weeks, so I'm at viability now!" And she said, "Oh dear no, you aren't ready yet!!!"

As rushed commuters would come to the door and say, "Is there any room? All the cars are full, is there anywhere to squeeze so I can fit?" or would just try to slam themselves in, those mama bears would all yell at once, "BACK UP, we have a pregnant woman here, no one is shoving into her!" After a few times of that, a couple of the women just wanted me safely out of the doorway and started calling down the aisle, "we have a pregnant woman here, can someone please give their seat? She's going to get squished in this crowd!" And it was yet another woman who gave up her seat for me. She was down the packed aisle, and the other women formed a wall around me to get me there safely without having to squeeze into things. And when I got off to transfer at Jamaica (fortunately to a significantly less crowded train where I easily got a seat), those same women formed a barricade to get me out safely, and I thanked them and teared up as I got off. I have never, ever, felt such a sense of community and sisterhood. To feel so protected and cared for by complete strangers is something I hope I never forget.

Our Little Thumper

Just over two weeks ago, at 21 weeks pregnant, my wife felt the baby move for the first time. Out of respect for her privacy and just the fact that this is not my narrative to process and share, I will just say that she struggled a bit with insecurities in the beginning, not only as the nonbiological parent, but also just as the one whose body this was not happening in, which made her feel a bit excluded. I knew she had reached a point of connection when I woke up one night, around two or three months pregnant, to her hand rubbing my belly. I pretended to still be asleep so I wouldn’t embarrass her because I didn’t want her to stop and I wanted her to have that private moment of connection. But I brought it up sweetly and gently the next day, and she had no memory of it! She must have been doing it in her sleep, which is even more significant to me.

Then within a few weeks of my feeling the first flutters of movement, she started getting really antsy to feel the baby move. She would ask me at least once a day, “Can I feel it yet? When will I be able to?” and would say almost every time I remarked on movement, “Can you feel it on the outside? But just put your hand there in case. Just try.” This was inevitably followed by disappointment when I broke it to her that the baby could still not be felt on the outside.

About two weeks ago, after battling a cough for some time, my wife finally agreed to take the day off work to go to the doctor. I had been sleeping very poorly, as it is taking a while for me to adjust to sleeping on my side instead of my back, and decided after my alarm went off that I would take the day off as well to accompany her to the doctor. My wife was sleeping downstairs on the couch in an effort to keep me from catching her cold. I got up to use the bathroom, and when I returned to bed, I lay on the opposite side from the side I had been on before, and almost immediately felt some serious thumping. I knew as soon as I felt it that it would be able to be felt from the outside, so I put my hand down the waistband of my low-rise pajama pants where I had felt it, and sure enough, there was one and then two big throbbing motions. My heart racing, I walked downstairs, calmly fed the cats, and then woke my wife. I said, “It may have stopped by now, but I just felt the baby from the outside, if you want to come upstairs and lay with me to see if you can feel it.” She eagerly jumped up and followed me upstairs.

Assuming that the baby had been moving so furiously after being sloshed around with my getting up and then back down on a different side, I swished my hips around while standing and then moved from side to side a little once I got into bed in an effort to agitate it again. I lay on my wife’s side of the bed because I knew I had to be on my left side in order for her to have her hand on my right side where I had felt the movement. I told her to be patient and warned her gently that it may not happen again, maybe not even for days. We just lay there in bed, without the pressure of having to get up and ready for work, her hand on my lower abdomen and my hand over hers. After just a minute or two (that felt like ten), there was one, big, very distinct THUMP on the palm of her hand before it settled back down and nothing more was felt like that for almost a week. The smile on my wife’s face was priceless. She said, “Oh my God, what WAS that????”

I felt so, so grateful that this happened while we were both home to share in it. If it had happened while I was at work and then not for another week, I know my wife would have been so frustrated and antsy. She was eager to feel it again, but was content with having felt it this once, and earlier than we had braced ourselves for. Since that morning, she has been talking to my belly nonstop, putting her face right next to it and saying, “Buuuuuuuggy, wake up, Bug! I love you!” It has happened a few more times (and mostly at home, luckily!) where I’ve been able to call my wife over to feel the baby move just a few times before it settles down again, and it provides such powerful connection for both my wife and the baby, as well as for the three of us at once.

20 Weeks

I'm at 22 weeks now, but never posted after our 20 week sonogram. Even though the excitement of it has died down a bit (just in that it's already a distant memory), I really want to remember these things later. I am the type to read my old posts over and over because I love re-experiencing moments in my life.

The 20 week sonogram is for an anatomy scan. They do it now because everything is formed that they need to see, and baby can still move around a lot so they can get the different views they need. Because they have a long list of things they have to check for, you get a nice chunk of time watching baby on the screen! I had been waiting for this sonogram impatiently for eight weeks, though the last two weeks I was less antsy since I could now feel the baby. Feeling it gave me a lot of the reassurance and connection that I look to sonograms for. 

As soon as we saw Bug on the screen, it was just like this beautiful sense of peace and contentment. Oh there you are, little one, hi! The legs were bicycling like crazy, and I said to my wife, "See?? See why I'm feeling so much movement already??" The radiologist did something to highlight the bones white, and it was so cool to see little baby skeleton! She also did something to color blood red and blue so you could see what was going in and what was going out. She checked the brain and the four chambers of the heart and each little limb and bone. She said, "your baby is perfect," and what a relief that is to hear! She also said that our baby was stubborn - well, we knew that from the 12 week sonogram! It stopped turning around and they needed a different angle to finish checking the heart. They had me lay on each side for several minutes, go to the bathroom, walk around, and after each time the baby was still in the same position. The radiologist said that stuff usually works, and she was getting anxious because she needed to finish the scan and couldn't. She said, "okay, one final effort - let me get you a lollipop, and walk around while you give it sugar." That did the trick!

HOLY CRAP HALFWAY THROUGH PREGNANCY. When we realized a couple days ago that we were almost at 22 weeks and only had 18 left to go, it was such a shock to know we had less time left than what we had already gone through. It doesn't seem like much when I think of all we need to do to prepare, but at the same time, it feels like such a long time til we meet our baby! I always thought I'd feel grateful for the many months I had to enjoy peace and sleep and "us"-ness, and that it would go too fast. But honestly, it already feels like the baby is part of our family, and it feels strange to not be able to hold it and see its face. What are you like, little bug? What does your face look like? Are you a boy or a girl? What makes you content and what makes you cranky? What does your laugh sound like? Who are you?? 

On the Move!

Baby Bug is making such advancements! I’m 19 weeks, and already a lot has progressed since I last wrote at 16 weeks.

My breast sensitivity FINALLY abated for a few weeks, and now has come back in a different form. They feel muscularly sore and achy, in a way that I can feel with very minimal movement.

I was already having difficulty bending over my abdomen a few weeks ago to put on shoes, pick something up off the floor, etc. That’s improved only because I’ve figured out how to bend in a different way that accommodates my growing belly; I squat slowly with my knees going outward, like a plie. (Tying shoes is still difficult, but I sit down and bring my foot up on the opposite thigh to make it easier, instead of bending down to the floor.)

It’s a rare treat to get a good night’s sleep. Not only am I up every hour or two to pee, but my body is apparently aware that I’m not supposed to be sleeping on my back anymore. I can only fall asleep on my back, but I’ve been turning to my side in my sleep and then waking up out of discomfort at some point afterward. My friend gave me her pregnancy body pillow because she didn’t want to have to store it, and after five nights of trying, I haven’t figured out a way of using it that actually keeps me comfortable enough to fall asleep. I can still get away with being on my back for probably another couple weeks, according to what I’ve read, but I don’t know how I’ll adjust after that. It’s already problematic.

At my 16 week check-up, the doctor said to have plenty of calcium because critical bone development would be happening for the next few weeks. The baby will get enough calcium no matter what, but will take it from my own supply which will hurt my own bones if I don’t get what I need. Also, fat is necessary for helping your body absorb the calcium, so I kept whole milk and full-fat yogurt and cheese around. I craved it like crazy, buying chocolate milk at restaurants and carrying string cheese with me wherever I went. Then that craving faded about a week ago and now I have to remind myself to continue having dairy, though I feel like my body is telling me the critical period has passed. It’s so amazing to me how my body knows what it needs and gives me the cues to get it! I craved steak in the first few weeks of pregnancy when I needed lots of iron and protein, then hated meat and craved simple carbs for the second part of my first trimester when I needed energy, and now I craved dairy for a few weeks while baby’s bones were calcifying. The human body is just incredibly designed.

The best change is that I can feel baby move! I’ve been soooo eager for that day, for that regular awareness that there is really a life growing inside me, and it finally happened last Shabbat after a lunch at the Outback (one of our guilty pleasures that we only indulge in maybe once a year) while we were sitting and chatting. My doctor had said movement is typically felt between 18 and 25 weeks, and I was 17 weeks and 6 days at the time. I had been hoping it wouldn’t take me til almost 25 weeks to feel something! Several people have told me they didn’t feel their baby for a while longer just because the mistook the early flutters for gas or hunger pangs, but to me it felt very distinct, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I knew immediately what it was. It felt like a goldfish was trapped in my abdomen and had just run up on the wall of its enclosure. I felt it on the lower right side of my abdomen. I didn’t feel anything the next day, but then felt it again on Monday, and then two or three times on Tuesday. On Wednesday or Thursday, it finally shifted to the lower center of my abdomen and became much more frequent.

Up until Friday, I was texting my wife every time I felt it move so she could be included. I would just text “Bug” each time, and she would know. Friday, it was too frequent for me to keep up with doing that anymore. Our baby also developed hearing about a week ago, and at the last Shabbat service, the baby was moving like crazy throughout all the music. At one point, it was so strong and unexpected that I jumped in my seat and my wife was concerned that something was wrong. Then it stilled as soon as we got outside. On Sunday, we played a Debbie Friedman CD loudly in our living room while we were organizing the contents of our desk, and again the baby was moving so much. I know all babies love music, but I also know that we chose a donor who plays jazz piano, and this was a reminder that I want to watch out for and nurture any musical talent or interest that may be there. There are wonderful artists and musicians in my wife’s family, including her own mother, brother, sister, and grandfather, and it’s just not something either of us have so it could go unnoticed by us. I also know that’s something that should be tapped into early or it could be lost. (If there is no interest or talent, it is okay for it to fade out. I am still glad I had five years of piano lessons even though ultimately it wasn’t something I felt inclined to and I lost interest. Same for ballet, bowling, and other activities I dabbled in as a kid. There is so much value in exploration and learning of any sort!)

Though I’ve only gained six or seven pounds (which is good – since I’m overweight already, I should be on the lower end of the healthy amount to gain), I very much look pregnant, and I’m loving that. I love seeing how my belly looks in maternity shirts, and I LOVE how my breasts look in their new C cup bras. I bought three regular and one sleep bra at Destination Maternity, using a sale and a coupon to get them very reasonably. I got nursing bras without underwire so that I can keep using them until I go back to my old bras (sad day that will be). I fill them out pretty well, yet there is still some room for them to grow more since I know that is to be expected. LOVING THEM.

I am so excited for the 20-week sonogram next week. After getting sonograms at 4 weeks (after a bleeding incident, but sac was a tiny dot that couldn’t be confirmed), 5 weeks (to confirm it was not ectopic), 7 weeks (heartbeat at the clinic), 8 weeks (heartbeat at the OB), and 12 weeks, going 8 weeks without one was torture!! I’ve been counting down to December 30^th with ridiculous levels of excitement. The torment has eased, though, since I started feeling Bug move. Feeling the baby gives me so much of the connection and reassurance that I look to sonograms for.

My Changing Body

I've been feeling little sharp pings and pains on the lower sides of my abdomen for almost a week now. I'm familiar with "round ligament pain," which happens as your pelvis starts to loosen up and shift to make room for baby, and I was expecting it as I entered my second trimester two weeks ago. So at least it wasn't concerning or scary.

I started showing at 12.5 weeks, which is very typical since that's when your uterus first starts to rise above your pelvis. But I swear in the past day or two, at 16 weeks, I popped completely. Two different people at work remarked on it today, and then so did my wife when I came home from work. I looked down and held my shirt against me to frame it better and was shocked to see how big it was. (But I've only gained a pound in the past week or two.) When I lay down a couple hours ago, I noticed that my belly kept its shape instead of flattening out a bit. That was a freaky moment too! Seeing such a dramatic change gave me that "holy crap, I'm really pregnant!" moment all over again.

I am loving my pregnant body. I feel at my most beautiful, and kind of wish I could stay in this state for longer! Everything I am most self conscious about with my body has improved with pregnancy. My barely B breasts are becoming rounder and fuller, growing into what I kept patiently waiting for them to be when I was an adolescent. I stare at them and hold them almost every time I undress, and sometimes even when I'm dressed. I'm just amazed that my body can change like that, and I also know it will be short-lived so I'm reveling in the awe of it all. My already round belly (I've always carried my weight in a way that has sometimes led people to think I'm pregnant) is finally round for a reason, and I can actually wear shirts that flatter this shape, shirts I could not wear when I wanted to DE-emphasize the pregnant look while not pregnant. I can now emphasize it, flatter it, embrace it. I don't have to worry about sucking it in or hiding it. I don't have to worry about how skinny my legs look in comparison to my round belly, because for just these few months, it's SUPPOSED to be like that. And because my stomach has more shape and my breasts are filling out, my broad back/shoulders don't look quite as broad since they're in context with everything else.

My blood pressure is lower (for now), my blood sugar is lower, my hair is thicker, my mood is sensitive and emotional in a way that might be inconvenient at times but feels awfully damn authentic and in the moment. I feel lighter, more graceful, more careful, calmer.

I can't wait to meet baby. I often get 5-year-old-on-Christmas-Eve giddy thinking about it, feeling impatient even as I tell myself to enjoy this time and these last moments of peace and solitude and "just us." But even so, I kind of don't ever want to be not-pregnant again.

Happy 12 Weeks, Bug!

It's actually 13 weeks today, but this is my 12 week post that I intended to write a few days ago after the sonogram. Even though I read that the risk of miscarriage goes down to 2% after a heartbeat is detected, I've heard 12 weeks so much that it still felt like such a relief to make it there.

For my own future memory, I want to quickly document some of the first trimester symptoms. Feel free to skim past it, it's really for my own reference.

• exhaustion combined with insomnia the first few weeks
• fleeting periods of queasiness, some mild and some more severe but never to the point of vomiting (only once did I even feel close to it, waking up sick at 2:00 AM); over by 8.5 weeks, returned more mildly at 10.5 weeks for just a week before disappearing again for good
• smell sensitivity only in the very early weeks, passed quickly
• craving red meat in the first weeks (most likely a need for iron)
• followed by meat aversion and difficulty with the thought of eating most foods except for fruit, dairy, and simple carbs like pizza, bread, crackers, and pasta; still can't eat chicken breast, zucchini, or cooked mushrooms because of early experiences that scarred me!
• cravings in the past few weeks that pass as soon as I stock up on them; root beer (I haven't had soda in over a year!), yogurt (I HATE yogurt typically, but couldn't get enough of full-fat Dannon fruit on the bottom and was having it as a mid-morning snack for almost a week before being grossed out by it again), boxed macaroni and cheese (have yet to indulge that craving but it's been on my mind for a week)
• headaches from my hormone levels going up rapidly; it happened for a few days right before coming off the progesterone supplements, so I was hopeful that that meant my placenta was taking over!
• a couple weeks with yellow discharge around week 10; I don't care if that grosses you out because it's one of those things no one ever talks about so it freaks you out when it happens, but researching it assured me that it was normal! So I'm talking about it! 
• voice huskiness; I would NEVER have thought to associate this with pregnancy and just kept thinking I was getting sick or it was allergies, but it would go away and then return every few days. When I researched the discharge, it came up on a list of "strange symptoms your doctor doesn't think to tell you about," and voice hoarseness/huskiness was on the list. Something about the progesterone loosening everything in your body (it relaxes your intestinal tract so that food moves through more slowly and your body absorbs more nutrients, leading to bloating and sometimes constipation), including vocal cords, mucus membranes, etc. So you can be extra snotty and have a hoarse voice. For someone with year-round allergies that sometimes break through the meds depending on the season and the triggers, I just hadn't thought to associate it with pregnancy.
• WEIRD dreams! I rarely even remember my dreams, and now almost every night I'm waking to some super strange dream.
• Peeing ALL THE TIME.
• Lower blood pressure. Again at the 12 week appointment, it was 120/80. I'm always high, around 138/90. Thank you, baby! I've read that this is usually only for the first two trimesters, but I'll still take the reprieve with gratitude.

Still no bleeding since stopping the progesterone suppositories almost three weeks ago. The day of the last pill was the day of the last bleed. Such a relief! It would have been nice if someone had told me from the beginning that this was a possible side effect so I wouldn't have been so anxious.

The 12 week sonogram was incredible. It was the first one done transabdominally instead of transvaginally, and having them smear the gel over my belly felt like such a pregnancy moment. Like, "yes, I've seen this on TV! I'M the pregnant woman!"

Baby was incredible. The image was cast on a screen in front of me so I could watch it there instead of craning my neck over to the monitor like I usually do. Baby was laying down so comfortably and was MOVING. The radiologist commented that baby was "very active," and I had a momentary feeling of guilt over the coffee I'd had that morning! Baby kept moving away from the position she needed it to be in to measure the neck (indicator of birth defects), and she said "this is a stubborn little baby!" I joked to Nicole later that I did a good job picking out her traits in the donor. :) As she poked and pushed down to try to get the measurement she needed, baby stretched! It had one arm up by its head and stretched it up and arched its head back. This is a first trimester fetus the size of a lime and it was this active little person! I was so in awe and started sobbing as soon as I saw it move. The sobbing made my belly shake - sorry, radiologist, for making this even more difficult! Then again at the heartbeat. I really didn't think the heartbeat was going to move me so much. I mean everyone told me it would, but I've heard it so many times in movies and on TV and it all sounds the same, so I didn't think it was going to be so special. But knowing that's OUR baby, and hearing evidence of the life force in it, was just overwhelming. I was so in awe.

Happy 12 weeks, my sweet little bug. Eight more weeks til I see you again, but I have a beautiful photo to gaze at and get me through til then. I can't wait to feel you!!!

 Our Facebook announcement - so abnormal and yet so perfectly us. Jack was a good sport!

 Our fridge with all sonograms - 5, 7, 8, 10, and 12 weeks

Our baby at 12 weeks!