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Jul 08

hospital captivity journal

Jul 08

It occurs to me that I really should have written this when it was more fresh in my mind, because now I’ve been home for 10 days and I’m fully immersed in baby bliss-dom. A.K.A., I’m not as distraught as I was when we were stuck in the hospital. However, I would like to try to record everything that happened, if for no other reason than to have it for myself for later.

It’s funny…I used to get annoyed at the new moms who stopped posting. I used to think, “What the hell are they doing, anyway? Home from work… sleepy newborn…good God woman, just give us some snippets!” I vowed to never become one of them. I vowed that I would blog more often on maternity leave, not less often.

And then I had a baby.

I can’t believe how much of my time I spend doing nothing of record. Breastfeeding is so time-consuming. When she sleeps, I usually throw her in the Moby wrap and rush around trying to keep up on chores – dishes, laundry, etc. A simple trip out to Target has become a carefully orchestrated event. And by the time Eric gets home from work to help me, I’m usually too exhausted to blog, plus I want to spend a couple of hours of time with him (at the moment, that means slogging through the 120 episodes of LOST. I mean, it’s a great show, but I didn’t realize the level of commitment it required when we started!).

So anyway. The thing that sucks is that I have so many posts in my head. Posts about breastfeeding, about our time home and our routine, about how my husband has stepped into his role of new father so well that it makes my heart hurt with happiness to think about it. That said – and I’ve said this before – I think this blog is going to be different from here on out. Not that I’ve forgotten where I came from. I’m still carrying these scars of infertility, and I always will. When it comes time to try to expand our family, we’ll need to contact New Hope and pay a few thousand dollars for another FET, not just go on a date that ends with a roll in the hay. That’s the painful truth. But for the near future, the things that I’m going to talk about will have to do with navigating the world of being a new mom, hopefully with a sense of gratitude and joy and a healthy dose of humor. So if you find that you need to stop following me for your own sanity, I totally understand. I just wanted to forewarn that baby-centric topics will most likely be the norm now.

And if you’re still with me… good! I have so much to say. I’m going to try to cram it into the next 30 minutes before it’s time for Molly’s sponge bath, because once again she smells like sour milk and we have a visitor coming in an hour. Apologies in advance for typos.

We left off right after the birth, when I was exhausted beyond belief, yet wishing I could bond with the baby. At that point it still didn’t feel like she was really mine. Unfortunately, that feeling would continue for the next few days.

Day 2 (Tuesday)

After a C-section, after your catheter is removed, they encourage you to get up and go for a walk. This is nice because for all the time you’re stuck in bed, they put these large cuffs on your legs to discourage blood clots, and the constant inflation of the cuffs every 10 minutes is super annoying. So being released from bedrest definitely comes as a reprieve (though I must admit, tired as I was, the catheter was actually a welcome apparatus. Not getting up to pee = the ultimate in lazy living).

For my first walk, Eric took my hand and gingerly led me to the edge of the bed. Together, we eased my feet onto the floor and I stood up. And I felt…good. Like, surprisingly good. I slid on my flip flops and started walking at a good clip down the hall. “How about you slow down a little?,” he said. “No, no, I feel really good!,” was my reply. I couldn’t help but wonder why people made such a big deal about C-sections. I felt like I was healed already.

Little did I know that I was still feeling the effects of really good intravenous pain medication (Morphine? Yes, please!). And that by the next day, I’d be downgraded to nothing but Percocet and Motrin. I had not made a miraculous recovery. I was just drugged out and didn’t even know it.

On the breastfeeding front, Molly was doing pretty well. She made good attempts at latching, but would detach often and never got a good flow going. She was still having lots of wet and poopy diapers, so I wasn’t very concerned.

Friends came to visit. I got more morphine. I only have vague recollections of our conversations, as I desperately tried to sound normal while feeling like my head was floating way above my body. The good news was that I felt no pain at all.

Day 3 (Wednesday)

This was when things started to go south with breastfeeding. Despite all the progress we had made, things seemed to get worse instead of better. She would attempt to latch, get frustrated, and scrunch up her little red face and scream at my breast. I cried. She cried. I’m pretty sure this is when she had her first low blood sugar reading, and coupled with her small size, the hospital staff started to get concerned. The lower limit for blood sugar range is 45, and her reading was 44. So it wasn’t yet a 5 alarm situation, but again… they were definitely concerned. People started showing a lot more interest in my feeding record and it seemed a nurse was always “conveniently” present when I attempted a feeding. Of course, the more they watched me, the more stressed out I was, and the worse we did. Eventually our hospital pediatrician insisted on supplementing with formula. Mama was not happy.

Here I should mention the pediatrician fiasco. Our family doctor is equipped to do pediatrics, and all along we had assumed we would just go to him rather than search for a separate pediatrician. I’ve been seeing him since I was a little kid. He knows me, my history, and my entire family and their history. Since Eric and I have been married, he’s been seeing Eric too. It was really a no-brainer. The problem, then, was that the hospital only had a limited number of pediatricians who visited the hospital and checked on the new babies, and he wasn’t one of them. Despite the fact that he would be seeing Molly once we were released, I was forced to pick one of their providers from a list, at least for the duration of our stay. I chose a group that another mom I know had highly recommended. Little did I know this would be the biggest mistake of my stay (cue ominous music here).

From here on out, we’ll call him Dr. Satan.

I can’t really blame him for insisting on the formula supplementation. Low blood sugar for newborns is no joke, and if left untreated it can lead to things like permanent brain damage. Was I upset that she’d be having formula? Of course I was. But in that moment all that mattered was getting her a stable reading that made everyone happy.

Here’s a fun fact about me: I am really good at producing colostrum (or as they call it, liquid gold!). While some women pump and pump and only get a few drops (which is usually sufficient, since it’s so packed with nutrients), I was somehow able to produce an ounce per pump session. The nurses all expressed their surprise and awe over this apparent miracle of my breasts. In this case, it was a real plus, because I got to mix my pumped colostrum with formula rather than just give her straight formula. When it was all said and done, she only received one ounce of formula total in her entire stay. The rest of her feedings were pure colostrum, delivered to her hungry belly via a combination of finger feeding and SNS (supplemental nursing system).

My pain levels were finally what they were supposed to be since my morphine prescription had run out. It hurt to bend forward, to walk, to sit, and to lay flat. It felt like my abdomen was way too short and they had stitched me too tightly. Plus, I found out that rather than stitches, my doctor preferred staples. The thought of seeing my lower abdomen all stapled up like Frankenstein’s monster was enough to make me glad for my big belly to hide it. I couldn’t bear to look. And it hurt just to exist. I’m officially not a fan of C-sections.

I’ve taken Percocet in the past when I got my wisdom teeth out, and all I remember is that it made me pass out into a deep sleep – HARD. I didn’t want to sleep like that because I knew I had this baby to take care of, and on top of that she was having issues. So I requested the Motrin. A few hours later, crying from the excruciating pain, I caved in and took one Percocet. When that made absolutely no dent in my suffering, I went for two. It did not make me fall asleep, but it did take the edge off enough so that I could function. For the rest of the time I found the perfect mix was to alternate between Percocet and Motrin every 4 hours.

Day 4 (Thursday)

Going home day…

…or so we thought.

Dr. Satan came into my room fairly early. He went over Molly’s stats… good, good, everything looked good. But then. Because of her low blood sugar, there was no way he could let her go home. He also couldn’t tell me when she might be able to go home.

This news was delivered nonchalantly, and I, in my incredibly hormonal, sleep-deprived, overwhelmed new parent state, immediately started hysterically crying. I mean, full on, borderline hyperventilation, uncontrollable sobbing. Did Dr. Satan offer a sympathetic pat on the shoulder? Did he try to explain further why they were keeping her? Did he even take a break in his spiel and acknowledge my distress? No, no he did not. He kept talking. When he finished, he stood, and without a backwards glance, exited my room. I was left alone and confused.

I immediately called Eric, who probably had a hard time trying to figure out what the hell I was trying to say as by that point I was totally freaking the hell out. At the time, he was busily loading up my car with the car seat, with every intention of bringing us both home in the morning/afternoon. But alas, it was not to be.

He came to the hospital and really just having him there calmed me down immensely. My nurse came in and immediately assured me that since I had a C-section, my insurance would cover the extra day, so no need to worry about that. We found out through her that every single feeding should be 30 mL minimum (1 ounce), and since it wasn’t, Dr. Satan was displeased. That along with those low blood sugar readings (though at this point she was back within range) and the fact that she lost 10% of her weight (within limits, but on the high side) made everyone nervous. So we were stuck.

This 30 mL thing came out of left field. I knew that for the one supplemental feeding that was the goal, but no one ever explained that every single feeding was supposed to be that much. As it was, she would sputter and choke if I tried to feed her too much. I mean, she was tiny. Her stomach was the size of a grape. It seemed logical that she wasn’t eating a ton.

The rest of the day was not fun. Eric was mad. I was sad. Molly was still being a fussy eater, and as much as I tried to breastfeed, she just wasn’t into it. Each time I fed her felt like a mini science experiment – I had nipple shields and SNS tubes all hooked up for every feeding. As soon as I was done feeding her that way, I’d pump and pump to assure I wouldn’t need to supplement any more with formula and that I’d always have an adequate amount on hand. I prayed desperately for my milk to come in, assuming this would make everything better.

The hospital allows you to keep your baby in the room, provided you put him or her in the plastic bassinet whenever you’re in the bathroom or sleeping. All night long I held her and cried, drifting somewhere between sleep and delirium. Every time a nurse came in, I faked being wide awake so they wouldn’t make me put her down.

Day 5 (Friday)

Pretty early in the morning Dr. Satan came in and made the call – he wanted to keep Molly another day. Since I was no longer covered by insurance, he talked about having her transferred to Pediatrics.

This time I was openly hostile. I explained that her blood sugar was still good. I explained that all of her feedings the previous day had been 30 mL, or pretty damn close to it, just as he had prescribed. Her weight had gone up, from 4 lbs. 14 ounces to 4 lbs. 16 ounces. I demanded to know why he was torturing us like that and making us stay. Again, rather than explaining anything, he simply said, “She must stay,” and left the room.

I think this is the point where I legit went crazy. I called Eric, hysterical again, and told him that this man was trying to steal our baby and keep her forever. In that moment, it really felt that way. The nurses (I seriously cannot say enough good things about the entire nursing staff at this hospital) came in and tried to calm me down. They promised that no one wanted to keep her, he was just being thorough, and that I would not have to leave her side, even if we were transferred to Peds. Unsure of what our rights were, we asked for a second opinion.

At some point Eric arrived. My head was pounding, my face was puffy, and thanks to clinging to my baby all night and nonstop feeding and planning for feeding, I’d slept a total of 2 hours in the past four days. To say I was a hot mess would be an understatement.

Our second opinion ended up being the hospital’s neonatologist, a woman who we shall call Dr. Angel. She had a soothing voice, a competent nature, and a calming bedside manner. While she essentially drew the same conclusions as Dr. Satan, she took a good hour to explain in-depth exactly why they wanted Molly to stay. She had charts and research to back up her decision. She commiserated with us. She also promised that Molly could potentially go home later in the afternoon or first thing Saturday morning if we kept doing what we were doing. I really should write her a review or send her a note and thank her – she managed to take me from crazy deranged mother who thought a pediatrician was trying to steal her baby to calm and determined mother who could form rational thoughts and sentences.

We kept feeding her and hoping that we would get discharged that night, but one of Dr. Angel’s colleagues came by the room a few hours later and said he would rather err on the side of caution and evaluate her first thing in the morning. He promised that her chances of going home Saturday in the AM were “very, very good.” For once I was not devastated to receive the news because at least it was coming from someone on Dr. Angel’s team and at least there was an end in sight.

Luckily, the maternity wing was quiet and mostly empty, so even though I was discharged as a patient, we got to stay in the same room. The nurses even encouraged me to quickly order myself dinner from the cafeteria and have a last dose of pain meds on the house before I was kicked out of the system (see, told you they were all awesome). That night I met a nurse who really helped me with the whole breastfeeding thing. I gave up on the SNS contraption and the finger feeding completely and just focused on her feeding with the aid of the nipple shield and nothing else. By this point my milk had come in, and feedings began to last longer and she managed to stay latched for the duration. I was still pumping just so I could keep an accurate record of how much she was getting, but it seemed like overkill. I was pretty sure we could switch to just breastfeeding by the time we went home.

Day 6 (Saturday)

The neonatology team checked on Molly early, at 7 a.m. This time her weight went up again – she weighed 5 whole pounds! Woo hoo! We got the all clear to go home soon after. I excitedly called Eric and told him to bring the car seat…for real this time. A few hours later and we were finally on our way.

Since coming home, things have been much, much, MUCH better. It’s only been 10 days since we left the hospital and already we have a great little routine going. Molly is still stuck on the nipple shield, which felt a bit like failing at first, but yesterday we had a lactation consultant come by and she assured me that some babies just need a little extra help at first. She said Molly has such a small mouth, and sometimes latching comes harder for smaller babies. She said she was confident that soon she wouldn’t need it at all.

I am happy to report that she is definitely getting enough to eat, and she’s growing! Yesterday was also her two week check-up with our actual pediatrician (family doctor). Babies are supposed to at least be back up to their birth weight by 2 weeks old, and Molly succeeded – she was 5 lbs, 8 ounces. She poops all the time (like, literally every diaper change) and has plenty of wet diapers too. It appears that our rough start in the hospital was just an adjustment period, and not an indication of things to come.

What else can I say? It’s still utterly surreal and magical. I still can’t believe she’s mine. I think I’m handling it all pretty well, and the only thing I do that I know I shouldn’t is hold her all the time. I really dislike putting her down if I don’t need to. When she’s sleeping and it’s just the two of us at home, she’s usually nestled against my chest in her Moby wrap (a new mom essential, as it turns out). When Eric comes home from work, he gets his turn. Even though we have swings and papasans and rockers and baby loungers, I find myself reluctant to put her down in any of them. I’ve just waited so long to hold my baby… I don’t want to waste a single second of it.

I’m sure there’s more to say but once again, this post is very long. I promise to post more updates soon. This weekend we’re going camping (yes, camping with a newborn!) and we’re also counting down the days until our family beach trip at the end of the month.

In the meantime, I’m just going to hold her.

Posted by amanda 12 Comments
Filed Under: miscellany, monthly updates, parenting mishaps, the big things Tagged: drama, hospital

Jun 30

a birth story

Jun 30

Lots of drama for this birth story! Would you have expected it any other way? The only item on my birth plan (besides the generic “deliver a healthy baby!”) was that I really, really, really didn’t want a C-section.

I’m sure you can see where this is going.

It now makes sense to me why most people choose to divide birth stories into two or even three parts, because this post is going to be obnoxiously long. Of course, I don’t really have time to write any of this. But I also need to write it all while it’s fresh in my mind, because I do want an accurate record that I can go back and re-visit in the future. Plus, I love reading other people’s birth stories, so I knew I wanted to share mine.

I’m going to break this up as much as possible. I started writing it long before I was induced, so the first few parts are boring. (Sorry). The action picks up on Sunday night.

Friday, June 20th (40 weeks + 2 days)

I woke up and took a shower at 6:30 with every intention of going to work. While I was blow-drying my hair, Eric complained of indigestion from the red sauce with onions that I had poisoned him with the night before. He said he was taking a sick day. At this point I was having a few contractions here and there, plus I knew I wouldn’t really have a lot going on at work. I decided to start my leave one day early. Immediately after making the decision, it felt like a weight had been lifted and my mood improved by 1,000%.

Eric and I went to a gigantic warehouse frame sale at 9, and I was happy that we didn’t have to wait for Saturday like we had originally planned, since all the good stuff might have been gone. We stocked up on frames for future baby photos and spent less than $100 for piles and piles of merchandise. I was feeling great! I was still having contractions at this point, but very sporadically, nothing sustained. We met up with my mom at the frame sale and she kidnapped me to take me to the chiropractor (remember him?). Apparently he had been bugging her to make me come in for an adjustment pre-baby, but I had just never gotten around to it.

I got adjusted and he did some pressure point stuff in my feet, and then my mom and I went to Starbucks. Weirdly, I had been wanting daily Frappucinos, and I knew my days of consuming that many calories in one sitting were drawing to a close. Then we stopped at my sister’s house to drop off some frames I had bought for her. My contractions at this point were definitely intense, but still sporadic. After watching me wince a few times, my mom scolded me and said I should be writing them down. She said to be sure to note the date and year because she still has some scribbled down contraction logs and can’t remember which kid each one is for. I recorded one contraction and time and then forget to do it for the rest of the day.

Back at home I quickly became bored just waiting for my OB/GYN appointment at 2:30. (Boredom is a big theme here!) I vacuumed the house (obviously). Finally, it was appointment time. I thought that maybe there would have been some progress since I was having so many contractions. But no…I was still only 1/2 cm, although the doctor said my cervix was “definitely thinner.” My blood pressure was high-ish again, and she said that if I hadn’t already scheduled the induction, she would have made me do it that weekend. This made me feel better, knowing that I wasn’t just being induced due to my own impatience, but also out of medical necessity.

I knew I didn’t want to go home and sit around. I went to the grocery store and picked up random items that I probably didn’t need. I went to the library and got one book, not knowing how many (if any!) I’d have time for in the upcoming days. Finally I went back home, and Eric and I decided to start watching LOST since neither of us had ever seen it. By this point my contractions had stopped completely, and she was moving around a lot. We went to bed around midnight.

Saturday, June 21st (40 weeks + 3 days)

The first day of summer dawned sunny, gorgeous, and not at all humid! The weather could not have been more perfect. I was immediately envious of everyone camping (my family and part of Eric’s family).

I wasn’t having ANY contractions in the morning. I’ll admit that it was kind of exciting to know that my potential Gemini baby was now officially a Cancer – many of my best friends, including my sister, are Cancers. That is a sign that I know I get along well with (not to discount Geminis, of course). I decided to embark on some unnecessary shopping trips to waste some time. Oh, and vacuum. And get a Frappucino. It was starting to feel like Groundhog Day.

I really didn’t do anything productive for the rest of the day…watched some more LOST. Stopped by my sister’s house to visit. Had my first real gluten-filled meal since September (pizza…and yes, it gave me an instant headache). I managed to convince Eric to have relations, thinking this could help bring something on since that’s what everyone kept saying. It had been A WHILE. But no…even several hours and many episodes of LOST later, no contractions, no nothing. We went to bed about 1 am.

Sunday, June 22nd (40 weeks + 4 days)

I cannot fully express the boredom leading up to this event! Eric and I were seriously just pacing around the house, trying to come up with things to do. He installed the carseat in my car. We sat at the kitchen table and stared at each other. We contemplated how the HELL we were going to survive yet another 12 hours with nothing to do. It was such a weird place to be – we didn’t want to start any major projects (trim painting, backyard clean-up, etc.), but at the same time, the gorgeous weather made it hard to justify a day spend vegging out in front of the television. This was so not how I expected it to be. I expected to be running around, throwing things in bags, bickering and panicking and trying not to forget anything as we hurried over to the hospital. In reality, all I kept repeating was Phoebe’s gem of a line from Friends: “The miracle of birth sure is a snooze-fest.”

At my appointment on Friday, my doctor said to be sure to eat a good meal before coming to the hospital, so Eric and I made plans to go out to dinner at Bonefish Grill for one last hurrah. The waitress gave us a free appetizer when we mentioned what we were on our way to do. I treated myself to bread and gluten galore, and it was glorious.

8 p.m.

At the hospital there was a lot more waiting around, and we didn’t get sent back into our room to get started until several hours after our 8 p.m. arrival. Usually inductions start out in triage, but they were overbooked so we lucked out and got to settle into our birthing room right away. My birthing room team included Eric, my mom, my sister Ashley, and my sister Allie. Eric’s mom and sisters had plans of coming to join us once I was further along. A lot of people wanted to watch her come into the world.

our room

our room

Allie drew this for our little Cancer sign crab baby!!

Allie drew this for our little Cancer sign crab baby!!

I was very, very swollen and hadn’t been keeping up on my fluid intake as well as I should have been. The week prior when I went in for blood work with the whole high blood pressure incident, the nurse had such a hard time finding a vein to stick that I ended up with a giant, ugly black bruise on my forearm. Well, this time I was even more swollen, and the nurse trying to put in the IV was NOT FUN AT ALL. She kept looking and thinking she found one and pushing and pushing her gigantic needle into my hand – apologizing, of course, but meanwhile I was crying and trying not to scream out in pain. In the end it took three different nurses about 30 minutes and multiple stab attempts to get the IV in. I could have kissed the one who finally succeeded.

Monday, June 23, 2014

2 a.m.

I was still only ½ centimeter at this point and it was determined that I had a “strong cervix,” so they administered Cytotec (vaginal suppository) to soften it and hopefully bring on contractions. I was to have another dose in four hours and see if I needed another. Everyone on my crew dozed off or kept me company watching TV.

alliechilling

swollen hands on the belly

swollen hands on the belly

6 a.m.

Another dose of Cytotec. I had been experiencing mild contractions, totally manageable, and breathing through them. They sucked, but I was handling it. At my next check, I was pleased to hear that I’d at least progressed to 1.5 cm, but also frustrated at how slowly it was all going.

view beyond my fat feet

view beyond my fat feet

Allie and Ashley

Allie and Ashley

8 a.m.

So much for stoic grace through the pain. HOLY FREAKING SHIT. It was around this time that the pain reached a point of unbearable, and I thought I had a high threshold. The worst part of contractions was the knowledge that right when you finished one, another was just around the corner, so even the short relief of the in between held a sense of dread. At that point I was still only 2 cm dilated, and the thought of the pain getting worse made me want to jump out the window. In tears, I asked begged for the epidural.

10 a.m.

The anesthesiologist arrived and I’m pretty sure I told him I was in love with him (he gets that a lot, apparently). Not going to lie – getting an epidural put in is no picnic. It HURT going in, and the nurse in charge of holding me still and soothing my hysterics definitely deserves a raise. But then, within minutes, the sweet numbness took over and everything felt wonderful. Contraction? What contraction?

monitor

10:30 a.m.

They started Pitocin to move things along. After a small dose, I started progressing rapidly and my contractions were 1 to 2 minutes apart. Within a short amount of time (which of course I didn’t record), I was at 6 cm. Everyone started getting excited.

11:45 a.m.

I should mention that L&D was very busy and throughout the whole night, we kept getting told that we were the least complicated and therefore least priority case on the whole floor. Minimal check-ins, minimal supervision. But then suddenly at 11:45, 7 or 8 doctors came bursting into the room like there was a fire. They raced over to the monitors and started yelling things at one another and creating a commotion and told me that the baby’s heart rate had dropped rapidly and dangerously and they needed to get it up quickly or we’d need to get her out NOW. I was totally panicked and the change in the room was instant. They turned me onto my side and put an oxygen mask on me. I started crying pretty hard because all I wanted was a vaginal delivery and most of all for everyone to witness it who wanted to see it, especially Eric. I just remember the magic of watching my nieces and nephew, not to mention my brother and sister being born. I really wanted that for Eric. Also, the fact that she was in distress was really scary.

Again, I stopped taking notes at this point, but it wasn’t a long time before my doctor came in and broke the news – we were going to have to do a C-section due to fetal distress. There are two doctors at my practice, and the one in charge of my delivery happened to be the one who is very against doing unnecessary C-sections. In other words, if she said it had to be done…well, it had to be done. I made peace with it in my heart and tried to prepare myself mentally for surgery.

They wheeled me back into the operating room and put up the huge curtain. In no time at all I was number than numb, basically everywhere from the neck down. Eric got to come in and sit by my head and keep my company. All I felt was a lot of tugging and pulling. I’m really glad that it wasn’t until afterwards that I found out exactly HOW they perform a C-section. I was picturing a nice little slit and then pulling the baby out gently. Only later was I told that all of my insides were removed and placed on a table. Uhhh… yeah. Gross.

1:32 p.m.

Molly Marie entered the world with a small wail. At that point I was nauseated and numb and just felt weird all over, but I could kind of see her over on the little table with the NICU people and I could definitely hear her, which was reassuring. It occurred to me that I was torn open and could have potentially bled out and died. I asked God to spare me at least long enough to meet her, because it really wouldn’t be fair to make it so far and not even get to see her up close.

here she is!

here she is!

Daddy gets to see her

Daddy gets to see her

it's really loud and scary out here

it’s really loud and scary out here

Eric and Molly left (they did come over and show her to me first, but I still didn’t get a chance to touch her). It took an hour to sew me up, an hour I spent alone, wondering about my baby, and listening to the doctor’s chat about this and that. It was torturous.

After they finished, I was wheeled back to recovery. Along the way I saw my entourage – a crowd of excited people including Eric’s mom and sisters, a friend, and everyone from the delivery crew cheering me on. I felt a sense of exhaustion at this point that is completely indescribable, though I tried to put on a brave face as they gushed over how cute she was. Back in recovery, I finally got to meet her, but I couldn’t even hold her in my arms yet because they were still numb and I could only move my head from side to side. Everyone took turns visiting me two by two and meeting the baby. It really was too much to comprehend at that point and honestly all I wanted to do was close my eyes and sleep forever.

Then finally, hours after her birth, I got to hold my little girl.

exhausted, yet elated

exhausted, yet elated

I think she's exhausted too

I think she’s exhausted too

Aftermath

The recovery has been pretty painful. The first day I felt great – and couldn’t believe how great – but then my morphine ran out and I was stuck with nothing but Percocet and Motrin. My abdomen is very, very sore and my ankles, calves, and feet swelled up so bad at one point that it was hard to walk. Every day gets a little better.

And here is the absolutely terrifying part. Apparently the cause of fetal distress during delivery was a placental abruption, an uncommon and serious pregnancy complication where the placenta peels away from the wall of the uterus prior to delivery. This is one of those things that just happens, in my case not until actual labor, but it can cause significant risk for mother and baby during delivery. Pathology reported that my placenta was 20% detached. As my doctor said bluntly during a post-op visit in the hospital, “If we hadn’t done the C-section when we did it, your baby would have died.”

Whoa.

Sooo with that in mind, I’m not mad about it. No, the whole birth experience was not ideal, but my baby is safe and healthy and here, my pain will fade, my scars will heal, and this will just be that crazy story we tell about how Molly came into the world in her own way. Also, my doctor said that this was an isolated incident and my pelvis looked good, plus I was making good progression before things went south. She said I was an excellent candidate for VBAC, which makes me happy, because that’s something I would really like to try when we have another child. It’s funny, I was actually a C-section and all of my mom’s four other deliveries were VBAC. So it would seem Molly is following in her mommy’s footsteps.

And motherhood so far? It’s just what I would have expected and it’s better than I would have expected. I’m so overwhelmed by love that I can’t express it with words. Most nights I kiss her all over, and stare at her, and let tears fall all over her blanket and her tiny face because I can’t believe I get to be her mommy. She was worth every minute of the wait, and I would gladly do it all again a thousand times if it meant I got to have her in my life. I feel so, so blessed and so, so thankful. It’s like living in a dream world.

Stay tuned, because our post-delivery story (a.k.a. our 6-day stint in the hospital) has even more drama than her birth story! But alas, this post is creeping up on 3,000 words and I am barely able to keep my eyes open.

Here are a few more snapshots:

Daddy and his baby

Daddy and his baby

proud Aunt Allie

proud Aunt Allie

the little smile that makes my heart melt

the little smile that makes my heart melt

Posted by amanda 13 Comments
Filed Under: milestones, parenting mishaps, pregnancy, the big things Tagged: birth story

Jun 24

she has arrived

Jun 24

This will be quick; super long and detailed post to follow.

Molly Marie Harding entered this world today, June 23rd, 2014 at 1:32 p.m.

She weighed 5 lbs, 6 ounces, and was 18.5 inches long.

We love her beyond words.

mollymarie1

Posted by amanda 23 Comments
Filed Under: milestones, parenting mishaps, pregnancy, the big things

Dec 24

I’ll never be part of the club

Dec 24

Oh, drama. Why must you torment me?

I’ll start off by saying that everything is fine (which of course you already know based on my expletive-free post title). I wasn’t even planning to write about my OB/GYN visit today because I figured it would be very routine, and I had other topics from the weekend to discuss. I’ll get to those in a moment.

So first of all, I made Eric come along to the appointment because I (wrongly) assumed I’d be getting an ultrasound. We went back into the room and quickly figured out that this wasn’t the case. Apparently “normal” folks don’t get ultrasounds at every visit. Who knew? So I sent him home with a kiss and waited for the doctor to come in.

We chatted, all was great, and then she whipped out the doppler to check the heartbeat. Five minutes of scanning…nothing. I told her I had one at home and sometimes it took me up to ten minutes to find the damn thing. She laughed and said, “Yeah, but I’m not going to spend ten minutes trying. Let’s just give you an ultrasound.”

Yay. I mean…damn. Sent hubby home for nothing.

At this point I was mildly concerned, but not overly concerned, as I had just found the heartbeat yesterday afternoon (once again I say, PRAISE GOD for dopplers). But still… she should be able to find it better than I can, right? Then the nurse popped in and said someone else was in the one and only ultrasound room, so I would have to wait a while until her appointment was done. The doctor came back a few minutes after that and said she would try again with the doppler just so I wouldn’t have to wait.

Scan, scan, scan…nothing.

Seriously?

So I had to sit there, alone, for about 30 minutes waiting for an ultrasound. It was awful. I started having flashbacks. I tried to reassure myself with the fact that I had heard it the day before, but anything can happen in the space of 18 hours. I know that all too well. I was half tempted to hop off the table and try to find it myself, or go down the hall and hustle the other person out of the room through fear and intimidation.

I had mentioned that the brand of prenatal vitamins I was using was making me sick, so at one point during my wait the doctor came back in with a bunch of different samples for me to try to see if any of them worked better. This was also reassuring because I figured if she was truly concerned, she’d wait until the appointment was over before giving them to me. As it was, I was picturing how terrible it would be to have to hand them back at the front desk on the way out. And let’s not even talk about how devastating this news would be to hear two days before Christmas. The thoughts running through my head were pure torture.

Finally, I got to go in the ultrasound room. For one heart-pounding moment I saw a huge dark blob with nothing in it… and I thought, “That cannot be. It cannot be.” But guess what, guys? That big dark blob was my bladder. Which turns out was the root of this whole fiasco. My full bladder had pushed the baby way up high, and the doctor was scanning down near my pubic bone where the heartbeat is normally found. Baby is fine, somersaulting away, heartbeat is at a solid 145. Nothing to fear. Phew.

Panic over, crisis averted, composure restored. Now on to my topic of the day.

It doesn’t matter that I’m pregnant, it doesn’t even matter if one day I actually have a baby. Because the “Normal Mommy Club” is just something I’ll never be a part of.

We went to a Christmas party this weekend. It’s a party that I would have fled from screaming/crying had I not been pregnant right now. There were three pregnant chicks (including me) and the hostess has a three-week-old. Yes, she has a three-week-old and a two-and-a-half year old and managed to plan, coordinate, cook for, and host a Christmas party. Talk about super-mom.

I didn’t get the memo that you’re supposed to get a cute, Christmas-themed maternity shirt to wear around this time of year if you happen to be “with child” (and where do you even buy these)? I went to Walmart and got some oversized, tacky shirt that said something about being naughty in glitter letters. It didn’t occur to me to dress the bump adorably.

It was just so weird. Everyone talking about kids and pregnancy and babies, and for once I got to be included in the conversations. I felt like an imposter. I don’t even know how to answer the questions half the time, or how to reciprocate appropriate questions. I feel like at any moment I’ll be revealed for what I am: so decidedly not part of the club. And pretty much everyone there reads my blog, so it’s not like they don’t know my backstory, but still. I’m pregnant, yet I still cringe every time I hear a cute baby story or see a bump out of the corner of my eye. Will that ever change? Am I scarred for life?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to be crawling out of the trenches of infertility. I guess what I’m saying is that no matter what point I get to in life, the scars will still be hiding just beneath the surface. I don’t think I’ll ever freely gush over being pregnant or having kids or any of that. I’ll always be on high alert when it comes to all the stuff that used to make me scream on the inside. You can take the girl out of the infertility war, but you can’t erase what’s already happened. I’m forever changed based on this journey.

Just wondering if anyone else feels the same, and assuming that most of you do… I haven’t seen any of you morph into eternally happy mommy bloggers overnight, even those of you who gave birth recently.

I often think about what this blog will become post-baby, and I hope that it stays real and relevant. I’ll never be crafty and organized and vigilant, pureeing all-organic kale into baby food while simultaneously recording every detail in a handmade baby book. I’ll never be great. But I hope that I do stay honest, and irreverent, and humble, and grateful. So, so, so damn grateful.

hummingbirdAs a P.S. – Today I received a gorgeous hummingbird ornament in the mail from Teresa at “Where the *bleep* is our stork?” She so graciously nominated me for The Stork Award a few weeks back, and I swear it has been on my to-do list to finally answer all her questions and nominate some more lovely ladies as well. Teresa, thank you so much. This community makes me feel so warm and accepted. Talk about being part of a club… yeah, this is it for me. No matter where life takes me, I’ll always be one of you.

Posted by amanda 15 Comments
Filed Under: IVF, miscarriage, parenting mishaps, pregnancy Tagged: mommy club

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hello, my name is deeda


sister, daughter, wife, and mama to 5 sweet children on earth, 4 in heaven. self-conscious writer. voracious reader. sarcasm enthusiast. dependable Taurus. lover of broken things. reluctant adult. FOMO sufferer. drinker of coffee. burner of toast.

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