Higher Highs, Lower Lows

Friends,

This is a guest post stolen (with permission) from my friend Jill’s blog.  She just gave birth to her second son last Friday.  When she had her first son almost two years ago, her labor stalled and took forever.  Obviously, she was slightly *concerned* about the whole shenanigan this time around.  Turns out she didn’t need to be.

Principal Players

Tim=Husband
Jude=First Son
Linda=Tim’s Sister
Kona=Dog

Enjoy!

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It Happened One Friday Night…

I am not sure where to begin with all the thoughts mixing up in my head, but I’ll do my best to tell the birth story of our second son, Elijah Ryan Whitacre.

As I have said before, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes about three months ago. It has been a trying journey in discipline, attitude and acceptance. One of the major concerns with the condition is the risk of a large baby – aka too large for the mother to deliver. Our OB wanted him out and about by 39 weeks to avoid this situation. At 37 weeks I was 70% effaced, 3cm dilated and the little one was sitting at zero station. By all counts he looked ready to go and the doctor didn’t see any reason why he wouldn’t come on his own. Then 39 weeks came and went and she started talking about induction. I was adamantly against it and she willingly heard me out and we continued waiting. I went in for a routine appointment on Friday (39 weeks, five days) and we had a “heart to heart” about the risks of waiting too long. We compromised as I agreed to have my membranes stripped to try to get things started on Friday, May 20th at 11am. I was already 5cm at this point. My water had been leaking slowly since noon on Thursday as well.

Contractions and some cramping started at noon. I put Jude down for his nap, took a shower, ate and laid down for a nap myself. Tim came home about 2pm and began getting our final things together for the hospital. After napping, we decided to start walking. With Jude and his tricycle we set out around the block. I was talking and walking through the contractions, but having a hard time telling when they were starting and ending. After the walk, I laid down again and the contractions slowed so we decided to get up and at it again. This time Linda, Tim’s sister, was with us and we set out for a longer walk. Every few contractions, I would need to pause and breathe through but nothing that seemed “strong enough” to be doing much from my perspective.

On a random side note, we had Kona with us on the walk and a car drove by with two dogs in it that were barking their heads off at her. One of the dogs actually fell out of the truck window it was barking and leaning so hard. Tim helped the owner calm the dog and get it back in the truck. Maybe we should have known the drama was on the horizon with dogs falling out of trucks around us.

By around 7pm, contractions were continuing, but I was still working through them without much difficulty. At this point I was feeling discouraged and that there wasn’t much more I could do to speed things along so I tried to come to terms with the fact that this too would be a long labor.

My mom arrived at about 7:20pm. At 8pm, I was officially discouraged and decided to go to bed. At about 8:35, Tim came in to check on me and I told him to tell my mom and Linda to get some rest. It was going to be a long night. While he was talking with them, everything changed.

My water broke with fury. I don’t know how else to put it. It was very painful and sudden. I called to Tim and burst into tears. The tears were a mix of the surprise pain and disappointment that my water had broken and we were definitely headed for the hospital. At this point, things might start to get graphic so if you don’t want details I suggest you stop reading. I can be very good at giving too much information.

Tim began talking me off the ledge as I was very upset. He got me off the bed and tried to get my now very wet clothes off and get me on the toilet. Then the contractions started with wild abandon coming one on top of another. I collapsed onto the floor shaking uncontrollably with my teeth chattering really hard. I think I kept saying, “I need to get a grip” and “breathe”. Tim began trying to dress me so we could get in the car. I could not fathom getting in a car at this point, but had little to no ability to communicate what I was thinking. After another contraction on the floor I told him I needed to get on the bed to be more comfortable. If you have ever seen our monster bed, you know this is ridiculous. Doesn’t matter. We got on the bed and I let out a very primal scream as I felt the unstoppable urge to push. Tim yelled for help and Linda ran in (Linda and my mom had been getting our things into the car and trying to take care of last minute details as quickly as possible). She assured me that I was having a bowel movement and it would all be okay. Yep, I am openly telling you that I pooped on our bed. Welcome to the land of childbirth. This is when Linda called 911. Another contraction hit, I grunted and pushed while digging my nails into Tim’s arms and telling him not to leave me. Then I finally get out what I have been thinking for the last minute: “He’s here. He’s coming.” The next thing we know is Eli’s head crowns and less than two seconds later the rest of Elijah followed caught by the steady, strong hands of his hero father at 8:55pm. Eli cried out right away to everyone’s relief. The 911 operator said she could hear a baby crying in the background.

Thanks to our Bradley class we had reviewed what to do in case of an emergency birth so we worked to make sure Eli’s airways were clear and then we laid him on my chest and covered us with blankets. From there Tim spoke reassuringly to me until the paramedics arrived. I was in shock and remained in some state thereof for almost 24 hours. We took a ride to the hospital in an ambulance and were very well taken care of.

Tim, Linda, my mom and everyone did such an amazing job in a very surprising and stressful situation. All I can say is that everything literally changed in a moment’s time. We are so thankful that both Eli and I were fine and there were no complications. That is without a doubt due to the grace of God.

To say the least, we have talked about the events of Friday night over and over and over again. Were we missing the signs? What should we have done differently? What the what?!?

Then there have been comical moments remembered like when Linda was frantically looking for something to wrap me in and brought out one of Tim’s favorite flannels and I refused to put it on. I was in shock and not answering anyones questions, but I managed to refuse to mess up my husband’s jacket – Ha!

I think that might top our list of most exciting Friday nights. What’s yours?

Jude and I hanging out before our first labor walk.

Walking Wow, big mama. Jude being silly on our walk.

Paramedics Team hard at work.

I have decided to shut out the world at this point.

Tim cutting the cord

Even in the back of the ambulance, there is no denying Nani’s excitement that her grandson has arrived.

In the hospital hanging with my new man

7 lbs 9 oz and 20.5 inches long

Cutie Patootie

I heart heat lamps

I heart my Auntie Da

I double heart my goofy Daddy

Once, I was king.  Now, I’m just bait.  Oh, the injustice!!

Looking over the search terms that have led you, dear readers, to my blog over the past year, I get a little creeped out.  Sure, the most common searches are for “higher highs lower lows,” but guess what the FOURTH most common search words are? 

• peeing together

And the FIFTH?

• netflix envelope

Incredible.  When I started this blog, I had no intention of attracting kinky nuts or poor souls who’d lost their Netflix envelope, but I’m so glad they’ve found their way here.  Welcome!

Other favorite searches that have brought you to my doorstep:

• sniffing baby’s butt
• girl go away
• how to get my 12 year old son to practice more on his violin
• old people kissing
• perfect baby head
• what does having long hair feel like
• fake babies that act real
• the oh yeah dog
• when a guy and a girl hugs, does it matter who hugs higher or lower?
• what nipples look like after pumping
• why am i a high needs person
• frankenstein scar
• butt whoopin
• i’m not a nice mom
• horrid henry waking the dead
• write a short story beginning with ” i was alone in my house.”
• dad zerberts moms belly
• my dog ate a tucks pad

Keep it comin’, weirdos.

I was recently hunting down an Excel spreadsheet for work and came across something that took my breath away.  It’s a spreadsheet chronicling Seabass’ sleep habits when he was about three months old.  Have a look.

My eyes!! It's burning my eyes!!!

Blue signifies Seabass’ sleep periods.  Blue is also the color of relaxation and calm.

Red signifies when Seabass was awake.  Red is also the color of aggression, agitation, and blood.

I must have blocked out whatever yellow stands for.

When I look at this horrid, vomitous melange of color, here’s my train of thought:

1. If anyone ever accuses me of being a laid-back, easygoing type of person (not likely), I will smirk and then show them this.
2. God I love Excel.
3. Wouldja look at all those “fussies.”  Thank you Lord, those days are over.  I would choose a million days pulling Seabass out of the kitchen trash can (his newest stunt) before going back to the pain of raising him as a newborn.

One year ago today, I was ten days overdue with my baby boy and ready to burst.  During a checkup with my doctor, he said he was going to “strip my membranes” to move things along, and before I could so much as “whaaa?” I was officially having contractions.  (Note to readers: If ever your OB threatens to “strip your membranes,” I suggest you buckle up.) 

The doctor sent me away to labor at home – on the exercise ball, in the shower, while attempting to bake cookies for the nurses – and Jake finally took me to the hospital at 5:00 PM at four centimeters dialated.  We’d hired a wonderful doula who tried her hardest to get me a tub room in the hospital, but those two rooms were already occupied…by women who’d ended up opting for epidurals and couldn’t leave their rooms.  So I muscled forward, hanging onto Jake for several contractions and breaking water all over his shoes. 

At about seven centimeters I finally begged asked for the epidural, but it was too late – nothing could have helped me at that point.  I knew the end was near when the nurses called the doctor in, which ended up being about two minutes before I gave birth.  And at 11:37 PM on May 10, 2010, a gorgeous, slimy Seabass was placed in my arms and life as I knew it changed forever.

This has been the hardest year of my life, without question.  In fact, I found my first grey hair last week and laughed.  Of course it came this year!  But it has also been my year of greatest discovery and growth.  Jake and I are closer than ever to each other, and our hearts have burst open with love for this hilarious, bizarre, beautiful, new little person. 

Happy birthday, you wild, untameable Seabass, you.

Remember when I was all, “I’m going to post every day this week?”  And then how I posted twice and then how you heard crickets because…well, because I didn’t post every day this week?  Yeah, I’m sorry.

I still want to say all the things I said I would say, but time is at such a premium right now I could throw up from all the pressure.  Seabass, a new home, working part time, family in town for five straight weeks, keeping house, and the never-ending trail of committments to dinners, weddings, BBQs…the list goes on.  And it’s taking its toll.  I am exhausted. 

The next time I say I’m going to do something crazy like post every day for a week, I permit you to kick my butt.  Better yet, just enroll me in the nearest insane asylum.  I hear it has TVs, rubber rooms, and you can sleep all day if you want.  Sounds like paradise!

Remember waaaaay back when I said Seabass stopped taking his afternoon nap?  And remember how I was working so hard to get him to take it again to no avail?  Well, I’ve finally given up.  He is now a one-nap man.

The transition officially occured last week.  Since Christmas, Seabass had been taking super-long, super-solid naps from 9-11 or even 12pm on occasion.  But then, when I put him down for a nap in the afternoon, he refused.  So, for the past month, our little guy has been up from about 11:30am until 6pm every day.  For those of you who don’t have kids or who have forgotten the ins and outs of baby-wrangling, that translates to some very, very unhappy afternoons in our household.

Play date with another fishy.

Much as I resisted losing that precious hour to myself in the afternoon, it had become worthless to sit and listen to him play – or more often, cry – in his crib.  If Seabass ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.  I found that I couldn’t get any work done with him making noise in his room.  It’s as if his voice is designed to paralyze me, rendering me useless for any productive task.  (Can you imagine if I had a video monitor??  Game over, dude.)

The first time we tackled a napless morning, I took him out to walk the Bob Jones Bike Trail with my mom and our dogs.  Being out in the fresh air, I find, extends his fuse a lot – as does having lots and lots of food on hand for him to munch.  With the transition from two naps per day to one, we also dropped a couple of breastfeedings (hallelujah!) so it’s been of the utmost importance that I supply plenty of bait for Seabass at any given moment.

Play date with YET ANOTHER fishy.

It hasn’t been exactly what you’d call a seamless transition, but it certainly has been the right decision.  I saw it immediately the first day.  Seabass was a bit fussy around 9am when he would have typically gone down for a nap, but with ample food and distraction, he made it to 11:30am, no problem.  It’s only a matter of time before I get him extended all the way to 1pm.

Cost-Benefit Analysis:

The bummer about one nap is that I don’t really have a chance to check my email or get any work done until the morning is practically over.  That is a frustration for my employers, to be sure.

The benefit of having a one-nap baby is the freedom I now have to do things in the morning.  No more politely declining to participate in play-dates, library readings, and music classes.  We can do all of them now!  Yippee!

I packed a kitchen timer in a box yesterday.  Somehow, that timer has been tripped and is currently beeping from the bottom of a very tall pile of boxes in the living room.   Apparently, this one doesn’t have an automatic shut-off.  In fact, it’s been going for about an hour now. 

Guys, this might be the end for me. 

The next time you see my face may be on the six o’clock news, whether as the woman about to jump off the bridge, the woman arrested for being drunk in public, or the woman suspected of murdering engineers at the kitchen timer manufacturing company.

So, we bought a house. 

It’s just a funny little 50s house, but as we’ve started painting, tearing out carpet, and sanitizing the bathroom of two decades’ worth of college boy pee, we’ve already begun to fall in love. 

The work is hard.  And time-consuming, particularly when I’m running home a few times each day to nurse and put Seabass down for a nap.  Poor Jake is on his own much of the time, on the verge of panic attacks trying to figure out how to get the house ready for move-in day this Saturday.  There is a story about his adventures with paint guns that I’ll refrain from sharing right now, but suffice it to say that from what we gather, paint guns were wielded in the fires of hell.

Anyway, on the Seabass front, our little guppy is right on the verge of walking.  I can hardly believe it when I catch him standing by himself or (lo and behold!) taking a few steps on his own.  He has a crazy grill of teeth that cracks me up when he smiles, and his poops are reaching a whole new echelon of putrid.  Our little boy is all growns up.

Still, he’s a handful as always.  I can’t leave the room without him dissintegrating into a quivering lump, and due to my ineptitude at teaching him sign language, he basically screams at full volume whenever he’s hungry, thirsty, wants up, wants down, or wants anything at all.  Grandma Lewis is taking care of the wee Seabass while we pack/paint/slave on the house, and she has been a saint.  Truly.  I’ve never felt so comfortable leaving my boy because she has the patience of Job with him and finds EVERYTHING he does adorable.  I thought she was humoring him at first, but now I realize she’s just delusional.

So, all that to say we’re doing fine but we’re exhausted and ready for life to go back to *normal.*  Until then,

Jaime

P.S. I’d love to post pictures of the house or Seabass, but it’s too hard and I’m too tired.  Sorry.