First, Last, and Only

One and done.

That’s us.

It took us almost 7 years to have this child, and we’re old.  Not old in the real world, of course…but definitely old in the fertility world.  My pregnancy was classified as “geriatric”, which is hilarious, yet strangely fitting.

We struggled for years with infertility and suffered multiple pregnancy losses before finally having our daughter.  Had life given us more time, our story (and family tree) might have looked a lot different.  But it didn’t, and we’re trying to be ok with that.

It’s a bittersweet decision, of course…but deep down, I think we both know that we can’t afford another journey like the one that just ended – the emotional stakes (as well as the time it took) are just too high.   We’re still feeling the effects of it.  Still healing.

Knowing for sure that this will be our only child has made me realize that every one of her firsts, is also a last.  We will not live these through other children.  Her first word will be the last time we’ll ever get to hear a first word the first time it’s uttered, and her first step is the last time we’ll get to see this momentous event.  I will never again hold a tiny newborn and gaze in awe at every perfect feature, knowing that my body created such a miracle.

I don’t even know how to describe how that feels.  All at once, my heart holds melancholy, nostalgia, joy, grief, sorrow, longing, hope, gratitude, and wonder.   Above all, I think it motivates me to fully experience all that I can.  To be present, and “in the moment”.  To understand deeply just how special all of these little things in life are, and to not take a minute for granted.

Of course, there will be days where I fall short.  When I’m not as present, when I’m distracted, or angry, or busy.  When life gets in the way a bit, and clouds what’s most important.  I’m only human after all.  But that, I think, is the gift that an only child gives you.  When you know you won’t have another, it forces you to appreciate what you have.  And, in true only child fashion, demands that you pay attention.

Purposely having an only child can feel a little daunting.  People (sigh, people) will inevitably make comments – they will say that my daughter will miss out if she doesn’t have siblings…that she won’t be socialized properly, she’ll be selfish, or spoiled, or left alone in the world when we die.  Lovely thought, that last one.

Those same people will soon start asking when we’re going to have another, and telling me that I’ll regret not trying for more.  (If they only knew what it took for us to get one child…would they still say this?  Probably.)  And I will politely listen to their cliched “advice”, even though it hurts my heart to hear it – smile, nod, and just hope they go away…because you see, I’m actually really happy that we have one child.  I’m happy with what we have.  I’m not supposed to be, I know.  I’m supposed to want more.

During our darkest days, we never thought she’d come.  But somehow she is here, and she’s amazing, and beautiful, and perfect.  Honestly, how could we ever want anything else?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MOM is the loneliest number

Ok.  So let me just start by saying I love that I am (finally!) a mom.  I love my kid so much that I could stare at her all day, every day (and sort of do).  When I leave her, which isn’t often, I feel like a part of me is missing.  It’s an almost physical ache.  It’s crazy to me.

So that said, please know that I’m not complaining.  I’m not ungrateful.  I, more than most, know how lucky I am to have a child.   But none of that changes the fact that motherhood is fucking lonely.  And surprisingly boring, a lot of the time – at least in the beginning.  I talk about the baby, think about the baby, and spend every waking minute with the baby.  Marsha Marsha Marsha.  Baby Baby Baby.

When my husband comes home from work, I find myself desperately clinging to conversation with him like he’s a piece of debris in the water I’m drowning in.  I’m painfully aware that I don’t have anything interesting to talk about…but that doesn’t stop me, because when you spend your whole day talking to a tiny person that can’t communicate with you in your language, you can start to feel really alone.

The loneliness in motherhood sets in quite early, I found.  When I was breastfeeding, I felt an enormous pressure that’s tied to being everything my daughter needed.  Sure, others could hold her and snuggle her, and even change her diapers….but I was the only one who could feed her (aka keep her alive).  This was especially true for me, because we wanted to limit bottles in an attempt to establish breastfeeding and avoid the dreaded nipple confusion. (which wasn’t really a thing for us, I found out later)  Unfortunately, breastfeeding didn’t last long for me due to supply issues, but I definitely caught a glimpse of just how isolating that sole responsibility might feel for those who exclusively breastfeed (EBF) for an extended period of time.

Also, when the new-ness of the baby wears off for everyone else, life moves on for them…and for you.  People drift away, and you’re mostly left alone to parent your child.  This can be a blessing of course – but in many ways it can also feel a little overwhelming.  I remember thinking something along the lines of: “Wait.  I’m supposed to actually do this now?  Don’t they know I don’t know what I’m doing?  Who’s idea was this?”

Getting out and socializing can help ease that “alone in the world” feeling – though I honestly don’t know how others do this early on.  Those moms are my superheroes.  I’m just now starting to venture out into social groups, meet other moms, etc. and my baby girl is almost 3 months old.  Truth be told, I didn’t even feel like leaving the house for at least a month after having the baby.  Granted, I was recovering from surgery, and it was the middle of January in Canada (that means COLD like you’ve probably never known if you don’t live here)…but still.  Not leaving the house can make you feel like your world is tiny.  And it is.

To combat the isolation that seems to come with motherhood, I’ve actually made a huge conscious effort to make “Mom friends”.

I used to scoff at this idea.  Really.  The thought of making friends solely based on one seemingly flimsy common bond like having kids the same age made me think that those relationships couldn’t possibly be genuine – they must just serve some superficial purpose.  In my head, I pictured “mom friends” as a bunch of catty, judgy, sanctimonious women who got together solely to take perfectly staged facebook mom selfies (#melfies?) with.  Of course, they would also all wear actual clothes (not yoga pants covered in dog hair, and a dirty tank top for three days like me), have perfect hair, and bake organic sugar-free, gluten-free, dairy-free, egg-free fucking snacks together, while drinking their ridiculously high maintenance tall, skinny, triple caff, no foam, soy milk heated to exactly 120 degree, lattes. (I have an active, and very specific imagination)  I didn’t need that.  I had my own “real” friends.  Normal friends.

Turns out, I was totally and completely wrong.

You see, as your world becomes more baby-centric, the friends you had that aren’t at the same place in life as you are now sort of fade from view a bit.  I’m not sure if they leave you behind, or if you leave them…but it definitely happens.  It seems inevitable.  And it kind of sucks.  Of course if you’re aware of this, and you care to save those friendships, you can work at maintaining them (I totally suggest putting in the effort there – especially when you have great friends like I do).  But it can be hard.  And it can take time and energy (especially energy!) that you feel like you don’t really have.

Once I got over myself and realized that I actually did need mom friends (the horror!), I had to really push myself outside of my safe little bubble to actually seek out these connections.  To find people who are at this exact stage of life along with me.  People that get it.  People that are up at 3am too.  People that aren’t assholes.   That last one was key.

Most of my mom friends are online, which is the beauty of living in the age we do…but I’m happy to say that I’ve made some actual “real life” mom friends too.  And I even like them.  Yay me.  😉

One of them is my neighbour, who had a little girl a week after me.  We joked through our pregnancies about who would win the New Year’s baby prizes (neither of us did), compared aches and pains, and kept an eye on each other’s houses in the middle of the night to see if one of us had gone to the hospital.  Now we sympathize with each other about family drama, recount all the unwanted advice we’ve been given so far, share parenting tips, and even clothing.  This is a friend I can see having a beer with, and maybe even some family barbecues down the line.

Another is a woman I first met through our (similar) jobs in social services,  and then connected again because – you guessed it! – she is a mom with a kid the same age.  She has a little boy, and we make cliche jokes that our children will end up dating one day.  Beyond that though, she has a sarcastic, dark sense of humour which I appreciate…and thankfully, doesn’t order weird drinks from Starbucks.  She likes the outdoors, and seems fearless to try new things with her son which is inspiring.  She taught me how to secure my carseat without the base, and encouraged me to take my daughter swimming for the first time.  This is a friend who will challenge and push me.  I need that.

I guess what I was hoping to convey with this post is not just that motherhood can feel lonely (which I think is fairly obvious)…but more importantly that if you’re feeling this way too, you can do something about it.  You don’t have to go it alone.  And if you’re like I was, and think having mom friends is totally lame, swallow your pride and make an effort to pick ones that don’t suck.  They’re out there, trust me.   I found two.  🙂

 

 

 

B(r)est Laid Plans…

When I was pregnant, I decided I would breastfeed.   I wanted the benefits of breastfeeding (protection against illness, lower risk of sids, increased bonding, and an apparently higher IQ – for the baby, not me.).  Plus, it’s waaaaaayyyyy cheaper than buying formula.  It seemed like a no brainer.

I had read that breastfeeding can be difficult for many women though, so to prepare for that I watched videos, read books and websites, and took classes.  I reached out to my local LLL (la leche league) chapter, and joined online support groups, trying to learn as much as I possibly could.  Seriously.  My LLL coach was beyond impressed with my initiative.

I was ready for latch issues, which seemed to be one of the most common issues women ran into.  I read about tongue ties, and lip ties.   I knew all about alternative positions to try in case one didn’t work.  I saved lists of foods to avoid (or to eat!), learned about cluster feeding, and thought about how often I would need to breastfeed (on demand).  I bought nursing bras, nursing tanks, nursing pads, nursing pillows…

I was not prepared for supply issues.

We didn’t have latch issues at all.  If we had, I feel like this could have been a problem with a more straight-forward solution for me. But no, Raina latched like a pro from the start…which made me feel confident that this would work for us.  I felt proud.  And hopeful.  And competent.  That really sucks when it goes away.

Despite early attempts at nursing following my c-section, my milk didn’t come in until about 6 days after birth, and for some reason I never really produced much in terms of colostrum. I’m talking drops.  If that.  And when I say my milk “came in”…I didn’t actually feel this happen.  I just noticed one day that there was white liquid where there had been yellow before.  I never felt engorged.  I’ve never felt a let down.  My breasts didn’t feel fuller.  They didn’t change size.

I’m not sure why this is.  Some of the research I’ve read points to traumatic births; or more specifically a lengthy separation of mother and baby following the birth, and lack of skin to skin contact as major contributors to supply issues – which was certainly the case for me.   Other sources say that hormonal imbalances can cause problems….which I also have. (insulin-resistant PCOS, and borderline Hypothyroidism)

Lucky me.

Anyway, during that time between colostrum and milk, my poor baby girl began losing a seriously scary amount of weight and became jaundiced.  Jaundice causes lethargy, so we had to work really hard to wake Raina for every feed, and she would fall asleep at the breast within seconds.  It was heartbreaking.  It was terrifying.  It was like it was too much work for her.  Because of these issues, it was suggested we supplement with formula, which we did, even though I continued with breastfeeding too.

When we were discharged, the doctor told us that we were at her cutoff for infant weight loss (meaning we were right on the line between staying extra days, or getting to go home) and she wanted us to come back in a few days to have the baby weighed, just in case.   She was concerned.  So was I.

While at home, I breastfed like it was my job.  I woke my sleepy baby every 2 hours on the dot, to try and get her to feed.  It was incredibly difficult, and frustrating.  I was scared that she was too weak.  We tried cold cloths, stripping her down, rubbing her, putting something cold on her feet, etc. etc. to try and rouse her.  She was so exhausted from the jaundice that she never really fed that well from the breast because of the effort it took – she just didn’t have it in her.

I had been discouraged from using a pump while in the hospital because the doctor said it wouldn’t increase my supply as effectively as nursing would.  She told me that I needed baby to feed from the breast…but no one told me what to do if the baby just won’t feed.  If they couldn’t feed.  Out of desperation I began pumping anyway, just so that I could get some breast milk into her with a dropper.  I was able to get a little milk with the pump…and combined with regular feeds of formula, Raina finally began to gain her weight back and the jaundice eventually cleared.

Once she had her strength back, I tried actively breastfeeding again and thankfully, it seemed to be going well.  Raina’s latch was strong and consistent, and didn’t hurt at all – she was visibly swallowing, and nursed from both breasts each feed.

I enjoyed our nursing sessions.  I felt good.  I felt “motherly”.  I felt like I was doing the right thing for my baby.  I thought things were finally turning around.  We had the “right” number (even more, actually) of wet and dirty diapers each day.  That’s apparently how you know if the baby is getting what she should…so we went along like this for a while.  I proudly took “brelfies” (breastfeeding selfies), and turned them into those trendy “tree of life” photos you saw floating around on social media a while back.

About two weeks after her birth though, Raina’s weight gain became a concern because it was too slow, and much too low.  A nurse began visiting me at home, and it was then that I learned that Raina was not getting enough from me during our feeds.  I felt terrible.  Like I had been starving my baby.  Like I was an awful, negligent, ignorant mother.  How did I not know this?   I thought we were doing well.  I was devastated.  My heart broke.  I cried until I had no tears left – sobbed as I held my baby, looking into her eyes and apologizing to her over and over for failing her…cried as I called my husband at work to tell him about the nurse’s visit, and to discuss next steps.

We began supplementing more and more with formula to ensure steady weight gain. Every bottle I mixed up and fed to Raina made me feel a little more sad inside.  It was just such tangible proof of my failure.  I stopped breastfeeding  almost entirely, to focus more on pumping so that I could be sure of how much she was getting at each feed.  At first, knowing that she was still getting some breast milk made me feel a little better.

I started out pumping after each feed.  That’s 7-8 times a day.  In the beginning, I got about 4 oz. in total over a 24 hr period, which is utterly dismal – but was enough for at least one feed a day.

Unfortunately, that number has steadily dropped in the days since despite the number of pumping sessions remaining the same.  Looking into those mostly empty bottles attached to the end of my pump was (and still is!) horribly depressing.  And yet I kept on trying.

I started power pumping, drinking mother’s milk tea, taking fenugreek, massaging my breasts, eating oatmeal, drinking enough water to drown a camel.  I avoided breastfeeding because it was too painful (emotionally), but read about, and reached out to support groups for advice on how to increase supply by pumping – I was assured it could be done.  I also reached out to a local mom I found on a Human Milk for Human Babies milk-sharing group site, despite the fact that this is not encouraged due to health and safety concerns.  Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), she didn’t have a stash to share.

Today I’m down to a total of about 2 oz. from all pumping sessions combined.  Not even enough for one feed.  At this rate, it will take me two days to be able to fill one bottle for my girl…longer, if this downward trend continues.

I feel like giving up.  I feel like a failure.  I feel like I’m letting my baby down.

As I write this out, I’m feeling compelled to explore these negative emotions a little bit deeper. You see, it’s sort of interesting to me, because I am not actually opposed to formula feeding in the least.  I am not, nor have I ever been, a strict “breast is best” advocate.  Truth be told, I would normally put myself firmly in the “fed is best” camp.   So why am I struggling so much with this?   Why am I being so hard on myself?

I think for me, it got really personal, really quickly.  I began to internalize my inability to produce enough milk as proof that my body doesn’t work, and by extension, proof that I was a bad mother.  The recurrence of thoughts that my body is defective has been extremely triggering, given my history with infertility and miscarriages and the similar feelings of failure surrounding that whole ordeal.  As much as I thought I had dealt with that, I guess sometimes things have a way of coming back to the surface.

Personal reasons aside, there is also an INTENSE amount of pressure to breastfeed.  And it comes from everywhere – relatives, strangers, friends, medical professionals, and of course, society.  The “breast is best” movement is a powerful one.

Bravo on a successful campaign, ladies.

Terms that have been given to breast milk like: “liquid gold” and “elixir of life” make it sound almost magical…leaving formula to sound, by comparison, not just less-than…but also a little like an unnatural, and certainly dangerous chemical cocktail.

I’ve seen bullies lactivists compare formula feeding to sticking a baby on an exhaust pipe.  I’ve heard formula called poison.  I’ve read posts on websites calling formula feeding mothers lazy and selfish – saying things like they are taking the “easy” way out, or are more concerned with convenience than doing what’s right for their child.

Seriously?  Convenience?  Have these people even tried to formula feed?  It’s certainly not convenient.  If you’re using powdered formula (which you will, eventually – because it’s more affordable than the pre-made liquid stuff), you have to boil water, let it cool to room temperature, measure it out, mix that with the right amount of formula, combine it in a way that allows you to get all the lumps out without getting a ton of foam/bubbles (this is not easy, let me tell you).  And you have to do this in advance…because this process takes a while.  Not to mention, all the cleaning/sterilizing of your bottles, rings, caps, and nipples all day, every day.

No – what’s convenient, is pulling out your breast to feed your child when they’re hungry.  The milk is there.  It’s ready.  It’s already warm.  That’s convenient.  And easy, when it works for you.  I’ve done both.  I know.

Oh!  And while I’m on a bit of a rant, why is it that everyone’s first question when they hear you’ve had a baby is:  “are you breastfeeding?”  I have never asked someone this.  Why is this something we routinely ask women?

When I say no to this incredibly personal question, and you inevitably press on asking why not – what is it you want to hear?  Do you really want to hear my “story”?   Will my struggles with breastfeeding be “enough” for you to give me permission to use formula?  Did I try hard enough for you?  Will you try to give me advice that I didn’t ask for?

I pumped, fed, and breastfed around the clock for just shy of five weeks.  Five weeks of tears, anxiety, fear, and feeling like a complete and utter failure as a woman and a mother. (also while recovering from a major, and let’s face it – traumatic, surgery)

I sat for hours at a time to produce half an ounce of  “liquid gold” to give to my baby girl, all while others got to actually spend time with her, enjoying her.  I would give anything to go back and have the chance to enjoy her during that time too.

So please – before you ask someone this, do me a favour and ask yourself why you’re asking.  If you stop to think about it, you’ll realize that it is none of your business, of course…but more importantly, please remember that:  A) they are feeding their kid in the manner they have deemed fit, and :  B) how or why they do that doesn’t actually matter to you at all.  Unless they are asking you to feed them, you really don’t need to know this, do you?   I didn’t think so.

So, this all said, I think I’m tapping out.  I’m calling it.

I’ve tried.  I’ve cried.  I’ve missed out.  I’m done.

Now, if you’ll excuse me…I’ve got to go make some more bottles, and spend some time with my daughter.

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My Birth Story – AKA Everything goes wrong, but still somehow turns out OK.

I didn’t prepare for a c-section.  Me.  The planner.  I was going to have a vaginal birth.  I worried excessively about tearing.  I made padsicles.  I put together an entire vaginal birth recovery kit for myself.  I didn’t even consider the alternative, which was pretty stupid, looking back.

I mean, I knew it was a possibility….I even did a pre-op consult “just in case” (my brilliant, and extremely thorough doctor was a genius ordering this, by the way) things went sideways during labour.

Well, sideways they did.

Contractions started about a day before I gave birth.  Everyone, including me, thought I’d go much earlier than this….so I was surprised when the calendar showed I was approaching my due date with no real signs of labour leading up to it.

I had a routine prenatal appointment on Thursday (Jan 5th), and the doctor offered a cervical check (and a sweep of my membranes, if she could get up in there at all).  The last cervical check she did the week prior showed no dilation and was fairly painful – but I agreed to another one because I wanted to see if I had made any “progress”.

I don’t recommend these, by the way.  They hurt, and if you haven’t dilated, you leave feeling frustrated and impatient.  Even if you are told you have dilated….it really means nothing in the grand scheme of things – the baby will come when the baby comes.  There’s really not much you can do to force the issue…and all the red raspberry leaf tea, spicy food, and sex in the world most likely won’t help you.

Anyway, she did the check and I was “fingertip dilated” and soft.  This means that there had been minimal progress since the previous week, so I guess that’s good – but I left feeling like I’d be pregnant forever.  I was 39 and a half weeks pregnant at that point.  Also, she wasn’t able to do a sweep because I wasn’t dilated enough for her to get in there.

The following evening (Friday, Jan 6th), I had some contractions and lost my mucous plug.  Don’t look this up on Google images if you don’t know what it is.  Read about it in a pregnancy book instead, or ask a friend.  I already knew what to expect….but it’s different when you experience it yourself.  It’s gross, and there was way way more *stuff* than I thought there would be.   After the bulk of the plug came free, my contractions slowed considerably and I was able to rest a bit.

On Saturday (Jan 7th) , I had contractions on and off all day but nothing close together, and they weren’t too bad so I shrugged it off and tried not to get too excited.  Later that evening they picked up in intensity but were still pretty far apart.  I started timing them with an app on my phone, and tried to sleep through them but was only able to snag a few hours of sleep.

From about midnight to 6am, the contractions came regularly but were still too far apart to go in to the hospital. (I had been told the 5-1-1 rule:  5 minutes apart, lasting 1 minute each, for an hour) I couldn’t sleep through them…so I stayed awake in bed, breathed through them, listened to a hypnobabies program to “relax” (which had been working for me each evening prior to this….but not working so well this night), and lied there timing them every few minutes for hours.  My husband slept through this, until about 6 am when I finally woke him up to tell him to start the vehicle and get ready to go to the hospital.  I told him that I thought I had some time, as my contractions were currently about 7 minutes apart.

By about 6:30 am, my contractions suddenly jumped from 7 minutes apart to about 3-4 minutes apart.  Apparently my body somehow missed the memo that it was supposed to give me a long one hour window of time where my contractions were 5 minutes apart.

We went to the hospital then, and I was hooked up to a non-stress test to measure the contractions and keep track of the baby’s heart rate.  Sure enough, my contractions were about 4 mins apart, and though they weren’t yet lasting a full minute, the nurse (Judy) determined I was in labour and after a while of being monitored, admitted me.

After being admitted, I was left to progress in my labour.  I continued to try and listen to the hypnobabies recordings I had on my phone, but ended up getting really frustrated at the condescending woman in my ear buds telling me to enjoy the contractions I was feeling.  Fuck you, I thought.  And then I stopped listening.  Instead, I bounced on the ball, paced around, and tried to distract myself.

The pain was bad, but I wanted to try and progress as much as possible without medical intervention just to see if I could.  I’m not anti-meds, and wasn’t set on a natural birth – I just wanted to wait it out.  I didn’t know what to expect, but wanted to be open to whatever came my way.  My husband was amazing – helping with counter pressure, and reminding me to breathe (but so not in an annoying way).

I don’t remember when I first asked for drugs.  It was after lunch, but I’m not sure how long after.  I wasn’t really aware of the hours slipping by.  Just the minutes between contractions.  I was checked for dilation (about 4cm), and given morphine.

I love morphine.

Seriously.  I didn’t feel foggy or drugged – but my pain was well managed.  I would ask (and did) for morphine again and again if I could have it….but you can only have it early in the labour, which is unfortunate.  I only got it once.  It was heavenly.  I was able to walk the halls on morphine.  My husband and I even went to the cafeteria.  I still felt the contractions, but the edge was gone.

Another few hours passed, and I was checked again for dilation.  I think I was maybe 5cms, and the morphine was wearing off so I asked about other pain management options.  I didn’t want an epidural because I wanted to be mobile, so I had two choices:  fentanyl, or nitrous oxide.  Having a mask on my face freaks me out, so I chose fentanyl.

I do not love fentanyl.  It made me feel foggy.  It made me feel sick.  And it barely touched the pain.  Thankfully, it wears off pretty quickly.

Around 6cm dilated, the effects of the fentanyl were gone and I was in agony again.  I have not felt pain like this in my life.  Well, that’s a lie – it was similar to the pain I felt when I had my first miscarriage….just on a way bigger scale.

I asked for an epidural finally.  I don’t know what time it was.  After dinner time, most likely; meaning I had been in labour for at least 17 hrs at that point.  I was exhausted.  I was in pain.  And I wanted that pain to end.  I was so done.

The epidural was amazing.  Why I refused myself that treat for so long, I have no idea.  I was also hooked up to some pitocin when I had the epidural, because the epidural has a tendency to slow down your labour a bit and they didn’t want me slowing down.  Pitocin sucks.  It makes your contractions more intense.

Around 7/8 cms, the doctor broke my water.  I remember asking if I should remove my socks because I envisioned a huge gush of water coming out of me and didn’t want wet socks.  She laughed.  What a strange thing to worry about.  There was no gush.  Or, if there was, they caught it all in a basin so I didn’t notice.

Not long after that, and most unfortunately, the epidural stopped working for me.  The pain management techniques that had been working (counter pressure, breathing) all day leading up to this also stopped working.  I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.  I felt like an animal.  This pain was all consuming.  I’m pretty sure I was screaming, though I don’t think I was coherent.  At least I wasn’t swearing at people.  Or maybe I was.  I don’t know.

I was checked again for dilation, and was at 10cm finally….but the nurse thought she felt “something” in the cervical opening that wasn’t the baby’s head.  She didn’t say more than that because I’m sure she didn’t want to freak me out…being a nurse myself, I knew instantly that she was worried that the umbilical cord had begun to prolapse.  This is an emergency.  This can be fatal (for the baby).

The doctor was called in ASAP, and I was checked again.

Right away, my doctor began explaining some of the issues we were having.  She was talking to me in a very calm manor (which is so not her style), and that scared me immensely.  I know the risks.  I know what can go wrong.  I didn’t want to talk about it.  I just wanted her to act – this felt like the longest conversation of my life, not to mention it was almost impossible to listen to given the fact that I was contracting every few seconds.  I interrupted her before she was able to say much, and said: “c-section?”

She stated very clearly and slowly that it was important I understand the risks before we discuss that option, and she wanted to tell me what was happening right now because I need to know.  I’m pretty sure I said something like:  “Yeah yeah, I could die.  Just do it.”  Or maybe I thought that.  I don’t know.  Truth is, I didn’t care about myself.  I just wanted the baby to be ok, and I knew we were going the surgery route.  That’s the only way to get the baby out safely if there’s a prolapse.

In a haze, I recall being told something about the baby being in a bad position and not progressing. (turns out she was “sunny side up”, and jammed into my pelvis)  And another something about decelerations (baby’s heart rate dropping), and then eventually that they’d have to call in an entire team for the OR.  I was reminded to be patient, as it was after midnight.  People were sleeping.  They would get here soon.

I signed something.  I don’t know what it was.  I wonder if it’s legible.  I just wanted the pain to end.

I waited for the surgical team, and a nurse asked me if I had had any drugs today.  I said  yes – “all the drugs”.  She looked at me funny, and then another nurse explained to her that I had been given an epidural earlier.  They gave me more drugs.  The anesthesiologist is my most favourite person, ever by the way – and I’m pretty sure I told her this.  She was the one who made the pain stop.  At this point, I was passing out after each contraction, and my husband was still with me – still applying counter pressure (how tired he must have been) and trying to talk me through.

During the surgery, I couldn’t see anything except the blue curtain in front of me.  I also couldn’t feel anything…..except cold.  I was so cold.  I was shivering uncontrollably, and I wondered if I was having seizures.  At some point, I also began feeling sick to my stomach, and remember shouting out that I thought I would be sick.  I was strapped to the table, so I couldn’t look around to see anyone who could help me, which is why I shouted.  Turns out the anesthesiologist was seated right behind me, and she gave me an injection of gravol right away.  I feel a little bad for shouting like that….but I’m sure they understand.

When they pulled the baby out of me, they lifted her to the curtain to show her to me and my husband.  All I could see was her hair sticking up above the curtain which was weird and slightly off-putting because I didn’t know what they were showing me.  I remember asking what the baby was.  We were told she was a girl, and then I heard her cry.  I began crying in relief.

I don’t remember much after this, except for my husband bringing the baby over to show me.  She was the most beautiful, and surreal thing I’ve ever seen.

Apparently after this, my husband left and I was stitched up.  There were some complications with that, so apparently it took much longer than expected.  I have no recollection or concept of the time that passed.  I just remember being cold.  My husband told me that he was so scared, waiting for me – sitting alone with the baby.  It took so long.

In the recovery room, the nurse assisted me in breastfeeding the baby, which I didn’t expect – but am grateful for.  I was still strapped down, so she held the baby and positioned my breast for her first feed.

Somehow, amazingly, there were photos taken of all of this.  I was surprised when I scrolled back through my phone days later.  We had hired a birth photographer to capture the birth, but she was not allowed into the OR so we only had shots of the labour.  I was so disappointed that I wouldn’t have memory of the birth.  As hard as it is to look back on this experience (it was fairly traumatic for me), I’m really glad I have them.

In the end, my little girl came into the world exactly on her due date, at 1:17am.  She is perfect, and beautiful, and the hell I went through getting her here (including the 6+ years of infertility and losses), as cliche as it sounds, really was worth it.

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DIY Postpartum Padsicles

Quick DIY project today:  Padsicles.  Otherwise known as heaven.

These are apparently a god-send for caring for your postpartum lady bits.  They are a combo of aloe gel or juice, witch hazel, and essential oils which are then frozen and applied…..ahem…..*down there* following birth.

I knew I wanted to make them, and searched out a few recipes online for inspiration – but in the end, kind of winged it (wung it?) based on what I had on hand.  I probably used more solution on each pad than most of the recipes I’ve seen…..but I wanted mine to really freeze up, for extra soothing power.

I made about 15 HUGE pads (seriously – I had no idea they made these so big….I’m sure these will wrap from my belly button to the middle of my back), and used about 2 cups of witch hazel/aloe solution.

Witch Hazel is one of my favourite things when it comes to natural skin care ingredients.  It’s an amazing toner, it has cooling and soothing properties, reduces inflammation, and can be used for any number of skin issues including acne, burns, irritation, bruises, or even treating hemorrhoids and varicose veins.

Anyway, here’s my recipe:

• 1 1/3 cup alcohol free witch hazel
• 2/3 cup aloe juice (I used juice because I don’t like the gel….if you’ve got gel, use that – it’s fine to use either)
• 30 drops lavender essential oil*
• 30 drops of frankincense essential oil*

*30 drops of essential oil in this amount of liquid = a dilution of oils that is less than half a percent….which is very little.  (safe usage can be up to 3% – and we’re nowhere near that, because I didn’t want to chance irritating the sensitive skin in this area)

Mix all together in a glass measuring cup – you will have about 2 cups of liquid.  Stir well, but know that your oils will sit on top.  You’ll have to stir each time you make a new pad.

Next, unwrap your pads carefully (choose whatever kind you like best – but know that overnight/heavy flow pads are probably your best bet), and pour a little of the mixture over each pad, then re-wrap.  I was very free in my pouring…..you don’t need to measure this unless you are someone who is way more organized than I am.  😉

Once done, put in a freezer bag and freeze your padsicles for future use.

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Preparing for Childbirth: Why “trust your body” isn’t enough for me.

I’m 33 weeks pregnant.  I have some time to figure this out…but the planner in me wants to absorb every little piece of information that I can about labour and delivery right this second.  I suppose that’s part of my “nesting” phase everyone keeps talking about.  Who knows.

Anyway, I’ve read the book my hospital gave me, as well as the old stand-by “What to Expect”.  I’ve also been reading blogs and websites, and watching videos on youtube.  It’s been recommended that I read anything by Ina May (currently on order at my local library!), while others have suggested books on the Bradley Method, or Hypnobirthing.

Here’s where I run into trouble though.  Despite the preferred method of childbirth you are hoping for (home birth, all-natural, in hospital, c-section, etc.), a lot of the “advice” given to new mothers just seems vague and unhelpful.  Even my friends who have gone before seem to have conveniently forgotten most of the details of their births (either that, or they’re trying to spare me).

A very common piece of advice that irks me to no end, is to trust your body.  Afterall, it will, apparently, know what to do.

Maybe that’s easy for women who haven’t experienced loss, to trust their bodies. Maybe they are able to do this because their bodies haven’t failed them in the past.

But my body has failed me.  Many times.  In terrible, heartbreaking, traumatic ways.

See, I don’t trust my body.  I don’t know that it will do the right thing.  I don’t know that it “knows what to do”…..and worse, I don’t really know how to change how I feel about this.  I guess there are some lingering resentments at play here.  Fair enough.

Early in this pregnancy, I had to rely on daily (if not hourly) meditations and deep breathing exercises where I would practice calming the EFF down.  They were incredibly helpful for me.  As I passed milestones, it became easier to embrace the unknown, enjoy the moment I was in, and see this pregnancy as a totally different pregnancy – but man, was it rough in the beginning.  So, it stands to reason that those skills – meditation and deep breathing – could potentially help me through not only this anxiety I’m currently dealing with, but also during labour itself.  Worth a shot, right?

Here are some meditations and deep breathing exercises I enjoy:

How to Do Deep Breathing (Video)

Guided Meditation for Deep Relaxation (Video)

And a few new ones that look promising:

Deep Breathing for Labour (Video)

Relaxation for Labour (Video)

Hypnobirthing Meditation (Video)

I’m not set on having a specific birth plan either, which I think will help immensely.

I know that probably sounds counter-productive for a type A planner like me…..but the reason I feel that way, is because trying to plan for something that’s completely out of your control just feels like an exercise in futility.  You can try to prepare all you want (and I will, of course!) – but ultimately, what’s going to happen is going to happen.  I’ve seen a lot of women go into this with very strict ideas about how their labour/delivery will go….and then needed an emergency c-section when they wanted a home birth, or begged for drugs even though they were set on having an all-natural birth because the pain was too intense.  (and then feeling sad, disappointed, or angry at themselves afterward)

Learning to be ok with the uncertainty of it all might be the most helpful thing that I’ll be doing to prepare for my own labour, and I would recommend this to others as well.  Thankfully, I have already begun to learn this skill (it’s most certainly a skill – this mindset doesn’t come naturally to me) through my journey with loss and infertility, and it’s served me well so far.  I’ll try to remember to reflect back on that as I get closer and feel even more afraid.

Here are some tips to help you “let go” if you think this might help you:

Feel the Fear and Birth Anyway!

Letting go of Control

Pain is not Wrong – Radical Acceptance

10 Reasons Birth Plans are Stupid

I’m also incredibly lucky, and super thankful that I trust my doctor and nursing team at the hospital I’ll be delivering at.  Working as a nurse in the past has given me a huge amount of respect and understanding for why they do what they do, and an idea about how things might go.   I think a lot of our fears come from the unknown – especially when it comes to labour/delivery.  For me, at least, this part is known.  If you don’t have this experience, the fear of the unknown might be huge for you.  Book yourself a tour of the place you’ll be birthing in.  Ask questions of friends and relatives about their experiences.  I’d also recommend reading about labour and delivery to help.

Here’s some good posts:

New Moms Describe What Labour is Really Like (don’t forget to read the comments!)

How to Prepare for Birth – 8 tips from a Doula

What Happens During Labour and Birth

Common Interventions During Labour & Delivery

 

 

 

 

Viability

This could quite possibly be one of the most beautiful words in the entire world to a mom who has endured pregnancy loss – or in my case, multiple losses.

Viability.

I’m completely overwhelmed at the thought of what this word means to me now.

See, I never thought I’d get here.  I don’t know how I got here, to be honest.  It’s still a shock.  As of exactly 8 minutes ago, I am 24 weeks pregnant.  Most sources state that this is the week where doctors will actually try to save my baby should I go into labour early.  This is the week that my sweet baby has a half-way decent shot at surviving outside of my body (albeit with lots of help) if it needed to.

At my last scan (around 22 weeks), baby looked good.  He/She was measuring in at about 1lb 2oz, which is right on track with the other measurements we have had.  There was consistent growth from the last scan, and the doctor was able to see *almost* everything she needed to. (Apparently my child is stubborn and uncooperative.  I wonder where that comes from?)

Every week after this, the odds for survival increase.  And while I know that there is never a guarantee (trust me – this lesson has been learned the hard and painful way) that things will work out, it’s a really great feeling to know that the odds are starting to stack up in our favour.

Finally.

It’s now about 12 minutes after midnight, and everyone but me is asleep in this house. This is a quiet time.  A time when I have no tasks or responsibilities.  A time to get lost in thought.

This is the time each day when I fully allow myself to think of nothing but baby.  I try to imagine what he or she will look like.  Will it be a girl or a boy?  I dream about its eyes….the colour of its hair. (I think we might get a redhead like hubby)  Whose nose will it get. (we’re hoping mine, lol)  What it will feel like to hold my baby, after wanting this for sooooooooo long.

I think about parenthood, and hope that I’m up to the task of being a mother – but not just any mother.  I want to be a really good mother.

I worry about not knowing anything.   Or worse, being bad at this.

And above all, I fear losing this baby too.

As I write these things, the baby is kicking my insides gently – perhaps as a reminder that everything will be ok.  Maybe it’s telling me not worry so much.  Or simply just letting me know that he/she is still in there; still alive.  As a loss mom, I need these reminders – probably more than most.

I guess I’m not the only one awake afterall.   Looks like we’re both up, celebrating this milestone together.  ❤

 

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Soap Sunday – Fizzing Bath Melts

It’s officially pumpkin spice season! (Or Fall, as others who aren’t addicted to Starbucks would say)

Today, I thought I’d share how to make my pumpkin spice fizzing bath melts. These are rich, and luxurious….like a cross between a fizzy bath bomb, and a bath oil. 

  
They melt slowly in your bath, releasing nourishing oils (cocoa butter, shea butter,  and grape seed oil) into the water and onto your skin. 

Because of the oils, these bad boys aren’t recommended for baths where you’re hoping to get clean (your hair will get greasy, so put it up). These are for relaaaaxxxing baths. Baths with wine, and candles. You know the kind. 

Oh! They can also make your tub a bit slippery, so go slow getting in and out. 

Ready to make them? Here we go. 

Ingredients:

• 1 cup baking soda
• 1/2 cup citric acid
• 1/2 cup corn starch
• 2 tbsp cocoa butter
• 1 tbsp shea butter
• 1 tsp grape seed oil (can also use olive oil)
• Skin safe dye
• 1 tsp fragrance, or a few drops of essential oils of your choice (I used fragrance called “pumpkin patch”)

Directions:

Mix dry ingredients together (careful to not breathe it in-you can use a mask, or just be gentle when mixing). 

Melt cocoa butter and shea butter in microwave safe dish. I use a glass Pyrex measuring cup.  Add grape seed oil or olive oil to the cup. Stir. 

Pour melted oils into dry ingredients, and mix slowly, but thoroughly with a spoon. The texture will eventually be like soft play dough. If using dye, add and mix with hands.  Add fragrance and mix. 

Shape into whatever shape you’d like. I made mine into pumpkins, using a small piece of cut up green soap for the stem, making grooves on top with a pencil, and adding a little gold mica for flair. 

Set onto wax paper, or a piece of cardboard to dry/set up. 

Leave to harden for at least 12-24 hours. 

Enjoy! 

You’re having a baby! I have some _____ that you can have….

Ok.  I just want to start this by stating that I LOVE second-hand baby stuff.  I think this is a great way to save money (babies are expensive!!), and I have purchased quite a few of the things I need for our baby from buy and sell sites online, garage sales, and happily taken hand-me-downs from friends/family.

That said, sometimes too much is too much.

I don’t know if this is normal or not, but when people find out you’re expecting, you may start coming home to bags of “stuff” dropped off at your front door.   Often it is stuff you can use, which is awesome….but sometimes there’s also broken stuff, smelly stuff, and stuff that’s too big for a baby (in the opposite gender, no less).

While I  know that most people mean well, being almost 6 months pregnant and having to deal with an influx of things you can’t use right away because you’ll need to store it for 4 years until your child fits into it, or worse – something that is in such bad shape that it needs to be taken straight to the dump, is not a fun time – nor does it feel very considerate to receive things like that. (especially when you’re hormonal)

Based on my experiences, I figured writing out some guidelines for giving second-hand baby stuff to your friends and loved ones might be in order.  I’m aware this may make me seem like a totally ungrateful person, but if you read on I’m hoping you’ll change your mind when you see the types of things I’ve been given, and understand why I thought a guide might help.

PS- If a whole list of guidelines is overwhelming to you,  just follow the first one.  🙂

Guideline #1:  Before you go crazy cleaning out your storage room, please ask your friend or loved one if they need what you are hoping to give them. It’s possible they already have it, or have a certain style/colour/theme in mind.  If they say no, respect their wishes – and don’t try make them feel bad about it.

Guideline #2:  Once you know that they actually want/need what you’re giving them, please MAKE SURE IT’S CLEAN.  It’s more than likely the mom or dad will clean these items again before using them, but dropping off something that smells bad, is musty or moldy, has food in it, etc. is just nasty.  True story: I was gifted a used diaper genie full of old dirty diapers (not even in a bag).  Don’t do that.

(Me: “Yay!  I’ll sanitize this, and it’ll be good to go”……Nope.)

Guideline #3:  If you’re giving items that have expiry dates (car seats, cribs, etc.), please check the dates to make sure they are still safe/legal to use.  If you don’t know when it expires, look it up.  If it’s not expired, and your friend/loved one wants it, make sure it has all of its parts.  For example, some car seats can not be used safely without their base….and cribs certainly work better if they have all the rails.

Guideline #4:  If it’s broken, ripped, or really stained – they probably don’t want it.  Trust me.  Save your friends the trouble, and throw it out yourself.   OR – If it can be fixed/cleaned, do that, and then refer back to guideline #1.

Guideline #5:  This seems like a no-brainer, but sadly it isn’t.  If you’re giving things like shoes, boots, socks, mitts, or anything else that comes in a pair…..make sure you have both items in the pair.  One shoe helps no one.  Two left shoes in different sizes is kind of funny though…..

(2 left shoes in different sizes, 4 mismatched single mitts, and 1 slipper.)

Guideline #6:  If the item is personalized with the name of your baby on it, don’t give it to someone who won’t be using that same name.  In a bag of other things,  there were some personalized bibs with my 2 year old Niece’s name on them.  As much as I love her, I won’t be naming our child after her…because that would be weird.  (especially if it’s a boy, ha ha)

Bonus Guideline:   If the new parents don’t know what they are having, don’t give them all of your old boys/girls clothes “just in case”.  If they don’t have a girl, those dresses will look pretty silly on their little boy….plus it’s just one more thing they have to clean, store, and organize.  This is a bonus guideline, because not all parents will care about whether or not they receive gendered items for their child – and some won’t mind storing things just in case.  That’s why it’s important to start at guideline 1.  When in doubt, ask.

I hope that helps.

Milestones

Today, I am 16 weeks (4 months) pregnant.  This is officially the longest any pregnancy of mine has ever lasted, which is milestone #1 – and a pretty huge one to us.  I think I’ll celebrate by cleaning my house.  I finally have some energy, and my house (and husband!) has been suffering from a severe lack of attention lately. (edit  – I totally didn’t do this.  I fell asleep in the basement where it was nice and cool for about 2 hours today.  Oops.)

Milestone #2:  First “baby” purchase (from a garage sale yesterday):

I’ll be holding off on larger purchases (or pretty much anything else, unless it’s a great deal) until at least 20 weeks, because I can’t stomach the thought of having an entire nursery of stuff to deal with should anything happen.  The 20 week mark just feels a bit safer because we have an anatomy scan/ultrasound then, and should have a better idea if things look good in there.  Even better is what I like to call V-Week, aka 24 weeks (that’s when a baby is finally considered “viable” should it be delivered early, and chances of survival go up considerably each week after that).

That said, I am in the actual planning stages for all of this now…which is pretty cool.  I’ve even started a baby registry on Amazon (they have everything!), and really want to get started on organizing and cleaning the house in preparation for creating a nursery.

Speaking of the nursery – my husband wants to do a Harry Potter themed nursery, which I am totally on board with!  It will work for a girl witch or boy wizard….and I’ve been busy pinning ideas.  I’ll be sure to do a post about this as we get closer.

Milestone #3:  First belly rub by a stranger.  This happened yesterday evening at a large seafood dinner event that my husband put together for members, friends, and family of his Lodge.

Let’s talk about this for a minute.  Now, don’t get me wrong – I don’t actually mind my stomach being touched by people.  I’m not overly private, and in fact, I’m completely thrilled that I’m showing enough that people can tell I’m pregnant (another milestone! hooray!)….I also think it’s amazing that people get so excited about this, and want to share that with you.

But….if you really think about it, it’s a little weird isn’t it?  I mean, I was standing in line at the buffet for my third (yes, third) round of lobster tails, have a bit of a belly (which, let’s face it, was only there because I had gorged myself on food like it was my last meal or something), and a woman I don’t even know put her hands on my stomach and rubbed it, asking when I was due.  In truth, I thought it was sweet and only a touch creepy….but I couldn’t help but think afterwards: “what if I wasn’t pregnant?”  What if I was just some fat girl wanting to get her lobster on in peace.  Is that so wrong?

Here’s a shot of the “bump” from a few days ago. It’s a bit bigger now, due to the gluttonous consumption of lobster that occurred last night…