The end of the school year is here. I can hardly believe it. Tomorrow is Michael's last day of kindergarten. Big sigh.
This has truly been Michael's year to blossom and grow. At the beginning of the year I wrote that I was afraid Michael would lose his innocence upon going to school and being around older kids. I needn't have worried for my son has retained his essence. He may know a lot more now about Star Wars and Bakugan characters than he did but he still daydreams a lot and picks his nose.
I look back to the fall and am amazed at how much Michael has learned this year. He learned how to write the alphabet and about the sound each letter makes, he can write his numbers up to 50 and beyond, he can now read simple books, he has taken spelling tests, and he has learned how to add and subtract (which he loves more than anything else).
He also learned some core life skills too: how to follow rules, about taking turns and sharing, being part of a group, how to be responsible for his library book each week, and how to be a good friend.
I honestly don't know if this would have been possible had Michael not had such a great teacher, Mrs. N. That he had a positive kindergarten experience filled with kindness and love made a world of difference. I know he will be sad to leave her classroom. I am sad also as I had the chance to volunteer in the classroom on a regular basis and really like her too. But, it's on to first grade he goes. I just hope he gets a teacher as nice and kind and knowledgeable as Mrs. N.
About Me
- Jennifer
- I'm a wife of 19 years to Jeff and mother to two teens, Michael 18, and Tracy 15. The cats, Hannah and Leia,are female so I have a little female energy in the house besides me! In my previous life BK (before kids) I was a technical writer, poet, and essayist. Now I'm a write-at-home mom who tries to find the balance between writing, doing for kids, doing for hubbie, doing for the house, and doing for myself.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Labor of Love
This is how I envision the birth of my first child. I will start having labor pains at home, preferably after a good night’s sleep. I will labor at home for as long as possible, taking deep, cleansing breaths as I focus inward. At the hospital I will labor in the birthing center, using the shower and a large Jacuzzi tub to counteract the pain. I will have the lights dimmed, soft music playing in the background, candles burning, and the scents of lavender and lemon wafting through the air to help me relax. I won’t need any drugs because I will remember all the techniques I learned in my Bradley Childbirth class. Eight hours later I will be holding my baby.
All throughout my pregnancy I like to think this is possible. My friends tell me I’m living in a fantasy, that no one has births like that. I realize that the birth process is nothing that one can control but I can dream, can’t I?
My due date is May 26, 2003. So to prepare for the baby and have some last-minute time to myself, I stop working two weeks beforehand. I figure I’ll be able to tackle projects that I haven’t been able to get to because I was tired from the pregnancy. After all, being home will give me more energy, right? Wrong. I spend the whole two weeks sleeping. Where’s this burst of energy that I’m supposed to get right before the baby is born, the one my friends have told me will cause me to clean my house from top to bottom?
My due date comes and goes…and no baby. One week past my due date and still there is no baby or any indication that the baby is coming out EVER. No contractions, no water leaking, nothing. Nothing, that is, except for tons of phone calls from well-meaning friends and family asking, “Where’s that baby?” or “When are they going to induce you?” or “Have you tried jumping jacks/spicy food/walking/nipple stimulation/sex?”
I have tried all the methods that are supposed to jump-start my body into labor, but my baby isn’t budging from his cozy home inside my womb. Amazingly enough, despite the fact that I am huge and bloated and my feet and ankles are swollen, I am ok with letting the baby come on his own time. I’m not in any major discomfort and our tri-weekly non-stress tests show that both the baby and I are fine, so why rush things?
On Friday, June 6, I go to see my midwife for yet another non-stress test. She is excited to hear that earlier that morning I lost my mucous plug, a sign that means my body is in some sort of preparation for birth. Yet, when she checks to see how far I am dilated it is only 1 cm, which is practically nothing, especially for a woman who is 10 days overdue. And then she breaks my “happy labor” bubble.
“If you don’t go into labor by Sunday, we’re going to have to get things moving or you’re not going to be allowed into the birthing center. You’ll have to go to Labor and Delivery in the hospital,” she says.
What – no queen sized bed, no Jacuzzi tub, no freedom to move about as I please? “What do I need to do?” I ask.
“If you haven’t gone into labor by tomorrow morning I want you to take four ounces of castor oil.” Castor oil? She continues, “Castor oil will clean you out and all that movement will hopefully prod your uterus into contracting. Just don’t stray too far from the bathroom.”
Sounds unpleasant, I think.
“And if that doesn’t work, then on Sunday you’ll have to come in and we’ll break your water and get things rolling.” So now we have a plan and I have something to report back to friends and family. Later that afternoon the contractions start. They are just minor, but they give me hope. They continue through dinner and into the evening, but shortly after midnight they stop.
Saturday morning I send my husband, Jeff, out to get the castor oil. My midwife had said that I could take it with juice but I think it would be easier to swallow it down tablespoon by tablespoon. Do you know how many tablespoons are in four ounces? Neither do I because by the second or third one I am clamoring for the juice. Castor oil is vile with a capital V! It’s thick and oily (of course) and swallowing it causes me to gag. The juice doesn’t help much because then it just tastes like thick, oily juice. However, 30 minutes later I finish it and begin waiting for it to work. Soon enough, the castor oil does its work, but I don’t experience any contractions. So unless something happens in the next 12 hours it looks like we will have to go into the hospital to get my water broken.
Sunday morning I awake at 7:30 am. The sky is gray and threatening rain. Today I am 13 days overdue.
“Hopefully today’s your birthday!” I say to my belly. We are expected at the hospital at 12:30 p.m. so have time for one last breakfast and one last walk as a couple. Then I double-check the bags to make sure we have everything: relaxation CDs, two pairs of pajamas for me, one change of clothes for Jeff, a robe and slippers for me, the take-home outfit for the baby, extra diapers, washcloths for labor, our Bradley Childbirth book, digital camera, video camera, juice boxes and suckers for me, other snacks for Jeff, and pillows wrapped in plastic garbage bags. It looks like we are going on vacation for a week instead of going to the hospital to have a baby.
As we drive to the hospital, I feel sad and excited – sad that our couplehood is coming to an end. Life as we know it will be very different from now on. Mostly I am excited though, because I am ready to meet this being that has been growing inside me for almost 10 months.
After we check in at the hospital, we take the elevator up to the Birthing Center. As we unpack our luggage, the nurse on duty gives me a gown to change into. The nurse midwife soon comes into the room to break my water.
“What I’m going to do,” she says as she holds up a utensil that looks like a long crochet hook, “is insert this into the uterus and use it to break your bag of waters. Just lie back and relax.”
I figure that this will be an easy, quick process. For some reason or another, my midwife is having a hard time breaking the waters. On her last try, though, she does and I feel a gush of water. So this is what it feels like, I think.
It is 1:30 p.m. We call our parents and let them know that my “labor” has begun.
For the next two hours nothing happens. When the midwife comes back in and is informed of my progression or lack thereof, she says that it is time to try something else to get things moving. She wants to give me castor oil, but I vehemently protest based on my experience the previous day. So she has the nurse bring in a breast pump, which is supposed to cause contractions.
And it does. At 3:15 p.m. my contractions begin, slowly at first and sporadic, then more regular. I sit on the birthing ball to relieve some of the pain, which isn’t too bad yet. My mom, dad, and sister-in-law come in to visit and I can still talk to them, which means that I’m not too far along in my labor. One hour of contractions turn into two, then three. Jeff and I take walks up and down the hallway and when I feel a contraction I hold onto either Jeff or the railing in the hall. At 8:00 p.m. they are getting stronger and more painful, about 3-4 minutes apart. The nurse asks me if I want her to put some music on, perhaps one of the relaxation CDs that I brought with me. Surprisingly I feel that music would distract me – I only want quiet – so I decline.
I feel for sure that this is it, that the baby will be coming soon, but an hour later the contractions slow down and we have to use the pump to get them going again. At 10:00 p.m. the midwife suggests that we get some rest, so we get ready for bed. We are so tired.
I guess sleep is not meant to be, for about 10 minutes after we get into bed the contractions start up again. So we get out of bed and labor all through the night. The contractions are especially hard from 4:00 – 6:00 a.m. but then slow down soon after. We are served breakfast but I can’t eat much. At 10:30 a.m., 21 hours after she broke my water, the midwife comes in to evaluate my progress.
“You’re only 2-3 centimeters dilated and your water’s been broken for almost 24 hours,” she proclaims. “I’m afraid that we’re going to have to move you into the Labor and Delivery part of the hospital so we can give you Pitocin to speed up your contractions.”
I’m not too pleased with the turn of events, but don’t have much of a choice. Jeff and I gather up our stuff, say goodbye to the labor nurse on duty, and go to Labor and Delivery, which is just down a hallway adjacent to the birthing center. The room is half as large as the one we were just in, as is the bed. A baby monitor is placed around my large abdomen. Now I can hear the strong heartbeat of the baby inside. At 11:30 a.m. I am given an IV – the Pitocin drip. For the next couple of hours we wait for the Pitocin to start working.
The contractions start slowly at first. With each one I take a deep breath and let it out slowly as the contraction subsides. As a contraction peaks Jeff pushes on my feet or knees to counteract the pain that comes along with it. Because of the IV, my movement is limited – no more walks in the hall – but I can sit on the birthing ball or in a chair.
At 3:00 p.m. the contractions are getting stronger and I am feeling it mostly in my back. The Pitocin is causing the contractions to come on very quick and strong. By 4:30 p.m. the contractions are about 2 minutes apart and very intense. I am in an enormous amount of pain and nothing seems to help. At 5:30 p.m. my midwife checks my progress and says that I am dilated to 6 cm and that the baby is in position. She thinks, though, that he’s facing up, which is why I’m in so much pain. She has me kneel on the bed so I’m facing the wall. Perhaps laboring in this position will make him turn.
I’m naked, sweaty, and totally not in control of my body. It’s as if another entity has taken hold of me. I scream out in fierce, primal cries that I did not know I was capable of. I think I’m scaring Jeff. Part of me feels ashamed that I am not able to endure the pain better and that I’m not using any of the techniques that we learned in class. This is so not what I had imagined, even though it’s what my friends with children had told me about. I call on the spirit of all women who have gone through childbirth to help me be strong.
No one mentions an epidural but I keep asking for one, or a c-section, anything to get this baby out. At one point I cry out “I quit, just shoot me!” It is at this point that I have been in labor for 29 hours. I’m really tired and ready to give up. Luckily my support team – my midwife and my husband – know that I really don’t want an epidural, that a natural childbirth is the goal.
At 6:45 p.m. I feel like pushing. The pressure is bearing down and the contractions are coming one after another. My midwife examines me and says it’s not time to push yet. My mom is giving Jeff a break and I rest my head on her shoulder and let her stroke my cheek and wipe the sweat off of my brow.
My midwife does another exam at 7:30 and I’m 8-9 cm dilated. I’m almost ready to push. Another half an hour and it’s time. I sit up in bed and pull my legs up around me. With each contraction I take a deep breath and let it out slowly while I push with all my strength, the amount of which surprises me since I’ve been laboring for 30 hours. With each push my midwife and Jeff tell me what a good job I’m doing. They are my cheerleaders. Without them I would not have gotten this far. I see the sun setting outside my window – it splashes deep reds and yellows on the walls of my room.
I continue pushing for another hour. Now the midwife can see the baby’s head. I am told that it won’t be long now. They set up a mirror so I can see the head as it crowns. As I do I get a surge of energy – I’m almost done, just a little more. At 9:20 p.m. I give a long hard push. I feel a lot of pressure and a burning sensation and I see in the mirror the baby’s head emerge. Seconds later the midwife is handing me my baby. My husband cuts the cord and then puts his face next to mine so we can watch our baby together.
His eyes are open and he is looking intently at his parents, as if to memorize this moment. I try on his new name for him, Michael Thomas, saying it softly to him. He raises his head slightly in concurrence, and then instinctively searches for the breast.
I no longer feel any pain. I feel wonderful, radiant, beaming. He is beautiful, my baby, the most perfect anesthesia.
This "baby" turns 6 on Tuesday. It's hard to believe that six years have passed since he was born, but I've enjoyed every minute of it (well, almost every minute!). Happy Birthday Michael!
All throughout my pregnancy I like to think this is possible. My friends tell me I’m living in a fantasy, that no one has births like that. I realize that the birth process is nothing that one can control but I can dream, can’t I?
My due date is May 26, 2003. So to prepare for the baby and have some last-minute time to myself, I stop working two weeks beforehand. I figure I’ll be able to tackle projects that I haven’t been able to get to because I was tired from the pregnancy. After all, being home will give me more energy, right? Wrong. I spend the whole two weeks sleeping. Where’s this burst of energy that I’m supposed to get right before the baby is born, the one my friends have told me will cause me to clean my house from top to bottom?
My due date comes and goes…and no baby. One week past my due date and still there is no baby or any indication that the baby is coming out EVER. No contractions, no water leaking, nothing. Nothing, that is, except for tons of phone calls from well-meaning friends and family asking, “Where’s that baby?” or “When are they going to induce you?” or “Have you tried jumping jacks/spicy food/walking/nipple stimulation/sex?”
I have tried all the methods that are supposed to jump-start my body into labor, but my baby isn’t budging from his cozy home inside my womb. Amazingly enough, despite the fact that I am huge and bloated and my feet and ankles are swollen, I am ok with letting the baby come on his own time. I’m not in any major discomfort and our tri-weekly non-stress tests show that both the baby and I are fine, so why rush things?
On Friday, June 6, I go to see my midwife for yet another non-stress test. She is excited to hear that earlier that morning I lost my mucous plug, a sign that means my body is in some sort of preparation for birth. Yet, when she checks to see how far I am dilated it is only 1 cm, which is practically nothing, especially for a woman who is 10 days overdue. And then she breaks my “happy labor” bubble.
“If you don’t go into labor by Sunday, we’re going to have to get things moving or you’re not going to be allowed into the birthing center. You’ll have to go to Labor and Delivery in the hospital,” she says.
What – no queen sized bed, no Jacuzzi tub, no freedom to move about as I please? “What do I need to do?” I ask.
“If you haven’t gone into labor by tomorrow morning I want you to take four ounces of castor oil.” Castor oil? She continues, “Castor oil will clean you out and all that movement will hopefully prod your uterus into contracting. Just don’t stray too far from the bathroom.”
Sounds unpleasant, I think.
“And if that doesn’t work, then on Sunday you’ll have to come in and we’ll break your water and get things rolling.” So now we have a plan and I have something to report back to friends and family. Later that afternoon the contractions start. They are just minor, but they give me hope. They continue through dinner and into the evening, but shortly after midnight they stop.
Saturday morning I send my husband, Jeff, out to get the castor oil. My midwife had said that I could take it with juice but I think it would be easier to swallow it down tablespoon by tablespoon. Do you know how many tablespoons are in four ounces? Neither do I because by the second or third one I am clamoring for the juice. Castor oil is vile with a capital V! It’s thick and oily (of course) and swallowing it causes me to gag. The juice doesn’t help much because then it just tastes like thick, oily juice. However, 30 minutes later I finish it and begin waiting for it to work. Soon enough, the castor oil does its work, but I don’t experience any contractions. So unless something happens in the next 12 hours it looks like we will have to go into the hospital to get my water broken.
Sunday morning I awake at 7:30 am. The sky is gray and threatening rain. Today I am 13 days overdue.
“Hopefully today’s your birthday!” I say to my belly. We are expected at the hospital at 12:30 p.m. so have time for one last breakfast and one last walk as a couple. Then I double-check the bags to make sure we have everything: relaxation CDs, two pairs of pajamas for me, one change of clothes for Jeff, a robe and slippers for me, the take-home outfit for the baby, extra diapers, washcloths for labor, our Bradley Childbirth book, digital camera, video camera, juice boxes and suckers for me, other snacks for Jeff, and pillows wrapped in plastic garbage bags. It looks like we are going on vacation for a week instead of going to the hospital to have a baby.
As we drive to the hospital, I feel sad and excited – sad that our couplehood is coming to an end. Life as we know it will be very different from now on. Mostly I am excited though, because I am ready to meet this being that has been growing inside me for almost 10 months.
After we check in at the hospital, we take the elevator up to the Birthing Center. As we unpack our luggage, the nurse on duty gives me a gown to change into. The nurse midwife soon comes into the room to break my water.
“What I’m going to do,” she says as she holds up a utensil that looks like a long crochet hook, “is insert this into the uterus and use it to break your bag of waters. Just lie back and relax.”
I figure that this will be an easy, quick process. For some reason or another, my midwife is having a hard time breaking the waters. On her last try, though, she does and I feel a gush of water. So this is what it feels like, I think.
It is 1:30 p.m. We call our parents and let them know that my “labor” has begun.
For the next two hours nothing happens. When the midwife comes back in and is informed of my progression or lack thereof, she says that it is time to try something else to get things moving. She wants to give me castor oil, but I vehemently protest based on my experience the previous day. So she has the nurse bring in a breast pump, which is supposed to cause contractions.
And it does. At 3:15 p.m. my contractions begin, slowly at first and sporadic, then more regular. I sit on the birthing ball to relieve some of the pain, which isn’t too bad yet. My mom, dad, and sister-in-law come in to visit and I can still talk to them, which means that I’m not too far along in my labor. One hour of contractions turn into two, then three. Jeff and I take walks up and down the hallway and when I feel a contraction I hold onto either Jeff or the railing in the hall. At 8:00 p.m. they are getting stronger and more painful, about 3-4 minutes apart. The nurse asks me if I want her to put some music on, perhaps one of the relaxation CDs that I brought with me. Surprisingly I feel that music would distract me – I only want quiet – so I decline.
I feel for sure that this is it, that the baby will be coming soon, but an hour later the contractions slow down and we have to use the pump to get them going again. At 10:00 p.m. the midwife suggests that we get some rest, so we get ready for bed. We are so tired.
I guess sleep is not meant to be, for about 10 minutes after we get into bed the contractions start up again. So we get out of bed and labor all through the night. The contractions are especially hard from 4:00 – 6:00 a.m. but then slow down soon after. We are served breakfast but I can’t eat much. At 10:30 a.m., 21 hours after she broke my water, the midwife comes in to evaluate my progress.
“You’re only 2-3 centimeters dilated and your water’s been broken for almost 24 hours,” she proclaims. “I’m afraid that we’re going to have to move you into the Labor and Delivery part of the hospital so we can give you Pitocin to speed up your contractions.”
I’m not too pleased with the turn of events, but don’t have much of a choice. Jeff and I gather up our stuff, say goodbye to the labor nurse on duty, and go to Labor and Delivery, which is just down a hallway adjacent to the birthing center. The room is half as large as the one we were just in, as is the bed. A baby monitor is placed around my large abdomen. Now I can hear the strong heartbeat of the baby inside. At 11:30 a.m. I am given an IV – the Pitocin drip. For the next couple of hours we wait for the Pitocin to start working.
The contractions start slowly at first. With each one I take a deep breath and let it out slowly as the contraction subsides. As a contraction peaks Jeff pushes on my feet or knees to counteract the pain that comes along with it. Because of the IV, my movement is limited – no more walks in the hall – but I can sit on the birthing ball or in a chair.
At 3:00 p.m. the contractions are getting stronger and I am feeling it mostly in my back. The Pitocin is causing the contractions to come on very quick and strong. By 4:30 p.m. the contractions are about 2 minutes apart and very intense. I am in an enormous amount of pain and nothing seems to help. At 5:30 p.m. my midwife checks my progress and says that I am dilated to 6 cm and that the baby is in position. She thinks, though, that he’s facing up, which is why I’m in so much pain. She has me kneel on the bed so I’m facing the wall. Perhaps laboring in this position will make him turn.
I’m naked, sweaty, and totally not in control of my body. It’s as if another entity has taken hold of me. I scream out in fierce, primal cries that I did not know I was capable of. I think I’m scaring Jeff. Part of me feels ashamed that I am not able to endure the pain better and that I’m not using any of the techniques that we learned in class. This is so not what I had imagined, even though it’s what my friends with children had told me about. I call on the spirit of all women who have gone through childbirth to help me be strong.
No one mentions an epidural but I keep asking for one, or a c-section, anything to get this baby out. At one point I cry out “I quit, just shoot me!” It is at this point that I have been in labor for 29 hours. I’m really tired and ready to give up. Luckily my support team – my midwife and my husband – know that I really don’t want an epidural, that a natural childbirth is the goal.
At 6:45 p.m. I feel like pushing. The pressure is bearing down and the contractions are coming one after another. My midwife examines me and says it’s not time to push yet. My mom is giving Jeff a break and I rest my head on her shoulder and let her stroke my cheek and wipe the sweat off of my brow.
My midwife does another exam at 7:30 and I’m 8-9 cm dilated. I’m almost ready to push. Another half an hour and it’s time. I sit up in bed and pull my legs up around me. With each contraction I take a deep breath and let it out slowly while I push with all my strength, the amount of which surprises me since I’ve been laboring for 30 hours. With each push my midwife and Jeff tell me what a good job I’m doing. They are my cheerleaders. Without them I would not have gotten this far. I see the sun setting outside my window – it splashes deep reds and yellows on the walls of my room.
I continue pushing for another hour. Now the midwife can see the baby’s head. I am told that it won’t be long now. They set up a mirror so I can see the head as it crowns. As I do I get a surge of energy – I’m almost done, just a little more. At 9:20 p.m. I give a long hard push. I feel a lot of pressure and a burning sensation and I see in the mirror the baby’s head emerge. Seconds later the midwife is handing me my baby. My husband cuts the cord and then puts his face next to mine so we can watch our baby together.
His eyes are open and he is looking intently at his parents, as if to memorize this moment. I try on his new name for him, Michael Thomas, saying it softly to him. He raises his head slightly in concurrence, and then instinctively searches for the breast.
I no longer feel any pain. I feel wonderful, radiant, beaming. He is beautiful, my baby, the most perfect anesthesia.
This "baby" turns 6 on Tuesday. It's hard to believe that six years have passed since he was born, but I've enjoyed every minute of it (well, almost every minute!). Happy Birthday Michael!
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