Friday, November 24, 2006
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
A Baby Story: She Said
(A few disclaimers before we begin. First, I am Annika, not Eric. Second, I am a woman, not a man. Third, I have labored and given birth to two children, not watched from the sidelines. Finally, the first three disclaimers guarantee that this will be long-winded, detail-filled, and did I mention long? Just wanted to give fair warning.)
Tuesday, November 14th
I woke up to more contractions, but these felt different than the Braxton Hicks contractions I’d been feeling for weeks. They were a bit more painful and lasted longer. Got my “second wind” of nesting instinct and spent the day cleaning, organizing, and assuming “this was it.” But the contractions never came too close together, so we just stayed home, went to bed that evening, and figured we might go to the hospital during the night.
Wednesday, November 15th
5:00 am
I woke up to much stronger and even more painful contractions. I laid in bed timing them; they were coming every 10 minutes for awhile, and then I had 3 contractions in 8 minutes. I got up and got in the shower, thinking for sure that today would be the day. After my shower and breakfast, however, they stopped coming so frequently and I was so disappointed. Went back to sleep for a little bit.
9am-12pm
Contractions were coming about 3 per hour on average, but they were getting longer (lasting about 1-1 ½ minutes each) and were also getting stronger and more painful—i.e. it was getting harder to do anything while I was in the middle of one. I was confused because they were increasing in strength and length, which is a sign of real labor, but were decreasing in frequency, which is a sign of false labor. I called two different friends who are doulas (birth coaches) and asked their opinion. Both said I was most likely in early labor and probably had awhile to go, and that I should stay home while I could because if we went to the hospital now, they would most likely rush me and start pitocin—and wouldn’t I rather see how things went on their own? Yes—I did NOT want to be induced or “rushed”—so Eric and I just kind of sat around that day, wondering if Eric should go to work at all.
2:00-4:00 pm
I started to time my contractions again because they seemed to be coming more often. Sat on couch and watched TV for two hours; when I looked at my list of times I realized the contractions had come consistently, ten minutes apart, for the past two hours…this was progress! Within the next hour they started coming every 8 minutes or so.
5:00 pm
My friend Becca (friend from childhood and also my doula during Jack’s labor) brought her daughter Samantha over and we took the kids for a walk. Experienced multiple contractions during the walk. By now I was having trouble even talking during the contractions. I was feeling them very strongly in my lower back, but also in my lower abdomen which was a new experience for me...I had back labor with Jack and I got my epidural before I really even felt the contractions in my uterus—that or the back labor was so bad that I didn’t even notice the uterine contractions! Anyway, this time I was having back labor again but was definitely feeling it in my uterus as well, and these “up front” contractions were starting to burn badly.
6:00 pm
Another friend, Amy (from church), came by to check in on me, and Janet (from downstairs) came up, so it was becoming quite a party. I was glad we had made a double recipe of chili in the crockpot that morning (yes, still nesting!) so we all ate dinner together and everyone watched me hoo-hawing through contractions every few minutes. By this point they were so bad that I had to stop everything, close my eyes and just breathe through them. They were no longer exciting indications that labor was coming; by now I could barely even think straight and somehow was still in denial that this was the real thing. I figured I’d still be sleeping in my own bed that night and would endure another day of contractions Thursday, only to be induced Friday.
7:00-9:30pm
Eric went to work for a few hours; Becca and Amy stayed to keep me company. Becca ran home and grabbed a bunch of chick flicks…and after unanimously agreeing on a movie we knew all of our husbands would hate, we stuck Save the Last Dance in the DVD player and sat down to enjoy. Well, I enjoyed about every few minutes of the movie…during these two hours my contractions were getting closer and closer together. The odd thing is that this time period is kind of a blur in my memory; I have a vague recollection of Amy writing down the intervals of my contractions, and of Becca transforming from girlhood friend to professional birth coach every few minutes, and I remember enduring one particularly difficult contraction and saying to Becca through tears and shut eyes, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this!!” After which point she said something to Amy, who apparently went and called Eric and told him to hurry home. And I have a fuzzy memory of hearing Becca on the phone with the Labor and Delivery Unit at the hospital, telling them I would be coming in; and I remember thinking, “Great, they’re just going to send me home.” (HA!)
This is when the bustle of activity began. Eric arrived home and started packing up cameras and other odds and ends. Rob and Janet came up and got Jack’s monitor and his six-page instructional manual I had typed earlier that week (come on people, I got it down to six pages from ten!!). Amy started cleaning up dinner dishes and Becca began following me around asking what I needed to pack. I was in such a fog that I literally found myself standing in my bedroom, looking around the room, having NO CLUE what to do next. Thankfully, since I’m such a dork, I had made out a list of every item that still needed to be put into my bag, so like a robot I found these things and handed them to Becca…pausing every 3-4 minutes for a long, hard, terribly painful contraction.
10:20 pm
Eric and I left for the hospital. As we got in the car I told him he’d better drive fast, not because I thought I was going to have this baby in the car, but because I didn’t want to have any more contractions than necessary while driving. (To the moms out there: aren’t car contractions the WORST? And don’t even get me started on the railroad tracks…I yelled out to Eric, “SLOW DOWN!! SLOW DOWN!!” and he looked at me in confusion as we drove over the tracks at 2 miles per hour as I hoo-hawed through a contraction…)
10:35 pm
Arrived at the hospital…I was in a lot of pain and couldn’t even find it in me to make kind small talk with the desk receptionist who wheeled me up to Labor and Delivery, with the nurses who took me to my room, or even with my husband. I posed for one last picture (since this poor child doesn’t have more than 2-3 in-utero pics of my belly)—FORCING a smile—and then changed into my oh-so-NOT-glamorous hospital gown and got into bed.
Looking around the room I realized this was not the same delivery-type room that I had been in with Jack; I asked the nurse about it and she said they were all full, but that this room could be transformed into a delivery room if necessary, and that she had already delivered a baby in that same room earlier in the evening. Remembering my hospital experience with Jack (at the hospital for almost 17 hours before delivering him) I figured by the time I had this baby there’d be a delivery room open. How wrong I was.
She cheerfully announced that she was going to “check me” (something I assure you is NOT a cheery experience) and see where things were. You might remember my previous weeks of being “checked” and told nothing was happening down there... I told her as she was doing her thing that if I was not dilated more than two cm, then she had to LIE to me. At least a three, I begged. After an uncomfortable minute or two she said, “What did you want to be? A three?” Pause. “How about a seven?” I was ELATED.
Then, with her hand still inside me, she yells to another nurse in the hall, “Can somebody please page Dr. Kagan? We don’t have much time in here.” Now my elation turned to a little bit of panic. Before I could ask questions, another contraction came and, with the nurse’s hand STILL inside me, Eric rubbed my head and assured me I was doing great…at the end of this contraction other nurses had arrived, and I remember hearing the nurse with her hand in me tell another nurse that I had already contracted to an 8, with a “bulging” bag of water, and that if she took her hand out my water would break. (i.e. the contractions would intensify, labor would progress—all very quickly)
11:00pm-12:15 am
My memory of the next hour is quite hazy as I had my eyes closed for much of it, partly due to the insanely bright fluorescent lights above me, but mainly because of the scale of pain I was in…the contractions were coming one on top of the other now, and I barely had time in between to talk to anyone or even look around the room.
We were told there might not be time for an epidural, but they’d do what they could. The nurse finally (and gently) took her hand out, and then announced that there was “a bit” of green fluid down there, which might be an indication that the baby had passed her first bowel movement inside (which Jack did also) and so they were going to call the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) team in for the delivery. Great…another four people to squeeze into the room.
Next I heard nurses calling out to one another, “I need one of these, two of those, don’t need that, syringe for that, saline bag, tubing, tape…” as they transformed this room, yet again, into a delivery room. The doctor came in at some point and checked me…I was 100% effaced, 0 station, and almost dilated to 10 cm (full dilation). They were working frantically to get my IV started, and I found myself SO worried that in their rush they would miss my vein and I would be the victim of multi-poking before they got it right. Thank goodness my nurse was brilliant and she got it on round one.
The anesthesiologist finally made his way in, and told me he would do his best but that we didn’t have a lot of time. Greaaaat.
I have to say that one of the WORST experiences ever is having a contraction WHILE you are receiving your epidural. You have to lean forward and curl over into a ball, and hold still like your life (or ability to walk) depended on it…all the while wanting to scream and writhe in pain as your uterus burns and contracts. It is almost worth NOT getting the epidural at that point.
I was told it could take up to 15 or 20 minutes for it to “kick in.” That sounded like an eternity to me. Especially since I was beginning to experience a phenomenon I had only read about, but never experienced myself: I began to feel the intense urge to PUSH. I panicked, yet again, and talked to myself in my head… “If you tell them you need to push, they will make you push now, and the epidural isn’t working yet. Just wait a few more minutes…just hold it in…you can do this!!”
It was a few minutes later that in desperation I yelled out to no one in particular, “IS THIS THING GONNA WORK??” by which, of course, I meant, “Is the epidural going to take away the pain any time soon, because I’m ready to push but I don’t want to push unless the epidural has kicked in, so please, when will it start to work so we can get this labor going??” I don’t even remember if anyone responded to my question; I was already into another contraction at this point.
The doctor came in again, this time in full scrubs and masked, which further freaked me out because I knew it meant we were approaching the end. As the bed was being transformed for delivery and there was talk of “pushing when you’re ready” I just about had a meltdown, realizing this was it; there was no pain relief to be found. I was going to have to do this naturally.
Now, I have nothing against people giving birth naturally; in fact, I think it’s amazing and I was so proud of my sister for doing it. But me? I had never planned on this and so hadn’t given it much thought…and here I was confronted with what seemed to me to be an ENORMOUS feat ahead of me—and I felt near panic.
The doc checked me again and broke my water, and suddenly, after being at the hospital for 1 ½ hours, it was time to push. I kept crying out, “My back, my back!” and finally one of the nurses gently said to me, “Honey, I’m sorry to tell you this but if you’re having back labor pains then the epidural isn’t going to take those away; the epidural takes away the pain, and you are feeling the pressure from the baby laying on your back.” I wanted to quit then and there (as well as hit somebody). Why in the WORLD didn’t she tell me that before I went ahead and got the stupid epidural? Instead they gave me false hope that soon I would feel better…only to be then told that actually, it’s not going to help much at all. I was so, so mad, as well as a little afraid. All those stories about women getting to the hospital and not having time for an epidural—that was me!! I didn’t want that to be me!!
November 16th—12:15-1:00 am
Ellie's Birthday
And so, the pushing began. And continued. I thought my back would break in two. I wanted to scream things so mean and wrong and not-kind, but instead I just cried. The fluorescent lights above me were so bright that I kept my eyes closed almost the whole time. I remember panicking, once again, at one point because I realized that no epidural effects meant that I would probably be able to feel the “ring of fire” (i.e. when the head is crowning) and also that I might feel them cut me for an episiotomy…and these two thoughts made me SO afraid.
What was amazing about this part, the pushing part, is that I could feel her coming down! I felt her head as it moved, and she also twisted around a lot in there, which I could feel. And every time I leaned forward for a push, I could feel her feet pushing back against my ribs, as if she were helping me from the inside. I did feel her head come out, but didn’t feel any rings of fire or episiotomy cuts (turns out I didn’t need one, thank goodness). I remember Eric counting through one of my pushes, and as he neared ten he said, “7-8-9-we have a baby!!” To which I cried out, “All of her?” I remember knowing how stupid it sounded, but I didn’t know if that meant her head was out, or that he could see her head, or that she was mostly out, or if I was, in fact, done. Because funnily enough…the epidural was finally kicking in as I pushed her little body out—so once she was out I could not feel my legs or toes or anything “down there.” Imagine that!
I finally opened my eyes long enough to glimpse a tiny white body being whisked over to the NICU table where they checked her for meconium in the lungs (turned out she did NOT poop inside). They cleaned her up and cleared her lungs from the amniotic fluid; she was weighed and measured and scored (passed the Apgar with flying colors) and finally brought over to me to hold.
Is there any way to adequately describe what it feels like to hold your baby for the first time? No. Not in a million years. It is truly one of those indescribable parts of life; an experience so wonderful and overwhelming and intensely personal and private that it doesn’t even seem fair to try and explain it. There are myriad emotions, hormones, smells, touches, sounds all present—it is a very sensory moment, which I am certain helps us to remember it distinctly. The way they look into your eyes, searching for you. The way they smell strangely familiar. The little sounds and gurgles, and even their cry—all precious to you immediately. The warm little body against your skin; feeling their little heart beat beneath their very pink, wrinkled skin. The first time their finger wraps around yours. Simply wonderful.
1:00-4:00 am
We spent the next three hours in recovery, then moving to the Mother Baby Unit, being observed and tested, resting (or trying to) and settling in. We finally decided on a name; we were pretty certain we would use “Elisabeth” in some way, shape, or form; after trying out a few of our top picks on her we decided that her squishy, scrunchy newborn face didn’t really look like much more than a little alien creature. (Am I allowed to say that?) So there wasn’t as much of a “she looks like a _____” moment as I had expected. We finally agreed on a name we have loved all along, and have danced around ever since finding out we were having a girl…Elisabeth Kate, with “Ellie” for the nickname. Actually, on our way home from the 20 week sonogram we were so excited about having a girl, and at one point Eric said, “Little Ellie.” And we both just melted. So it seemed just fitting that she ended up with the first name we tried on her.
Around 4am we decided that Eric should just go ahead and go home so that he could be with Jack that day. When I was in the hospital with Jack I remember not wanting Eric to leave my side; this time around I felt really good about him going home—there’s something in the Mommy part of me that longed for one of us to be with Jack. I missed him already. Eric left, promising to bring Jack in as soon as possible the next day.
Between all of the vitals checks, breastfeeding attempts, uterus-checking…I got about a total of one hour sleep that night.
Thursday-Friday
Thursday was filled with phone calls, visitors, lots of pink, and very little rest. The highlight of the day was around lunchtime when Eric arrived with Jack. Everyone talks about how big your firstborn looks after your second is born; for some odd reason I did not experience this feeling—Jack looked just as he always does to me, a rambunctious, busy toddler. He was excited to see me, was more excited to see the TV in the room, and didn’t even notice Ellie. He sat next to me on the bed, where he discovered there were BUTTONS that made the bed move, much to his delight. He then found my cell phone on the table, next to the TV remote control, Daddy’s phone, the hospital phone, and our cameras. He was in button heaven.
At one point Ellie started to cry and flail her arms in her little bassinette; Jack did pause long enough to look, but didn’t seem to have any interest. We even tried to put her in his lap and he pushed her away saying, “No, no!” It was amusing to see his lack of interest, knowing that could well change very soon.
My parents also arrived during lunchtime, which added to the family fun. It’s always a joy to place your child in your own mother’s arms; another one of those hallmark moments in life. My mom appropriately wore a pink shirt, so she and Ellie matched beautifully. Dad, of course, is a pro with baby girls, having had two himself; for some reason, watching him hold Ellie reminded me of pictures of him holding me when I was a newborn, more so than when he held Jack for the first time. Must be a father-daughter thing.
Thursday was a long day, and I looked forward to sleeping that night. Unfortunately, Ellie had other ideas, and she was awake and hungry most of that night. So as Friday dawned…I hadn’t slept much in a few days. Can we say borderline delirious?
Had a few more visitors on Friday, including Rob and Janet and the ever-popular Simeon. I think Simeon missed me more than Jack, judging from his big, sweet hug. The boys ran all over the room, excited to see one another and to be in such an exotic place. It was a joy, too, watching Rob and Janet meet Ellie, as they have become almost like aunt and uncle to our family. It was a special time.
I was told that I could stay another night and come home Saturday, but I was so exhausted and annoyed at being interrupted every other minute to sign some paper, have my temperature taken, my uterus monitored, asked if I wanted my baby’s picture taken in some cheesy hospital photo, and asked repeatedly about vaccinations, flu shots, and whether or not I wanted to go to the discharge class (i.e. parenting for dummies). I finally told the doctor that I really wanted to go home that night, and she gave me the ok.
We got home around 6ish to find Rob and Janet had cooked a YUMMY meal of grilled steaks and mashed potatoes…it was so delicious! And we were grateful not to have to think about cooking that night. (Thanks, guys!!) After eating and calming the over-excited boys down, we got Jack in bed and settled in for a good snuggle with our newest child.
So there you have it. The long-winded version. Hope it was all you dreamed of and more. J (Probably just “more”) Thank you for reading and walking back through the journey with me. I have loved thinking back over all the details and relishing the miracle of it all. God, once again, has astounded us with His creation. We are blessed and humbled by the responsibility given to us in the gifts of our children, and we pray that we will be faithful in surrendering them to Him over the years, and in teaching them the joys of serving Him, as well as living lives that display our love for Him. May they each grow to be “called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of His splendor.” (Isaiah 61:3)
Tuesday, November 14th
I woke up to more contractions, but these felt different than the Braxton Hicks contractions I’d been feeling for weeks. They were a bit more painful and lasted longer. Got my “second wind” of nesting instinct and spent the day cleaning, organizing, and assuming “this was it.” But the contractions never came too close together, so we just stayed home, went to bed that evening, and figured we might go to the hospital during the night.
Wednesday, November 15th
5:00 am
I woke up to much stronger and even more painful contractions. I laid in bed timing them; they were coming every 10 minutes for awhile, and then I had 3 contractions in 8 minutes. I got up and got in the shower, thinking for sure that today would be the day. After my shower and breakfast, however, they stopped coming so frequently and I was so disappointed. Went back to sleep for a little bit.
9am-12pm
Contractions were coming about 3 per hour on average, but they were getting longer (lasting about 1-1 ½ minutes each) and were also getting stronger and more painful—i.e. it was getting harder to do anything while I was in the middle of one. I was confused because they were increasing in strength and length, which is a sign of real labor, but were decreasing in frequency, which is a sign of false labor. I called two different friends who are doulas (birth coaches) and asked their opinion. Both said I was most likely in early labor and probably had awhile to go, and that I should stay home while I could because if we went to the hospital now, they would most likely rush me and start pitocin—and wouldn’t I rather see how things went on their own? Yes—I did NOT want to be induced or “rushed”—so Eric and I just kind of sat around that day, wondering if Eric should go to work at all.
2:00-4:00 pm
I started to time my contractions again because they seemed to be coming more often. Sat on couch and watched TV for two hours; when I looked at my list of times I realized the contractions had come consistently, ten minutes apart, for the past two hours…this was progress! Within the next hour they started coming every 8 minutes or so.
5:00 pm
My friend Becca (friend from childhood and also my doula during Jack’s labor) brought her daughter Samantha over and we took the kids for a walk. Experienced multiple contractions during the walk. By now I was having trouble even talking during the contractions. I was feeling them very strongly in my lower back, but also in my lower abdomen which was a new experience for me...I had back labor with Jack and I got my epidural before I really even felt the contractions in my uterus—that or the back labor was so bad that I didn’t even notice the uterine contractions! Anyway, this time I was having back labor again but was definitely feeling it in my uterus as well, and these “up front” contractions were starting to burn badly.
6:00 pm
Another friend, Amy (from church), came by to check in on me, and Janet (from downstairs) came up, so it was becoming quite a party. I was glad we had made a double recipe of chili in the crockpot that morning (yes, still nesting!) so we all ate dinner together and everyone watched me hoo-hawing through contractions every few minutes. By this point they were so bad that I had to stop everything, close my eyes and just breathe through them. They were no longer exciting indications that labor was coming; by now I could barely even think straight and somehow was still in denial that this was the real thing. I figured I’d still be sleeping in my own bed that night and would endure another day of contractions Thursday, only to be induced Friday.
7:00-9:30pm
Eric went to work for a few hours; Becca and Amy stayed to keep me company. Becca ran home and grabbed a bunch of chick flicks…and after unanimously agreeing on a movie we knew all of our husbands would hate, we stuck Save the Last Dance in the DVD player and sat down to enjoy. Well, I enjoyed about every few minutes of the movie…during these two hours my contractions were getting closer and closer together. The odd thing is that this time period is kind of a blur in my memory; I have a vague recollection of Amy writing down the intervals of my contractions, and of Becca transforming from girlhood friend to professional birth coach every few minutes, and I remember enduring one particularly difficult contraction and saying to Becca through tears and shut eyes, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this!!” After which point she said something to Amy, who apparently went and called Eric and told him to hurry home. And I have a fuzzy memory of hearing Becca on the phone with the Labor and Delivery Unit at the hospital, telling them I would be coming in; and I remember thinking, “Great, they’re just going to send me home.” (HA!)
This is when the bustle of activity began. Eric arrived home and started packing up cameras and other odds and ends. Rob and Janet came up and got Jack’s monitor and his six-page instructional manual I had typed earlier that week (come on people, I got it down to six pages from ten!!). Amy started cleaning up dinner dishes and Becca began following me around asking what I needed to pack. I was in such a fog that I literally found myself standing in my bedroom, looking around the room, having NO CLUE what to do next. Thankfully, since I’m such a dork, I had made out a list of every item that still needed to be put into my bag, so like a robot I found these things and handed them to Becca…pausing every 3-4 minutes for a long, hard, terribly painful contraction.
10:20 pm
Eric and I left for the hospital. As we got in the car I told him he’d better drive fast, not because I thought I was going to have this baby in the car, but because I didn’t want to have any more contractions than necessary while driving. (To the moms out there: aren’t car contractions the WORST? And don’t even get me started on the railroad tracks…I yelled out to Eric, “SLOW DOWN!! SLOW DOWN!!” and he looked at me in confusion as we drove over the tracks at 2 miles per hour as I hoo-hawed through a contraction…)
10:35 pm
Arrived at the hospital…I was in a lot of pain and couldn’t even find it in me to make kind small talk with the desk receptionist who wheeled me up to Labor and Delivery, with the nurses who took me to my room, or even with my husband. I posed for one last picture (since this poor child doesn’t have more than 2-3 in-utero pics of my belly)—FORCING a smile—and then changed into my oh-so-NOT-glamorous hospital gown and got into bed.
Looking around the room I realized this was not the same delivery-type room that I had been in with Jack; I asked the nurse about it and she said they were all full, but that this room could be transformed into a delivery room if necessary, and that she had already delivered a baby in that same room earlier in the evening. Remembering my hospital experience with Jack (at the hospital for almost 17 hours before delivering him) I figured by the time I had this baby there’d be a delivery room open. How wrong I was.
She cheerfully announced that she was going to “check me” (something I assure you is NOT a cheery experience) and see where things were. You might remember my previous weeks of being “checked” and told nothing was happening down there... I told her as she was doing her thing that if I was not dilated more than two cm, then she had to LIE to me. At least a three, I begged. After an uncomfortable minute or two she said, “What did you want to be? A three?” Pause. “How about a seven?” I was ELATED.
Then, with her hand still inside me, she yells to another nurse in the hall, “Can somebody please page Dr. Kagan? We don’t have much time in here.” Now my elation turned to a little bit of panic. Before I could ask questions, another contraction came and, with the nurse’s hand STILL inside me, Eric rubbed my head and assured me I was doing great…at the end of this contraction other nurses had arrived, and I remember hearing the nurse with her hand in me tell another nurse that I had already contracted to an 8, with a “bulging” bag of water, and that if she took her hand out my water would break. (i.e. the contractions would intensify, labor would progress—all very quickly)
11:00pm-12:15 am
My memory of the next hour is quite hazy as I had my eyes closed for much of it, partly due to the insanely bright fluorescent lights above me, but mainly because of the scale of pain I was in…the contractions were coming one on top of the other now, and I barely had time in between to talk to anyone or even look around the room.
We were told there might not be time for an epidural, but they’d do what they could. The nurse finally (and gently) took her hand out, and then announced that there was “a bit” of green fluid down there, which might be an indication that the baby had passed her first bowel movement inside (which Jack did also) and so they were going to call the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) team in for the delivery. Great…another four people to squeeze into the room.
Next I heard nurses calling out to one another, “I need one of these, two of those, don’t need that, syringe for that, saline bag, tubing, tape…” as they transformed this room, yet again, into a delivery room. The doctor came in at some point and checked me…I was 100% effaced, 0 station, and almost dilated to 10 cm (full dilation). They were working frantically to get my IV started, and I found myself SO worried that in their rush they would miss my vein and I would be the victim of multi-poking before they got it right. Thank goodness my nurse was brilliant and she got it on round one.
The anesthesiologist finally made his way in, and told me he would do his best but that we didn’t have a lot of time. Greaaaat.
I have to say that one of the WORST experiences ever is having a contraction WHILE you are receiving your epidural. You have to lean forward and curl over into a ball, and hold still like your life (or ability to walk) depended on it…all the while wanting to scream and writhe in pain as your uterus burns and contracts. It is almost worth NOT getting the epidural at that point.
I was told it could take up to 15 or 20 minutes for it to “kick in.” That sounded like an eternity to me. Especially since I was beginning to experience a phenomenon I had only read about, but never experienced myself: I began to feel the intense urge to PUSH. I panicked, yet again, and talked to myself in my head… “If you tell them you need to push, they will make you push now, and the epidural isn’t working yet. Just wait a few more minutes…just hold it in…you can do this!!”
It was a few minutes later that in desperation I yelled out to no one in particular, “IS THIS THING GONNA WORK??” by which, of course, I meant, “Is the epidural going to take away the pain any time soon, because I’m ready to push but I don’t want to push unless the epidural has kicked in, so please, when will it start to work so we can get this labor going??” I don’t even remember if anyone responded to my question; I was already into another contraction at this point.
The doctor came in again, this time in full scrubs and masked, which further freaked me out because I knew it meant we were approaching the end. As the bed was being transformed for delivery and there was talk of “pushing when you’re ready” I just about had a meltdown, realizing this was it; there was no pain relief to be found. I was going to have to do this naturally.
Now, I have nothing against people giving birth naturally; in fact, I think it’s amazing and I was so proud of my sister for doing it. But me? I had never planned on this and so hadn’t given it much thought…and here I was confronted with what seemed to me to be an ENORMOUS feat ahead of me—and I felt near panic.
The doc checked me again and broke my water, and suddenly, after being at the hospital for 1 ½ hours, it was time to push. I kept crying out, “My back, my back!” and finally one of the nurses gently said to me, “Honey, I’m sorry to tell you this but if you’re having back labor pains then the epidural isn’t going to take those away; the epidural takes away the pain, and you are feeling the pressure from the baby laying on your back.” I wanted to quit then and there (as well as hit somebody). Why in the WORLD didn’t she tell me that before I went ahead and got the stupid epidural? Instead they gave me false hope that soon I would feel better…only to be then told that actually, it’s not going to help much at all. I was so, so mad, as well as a little afraid. All those stories about women getting to the hospital and not having time for an epidural—that was me!! I didn’t want that to be me!!
November 16th—12:15-1:00 am
Ellie's Birthday
And so, the pushing began. And continued. I thought my back would break in two. I wanted to scream things so mean and wrong and not-kind, but instead I just cried. The fluorescent lights above me were so bright that I kept my eyes closed almost the whole time. I remember panicking, once again, at one point because I realized that no epidural effects meant that I would probably be able to feel the “ring of fire” (i.e. when the head is crowning) and also that I might feel them cut me for an episiotomy…and these two thoughts made me SO afraid.
What was amazing about this part, the pushing part, is that I could feel her coming down! I felt her head as it moved, and she also twisted around a lot in there, which I could feel. And every time I leaned forward for a push, I could feel her feet pushing back against my ribs, as if she were helping me from the inside. I did feel her head come out, but didn’t feel any rings of fire or episiotomy cuts (turns out I didn’t need one, thank goodness). I remember Eric counting through one of my pushes, and as he neared ten he said, “7-8-9-we have a baby!!” To which I cried out, “All of her?” I remember knowing how stupid it sounded, but I didn’t know if that meant her head was out, or that he could see her head, or that she was mostly out, or if I was, in fact, done. Because funnily enough…the epidural was finally kicking in as I pushed her little body out—so once she was out I could not feel my legs or toes or anything “down there.” Imagine that!
I finally opened my eyes long enough to glimpse a tiny white body being whisked over to the NICU table where they checked her for meconium in the lungs (turned out she did NOT poop inside). They cleaned her up and cleared her lungs from the amniotic fluid; she was weighed and measured and scored (passed the Apgar with flying colors) and finally brought over to me to hold.
Is there any way to adequately describe what it feels like to hold your baby for the first time? No. Not in a million years. It is truly one of those indescribable parts of life; an experience so wonderful and overwhelming and intensely personal and private that it doesn’t even seem fair to try and explain it. There are myriad emotions, hormones, smells, touches, sounds all present—it is a very sensory moment, which I am certain helps us to remember it distinctly. The way they look into your eyes, searching for you. The way they smell strangely familiar. The little sounds and gurgles, and even their cry—all precious to you immediately. The warm little body against your skin; feeling their little heart beat beneath their very pink, wrinkled skin. The first time their finger wraps around yours. Simply wonderful.
1:00-4:00 am
We spent the next three hours in recovery, then moving to the Mother Baby Unit, being observed and tested, resting (or trying to) and settling in. We finally decided on a name; we were pretty certain we would use “Elisabeth” in some way, shape, or form; after trying out a few of our top picks on her we decided that her squishy, scrunchy newborn face didn’t really look like much more than a little alien creature. (Am I allowed to say that?) So there wasn’t as much of a “she looks like a _____” moment as I had expected. We finally agreed on a name we have loved all along, and have danced around ever since finding out we were having a girl…Elisabeth Kate, with “Ellie” for the nickname. Actually, on our way home from the 20 week sonogram we were so excited about having a girl, and at one point Eric said, “Little Ellie.” And we both just melted. So it seemed just fitting that she ended up with the first name we tried on her.
Around 4am we decided that Eric should just go ahead and go home so that he could be with Jack that day. When I was in the hospital with Jack I remember not wanting Eric to leave my side; this time around I felt really good about him going home—there’s something in the Mommy part of me that longed for one of us to be with Jack. I missed him already. Eric left, promising to bring Jack in as soon as possible the next day.
Between all of the vitals checks, breastfeeding attempts, uterus-checking…I got about a total of one hour sleep that night.
Thursday-Friday
Thursday was filled with phone calls, visitors, lots of pink, and very little rest. The highlight of the day was around lunchtime when Eric arrived with Jack. Everyone talks about how big your firstborn looks after your second is born; for some odd reason I did not experience this feeling—Jack looked just as he always does to me, a rambunctious, busy toddler. He was excited to see me, was more excited to see the TV in the room, and didn’t even notice Ellie. He sat next to me on the bed, where he discovered there were BUTTONS that made the bed move, much to his delight. He then found my cell phone on the table, next to the TV remote control, Daddy’s phone, the hospital phone, and our cameras. He was in button heaven.
At one point Ellie started to cry and flail her arms in her little bassinette; Jack did pause long enough to look, but didn’t seem to have any interest. We even tried to put her in his lap and he pushed her away saying, “No, no!” It was amusing to see his lack of interest, knowing that could well change very soon.
My parents also arrived during lunchtime, which added to the family fun. It’s always a joy to place your child in your own mother’s arms; another one of those hallmark moments in life. My mom appropriately wore a pink shirt, so she and Ellie matched beautifully. Dad, of course, is a pro with baby girls, having had two himself; for some reason, watching him hold Ellie reminded me of pictures of him holding me when I was a newborn, more so than when he held Jack for the first time. Must be a father-daughter thing.
Thursday was a long day, and I looked forward to sleeping that night. Unfortunately, Ellie had other ideas, and she was awake and hungry most of that night. So as Friday dawned…I hadn’t slept much in a few days. Can we say borderline delirious?
Had a few more visitors on Friday, including Rob and Janet and the ever-popular Simeon. I think Simeon missed me more than Jack, judging from his big, sweet hug. The boys ran all over the room, excited to see one another and to be in such an exotic place. It was a joy, too, watching Rob and Janet meet Ellie, as they have become almost like aunt and uncle to our family. It was a special time.
I was told that I could stay another night and come home Saturday, but I was so exhausted and annoyed at being interrupted every other minute to sign some paper, have my temperature taken, my uterus monitored, asked if I wanted my baby’s picture taken in some cheesy hospital photo, and asked repeatedly about vaccinations, flu shots, and whether or not I wanted to go to the discharge class (i.e. parenting for dummies). I finally told the doctor that I really wanted to go home that night, and she gave me the ok.
We got home around 6ish to find Rob and Janet had cooked a YUMMY meal of grilled steaks and mashed potatoes…it was so delicious! And we were grateful not to have to think about cooking that night. (Thanks, guys!!) After eating and calming the over-excited boys down, we got Jack in bed and settled in for a good snuggle with our newest child.
So there you have it. The long-winded version. Hope it was all you dreamed of and more. J (Probably just “more”) Thank you for reading and walking back through the journey with me. I have loved thinking back over all the details and relishing the miracle of it all. God, once again, has astounded us with His creation. We are blessed and humbled by the responsibility given to us in the gifts of our children, and we pray that we will be faithful in surrendering them to Him over the years, and in teaching them the joys of serving Him, as well as living lives that display our love for Him. May they each grow to be “called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of His splendor.” (Isaiah 61:3)
Monday, November 20, 2006
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Friday, November 17, 2006
A Baby Story: He Said
In case you haven’t heard, Elisabeth Kate Durbin entered the air-breathing world Thursday November 16 at 1:00 am. I thought I’d briefly tell my experience of the birth of our first daughter since I’m home with Jackson tonight. Brave Annika is recuperating in the hospital, both physically and psychologically. If you’ve never done that before, I’ll give you the simple recipe: icepack on the birth canal and a snuggly 23-hour-old girl on the chest – repeat as necessary.
Most of Annika’s labor happened at home, so as opposed to the 19-hour process for Jack (most of which has been captured on riveting video, available on VHS or DVD), we were virtually in and out of the delivery room (pun not intended, but not objected to). The labor and delivery floor was also undergoing construction, so we were shoved into a make-shift room – some kind of utility closet with leg stirrups. The nurse also smelled baby poop, so she called in a three-person neonatology team. Those three, the nurse, her two assistants, the OB, and the anesthesiologist crowded the room a great deal as we gathered around the bed while avoiding the mop bucket and spray bottles. I think I bumped into each of the medical staff at least twice. I also crashed into the baby warmer, squeezed a saline bag, knocked over a syringe, yanked some fetal-monitor cords, and kicked the mop over.
It was over relatively quickly, though, considering Annika’s been contracting since July. One unfortunate aspect of going to the hospital at 8 cm dilation (that’s out of 10, fellas) is that there is really no time for anesthesia. They were the first words from Annika’s lips, but it takes a while to get that sort of thing set up. By the last stage of labor, the epidural may have taken the edge off the pain, but I’ve never seen my wife hurting that much. There was one very scary moment for me during all the contracting and pushing and miracle-of-life stuff that caught me by surprise. The delivery staff had rigged up all kinds of bright lighting in the utility closet, so Annika had her eyes closed most of the labor as she concentrated through the pain. At one point, however, after she desperately shot out a credential-undressing exasperation at the man who supposedly squirted numbness into her spine – Is this thing gonna work?! – she struggled through a difficult contraction and looked at me.
This look is forever burned on my memory. It sort of reminded me of those stories I heard of Jack’s early vaccinations. After a couple months of life, your infant learns your voice and your care style and completely trusts your interest in its wellbeing. Jack fell in line with this norm until the day his loving mother pinned down his arms and legs while people in stark white lab coats jabbed him with sharp sticks full of sulfur and hot liquid magma. That look of confusion, of wide-eyed betrayal, is enough to break anyone’s heart. Annika looked at me with similar eyes, although hers had a deeper understanding; I think that’s what scared me. She knew I wasn’t causing the pain. She knew I couldn’t do anything to prevent the pain. It wasn’t even an accusatory look of blame for the seminal cause (pun definitely intended) of this event some 41 weeks ago. No, the wise eyes with which she pierced my spirit seemed to me goodbye eyes. With an acute gaze, my valiant wife was telling me that childbirth is more painful than she ever imagined (even having successfully trodden one), that she didn’t think she could take any more, and that, in the words of J.R.R. Tolkien, the quest will claim [her] life.
Well, scared as I was, I offered a feverish prayer for God’s sustenance, and the good news is that Annika, Ellie, and Frodo triumphed beautifully. We now have a brand new Durbin and are enjoying the first hours of getting to know her. Already she seems so different than Jack. I remember even the first days of his life as very characteristic of whom he has become. Our stories of his aversion to snuggling are well-documented; even from birth Jackson preferred to lift his head away from our bodies and look around, probably for the television remote or a cell phone. Ellie has enjoyed swaddling, cuddling, nuzzling, and pampering this first day in the open atmosphere. In contrast, she has also displayed some angry cries and genuine disapproval of anything cold or prickly. I guess every younger sibling needs some of that to survive the home. We are confident that God has formed her just as he ought, and we are excited to learn more about what he threw in the mix.
The cameras are still at the hospital, but you can expect some pictures very soon, as well as a mother’s perspective on this particular birth experience. Blessings on you all.
Most of Annika’s labor happened at home, so as opposed to the 19-hour process for Jack (most of which has been captured on riveting video, available on VHS or DVD), we were virtually in and out of the delivery room (pun not intended, but not objected to). The labor and delivery floor was also undergoing construction, so we were shoved into a make-shift room – some kind of utility closet with leg stirrups. The nurse also smelled baby poop, so she called in a three-person neonatology team. Those three, the nurse, her two assistants, the OB, and the anesthesiologist crowded the room a great deal as we gathered around the bed while avoiding the mop bucket and spray bottles. I think I bumped into each of the medical staff at least twice. I also crashed into the baby warmer, squeezed a saline bag, knocked over a syringe, yanked some fetal-monitor cords, and kicked the mop over.
It was over relatively quickly, though, considering Annika’s been contracting since July. One unfortunate aspect of going to the hospital at 8 cm dilation (that’s out of 10, fellas) is that there is really no time for anesthesia. They were the first words from Annika’s lips, but it takes a while to get that sort of thing set up. By the last stage of labor, the epidural may have taken the edge off the pain, but I’ve never seen my wife hurting that much. There was one very scary moment for me during all the contracting and pushing and miracle-of-life stuff that caught me by surprise. The delivery staff had rigged up all kinds of bright lighting in the utility closet, so Annika had her eyes closed most of the labor as she concentrated through the pain. At one point, however, after she desperately shot out a credential-undressing exasperation at the man who supposedly squirted numbness into her spine – Is this thing gonna work?! – she struggled through a difficult contraction and looked at me.
This look is forever burned on my memory. It sort of reminded me of those stories I heard of Jack’s early vaccinations. After a couple months of life, your infant learns your voice and your care style and completely trusts your interest in its wellbeing. Jack fell in line with this norm until the day his loving mother pinned down his arms and legs while people in stark white lab coats jabbed him with sharp sticks full of sulfur and hot liquid magma. That look of confusion, of wide-eyed betrayal, is enough to break anyone’s heart. Annika looked at me with similar eyes, although hers had a deeper understanding; I think that’s what scared me. She knew I wasn’t causing the pain. She knew I couldn’t do anything to prevent the pain. It wasn’t even an accusatory look of blame for the seminal cause (pun definitely intended) of this event some 41 weeks ago. No, the wise eyes with which she pierced my spirit seemed to me goodbye eyes. With an acute gaze, my valiant wife was telling me that childbirth is more painful than she ever imagined (even having successfully trodden one), that she didn’t think she could take any more, and that, in the words of J.R.R. Tolkien, the quest will claim [her] life.
Well, scared as I was, I offered a feverish prayer for God’s sustenance, and the good news is that Annika, Ellie, and Frodo triumphed beautifully. We now have a brand new Durbin and are enjoying the first hours of getting to know her. Already she seems so different than Jack. I remember even the first days of his life as very characteristic of whom he has become. Our stories of his aversion to snuggling are well-documented; even from birth Jackson preferred to lift his head away from our bodies and look around, probably for the television remote or a cell phone. Ellie has enjoyed swaddling, cuddling, nuzzling, and pampering this first day in the open atmosphere. In contrast, she has also displayed some angry cries and genuine disapproval of anything cold or prickly. I guess every younger sibling needs some of that to survive the home. We are confident that God has formed her just as he ought, and we are excited to learn more about what he threw in the mix.
The cameras are still at the hospital, but you can expect some pictures very soon, as well as a mother’s perspective on this particular birth experience. Blessings on you all.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Just keeping track...
Weeks pregnant: 41+
Days overdue: 9
Hours slept last night: 8!!!! (It's about time!)
Rooms cleaned today: 5
Contractions felt per hour: 6 on average
Bowls of ice cream: 2
Trips to the bathroom: lost track
Hospital bags packed: 1 large
Seasame Street DVD's viewed today: 4
Messages on our answering machine from people assuming I'm in labor just because we're not home: 12
Times today my heart melted when my beautiful, firstborn son snuggled with me and hugged me and kissed my belly repeatedly: too many to count
Days overdue: 9
Hours slept last night: 8!!!! (It's about time!)
Rooms cleaned today: 5
Contractions felt per hour: 6 on average
Bowls of ice cream: 2
Trips to the bathroom: lost track
Hospital bags packed: 1 large
Seasame Street DVD's viewed today: 4
Messages on our answering machine from people assuming I'm in labor just because we're not home: 12
Times today my heart melted when my beautiful, firstborn son snuggled with me and hugged me and kissed my belly repeatedly: too many to count
Saturday, November 11, 2006
All in the Act
Move over Dakota Fanning! Take a seat Jonathan Lipnicki! The curtains are drawn, the audience sits in silent anticipation…as Jack Durbin takes the stage.
I’ve often wondered if child actors are born with natural talent or if they just have amazing coaches, pushy parents, and very patient directors. I’d imagine it’s a combination. I remember sitting in awe as I watched little Dakota in I Am Sam, and was impressed and charmed by Abigail Breslin in Signs. How in the world do these little children understand enough of the story and script to portray feelings and emotion through facial expression and particular delivery of lines? So impressive…at least I used to think so. Now I’m not so sure.
After observing Jack this past week I’ve started to wonder if it has more to do with just being a kid than any particular measure of “talent.” He’s pulled a few stunts recently that could be considered Oscar-worthy performances. For example, last week we were enjoying dinner at a friends’ house while Jack and their daughter Sophie played in the kitchen. Somehow Sophie managed to bang her head on the floor, causing myriad tears and garnering much affection and attention from all the adults. Jack watched in fascination, even coming over to check on her. Then, right before my eyes, he went back to the exact spot where Sophie had fallen, carefully laid down on the floor in the same position, and began to whimper this pathetic, obviously fake cry. While he laid there he turned his head slightly so that he could peek at Eric and me, and once he discovered we were watching him, he squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered a little bit louder, this time putting his hand to his head in dramatic fashion. He finally got up and came lumbering over to us, still holding his head and whimpering, all the while sporting a half-pout on his face. It was all quite impressive, and almost would have been sold on me if I hadn’t watched the whole thing play out, if I hadn’t seen his calculated moves and caught the hint of a smile in the corner of his little mouth. And of course the miraculous healing (a kiss from Mommy and Daddy) was a dead give away. But all in all, it was a job well done.
This was not an isolated incident, either; he’s performed repetitious “injuries” a number of times now, usually shadowing a tumble or bonk on the head of poor Simeon. It’s always amusing and very hard not to laugh and encourage this odd behavior. Today we were outside playing in the cold, wet leaf pile. We finally decided it was just a little too cold and wet and we began to pack up to go inside…unfortunately, Jack was not too happy with that decision and started to throw a fit. Eric set him down on the sidewalk; we were a little concerned that he would throw himself down on the hard, cold cement and consequently hurt himself, as he is used to throwing tantrums on nice, soft carpeted floors. Instead, he gently lowered himself to the ground, carefully laid down, and THEN continued screaming and kicking. We just burst out laughing.
One final example of our son’s amazing toddler antics. This evening, after being repeatedly told that, no, he could not watch another video, he pulled out all the stops in a moment of acting brilliance. Eric and I were sitting on the couch and he was walking around the living room pouting, recovering from an F-1 tantrum, when he suddenly spotted the remote control on the mantle. He exclaimed and pointed, and began to babble at Eric in this sing-song voice, all high and gentle, and you could almost make out words, “Oh, Daddy, look! I understand that we couldn’t watch a video before because we didn’t have the remote, but I FOUND it! Don’t you see? Daddy—I have come to the rescue! Now we can watch movies TOGETHER! Isn’t that so wonderful, Daddy?” What made this little sweet-talk so funny was that it was totally obvious that he was intentionally sweet-talking Eric…the sweet pats on the knee and the tippy-toes walk and sudden smiles, all after minutes of sulking and pouting. And as soon as we said, “No, baby, sorry,” his body language completely changed and he melted on the floor once again. But BOY was it a performance!
I’m starting to wonder if the likes of Fanning and Breslin and even those Olsen twins really do have talent beyond their age, or if they are, in fact, just acting their age. Because my son has had no professional coaching, no one telling him how to “act hurt,” no one shaping and forming his knack for tantrum drama. It just seems to be innate. But perhaps I shouldn’t knock the child-acting business…if Jack is that good—we could have college paid off with one gig. Hm…
Anyone know what Spielberg is working on these days?
I’ve often wondered if child actors are born with natural talent or if they just have amazing coaches, pushy parents, and very patient directors. I’d imagine it’s a combination. I remember sitting in awe as I watched little Dakota in I Am Sam, and was impressed and charmed by Abigail Breslin in Signs. How in the world do these little children understand enough of the story and script to portray feelings and emotion through facial expression and particular delivery of lines? So impressive…at least I used to think so. Now I’m not so sure.
After observing Jack this past week I’ve started to wonder if it has more to do with just being a kid than any particular measure of “talent.” He’s pulled a few stunts recently that could be considered Oscar-worthy performances. For example, last week we were enjoying dinner at a friends’ house while Jack and their daughter Sophie played in the kitchen. Somehow Sophie managed to bang her head on the floor, causing myriad tears and garnering much affection and attention from all the adults. Jack watched in fascination, even coming over to check on her. Then, right before my eyes, he went back to the exact spot where Sophie had fallen, carefully laid down on the floor in the same position, and began to whimper this pathetic, obviously fake cry. While he laid there he turned his head slightly so that he could peek at Eric and me, and once he discovered we were watching him, he squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered a little bit louder, this time putting his hand to his head in dramatic fashion. He finally got up and came lumbering over to us, still holding his head and whimpering, all the while sporting a half-pout on his face. It was all quite impressive, and almost would have been sold on me if I hadn’t watched the whole thing play out, if I hadn’t seen his calculated moves and caught the hint of a smile in the corner of his little mouth. And of course the miraculous healing (a kiss from Mommy and Daddy) was a dead give away. But all in all, it was a job well done.
This was not an isolated incident, either; he’s performed repetitious “injuries” a number of times now, usually shadowing a tumble or bonk on the head of poor Simeon. It’s always amusing and very hard not to laugh and encourage this odd behavior. Today we were outside playing in the cold, wet leaf pile. We finally decided it was just a little too cold and wet and we began to pack up to go inside…unfortunately, Jack was not too happy with that decision and started to throw a fit. Eric set him down on the sidewalk; we were a little concerned that he would throw himself down on the hard, cold cement and consequently hurt himself, as he is used to throwing tantrums on nice, soft carpeted floors. Instead, he gently lowered himself to the ground, carefully laid down, and THEN continued screaming and kicking. We just burst out laughing.
One final example of our son’s amazing toddler antics. This evening, after being repeatedly told that, no, he could not watch another video, he pulled out all the stops in a moment of acting brilliance. Eric and I were sitting on the couch and he was walking around the living room pouting, recovering from an F-1 tantrum, when he suddenly spotted the remote control on the mantle. He exclaimed and pointed, and began to babble at Eric in this sing-song voice, all high and gentle, and you could almost make out words, “Oh, Daddy, look! I understand that we couldn’t watch a video before because we didn’t have the remote, but I FOUND it! Don’t you see? Daddy—I have come to the rescue! Now we can watch movies TOGETHER! Isn’t that so wonderful, Daddy?” What made this little sweet-talk so funny was that it was totally obvious that he was intentionally sweet-talking Eric…the sweet pats on the knee and the tippy-toes walk and sudden smiles, all after minutes of sulking and pouting. And as soon as we said, “No, baby, sorry,” his body language completely changed and he melted on the floor once again. But BOY was it a performance!
I’m starting to wonder if the likes of Fanning and Breslin and even those Olsen twins really do have talent beyond their age, or if they are, in fact, just acting their age. Because my son has had no professional coaching, no one telling him how to “act hurt,” no one shaping and forming his knack for tantrum drama. It just seems to be innate. But perhaps I shouldn’t knock the child-acting business…if Jack is that good—we could have college paid off with one gig. Hm…
Anyone know what Spielberg is working on these days?
Friday, November 10, 2006
Still waiting...
Lest you think we haven't posted because we're in the hospital, I thought I'd post a boring update: still no baby, still having contractions, still bored. Any good reading suggestions??
Days overdue: 5
Days overdue: 5
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
T-minus 10 days
Just to keep you all up-to-date: if all else fails, I am scheduled to be induced on Friday, November 17th. That's another ten days of pregnancy...ugh. I was officially due yesterday, so the 17th puts me at being almost two weeks overdue! Madness! BUT, in the "things I'm thankful for" category, my two favorite doctors from our OBGYN practice will be on call that day, so it seemed like the best option. I'm not wild about the idea of being induced, but the doc I spoke with yesterday was very considerate of my wishes and didn't press me to induce any sooner. (However, I admit a very small part of me would like to be induced tonight...) Please keep us in your prayers; Jack has been sick, so he's been keeping us up at night (although I think I would probably be up anyway with all the rolling and stretching my second child is doing, and of course all of the contractions that keep me awake). We're pretty sleep-deprived right now, and each day gets a little harder on me physically. Pray for safety in delivery and for sanity afterwards! If you could specifically pray that she would turn--so that we wouldn't have another sunny-side up delivery--that would be especially appreciated. While you're on your knees, maybe pray that she comes SOONER than next Friday? :) Thank you all for your phone calls and well-wishes! We'll keep you posted!
P.S. My sanity-saver of the day: When I asked my dad who he voted for in the govenor's race today, he said that he didn't like either option on the ticket, so he wrote in his own: Lovey Smith. (aka The fabulous Chicago Bears coach) Thanks for keeping me laughing, Dad.
P.S. My sanity-saver of the day: When I asked my dad who he voted for in the govenor's race today, he said that he didn't like either option on the ticket, so he wrote in his own: Lovey Smith. (aka The fabulous Chicago Bears coach) Thanks for keeping me laughing, Dad.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
What's Red, and Furry, and Cute All Over?
We have an admission to make: we love Elmo. And I say "we," because it's not just Jack, our eighteen-month-old. No, Mommy and Daddy have also developed a soft spot in our hearts for the fuzzy little monster who welcomes us into "his world" every weekday at 10:35 am. He's just so darn cute! Often we will be doing something else, like reading a book or doing the bills, and both of us stop what we're doing to watch with Jack, because it's actually entertaining and interesting! The format of the show is the exact same every single day, but with a new topic. It's so predictable, and yet somehow it still manages to make us laugh. We love how Elmo "talks" to Dorothy, his pet fish, and how she never responds. We love Mr. Noodle and his brother, Mr. Noodle, and how silly they are, and the responding laughter from the children at all their antics. I love that the other day Eric called to me from the living room couch, "Annika!! Quick--come look! Mr. Noodle has a sister, too!" We love how Elmo talks in third person, because it's more developmentally appropriate for kids: "Elmo wants to know how YOU brush your teeth." We love how Elmo always ends with, "Now Elmo will ask a baby," and how these adorable little babies just sit there and look at Elmo with fascination, while he waits patiently for their "answer." And how he then giggles and says, "Ok, thank you, Baby!"
Perhaps the part I look forward to most is when Elmo calls to his TV and watches the "(Fill in with day's topic) Channel." Today it was the "Getting Dressed Channel." There's this silly cartoon that comes on and talks about the day's topic, and at the end they have an "announcement" for what's coming up next, and it's always a play on words. Today they said, "Stay tuned for Socks and the City, followed by Shall We Pants, starring Shirt Reynolds." I love that those little jokes are thrown in there for just for me, and any other grown-ups that might happen to be watching. It's just another thing I love about Elmo.
Recently we also began renting Elmo and other Seasame Street CD's from the library to listen to in the car. At first, Jack would lean way over in his carseat; he must have thought we had a TV hidden up front or that Elmo was actually in our car. But now he just listens contentedly, cheering and clapping as each song ends. One of his favorites is "Happy Tappin' with Elmo" (quite a classic, if you haven't heard it yet); he enthusiastically starts tapping his hands on the sides of his carseat and bobs his head back and forth. Eric and I really enjoy, "The L Song," by Bert and Ernie, as well as "One Fine Face" by Elmo and Ernie. I do NOT, however, enjoy "Doing the Pigeon" by Bert; for some odd reason that song really creeps me out.
The other day, Jack was watching a "Best of Elmo" DVD that we had rented from the library. Eric and I were eating lunch at the dining room table when, all of a sudden, we heard the "One Fine Face" music playing from the TV in the living room. We looked at each other, and although our mouths were full of turkey sandwhich we could read each other's thoughts: "We've never seen this one!!" In almost perfect sync we both grabbed our plates and headed to the living room to enjoy the segment. Is that just the saddest story you've ever heard? Two grown adults forfeiting a quiet lunch together to watch Ernie and Elmo point out their facial features to one another through song?
I don't know what's worse: that we actually enjoy watching Elmo and his Seasame friends, that we often find their songs stuck in our heads and don't mind, that we look forward to PBS at 10:35 every weekday, or that recently, in a completely absent-minded moment, I actually called my son "Elmo"? The funniest part is that Eric didn't even notice, and Jack didn't seem to mind. What's wrong with this family?
Perhaps the part I look forward to most is when Elmo calls to his TV and watches the "(Fill in with day's topic) Channel." Today it was the "Getting Dressed Channel." There's this silly cartoon that comes on and talks about the day's topic, and at the end they have an "announcement" for what's coming up next, and it's always a play on words. Today they said, "Stay tuned for Socks and the City, followed by Shall We Pants, starring Shirt Reynolds." I love that those little jokes are thrown in there for just for me, and any other grown-ups that might happen to be watching. It's just another thing I love about Elmo.
Recently we also began renting Elmo and other Seasame Street CD's from the library to listen to in the car. At first, Jack would lean way over in his carseat; he must have thought we had a TV hidden up front or that Elmo was actually in our car. But now he just listens contentedly, cheering and clapping as each song ends. One of his favorites is "Happy Tappin' with Elmo" (quite a classic, if you haven't heard it yet); he enthusiastically starts tapping his hands on the sides of his carseat and bobs his head back and forth. Eric and I really enjoy, "The L Song," by Bert and Ernie, as well as "One Fine Face" by Elmo and Ernie. I do NOT, however, enjoy "Doing the Pigeon" by Bert; for some odd reason that song really creeps me out.
The other day, Jack was watching a "Best of Elmo" DVD that we had rented from the library. Eric and I were eating lunch at the dining room table when, all of a sudden, we heard the "One Fine Face" music playing from the TV in the living room. We looked at each other, and although our mouths were full of turkey sandwhich we could read each other's thoughts: "We've never seen this one!!" In almost perfect sync we both grabbed our plates and headed to the living room to enjoy the segment. Is that just the saddest story you've ever heard? Two grown adults forfeiting a quiet lunch together to watch Ernie and Elmo point out their facial features to one another through song?
I don't know what's worse: that we actually enjoy watching Elmo and his Seasame friends, that we often find their songs stuck in our heads and don't mind, that we look forward to PBS at 10:35 every weekday, or that recently, in a completely absent-minded moment, I actually called my son "Elmo"? The funniest part is that Eric didn't even notice, and Jack didn't seem to mind. What's wrong with this family?
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