Robert's Birth Story

This is the birth story of Robert Wallace, my second son.  He was born on April 15, 2015 at 8:05 a.m.  He was 20.5 inches long and 7 lbs. 12 oz., our heaviest baby yet.  

I was nervous to give birth again, unmedicated, so I halfway convinced myself that I’d be pregnant forever.  Due to months of awful Braxton Hicks contractions, I worried that I wouldn’t know when labor was starting.

Early Tuesday morning, I was awoken by what I thought were contractions, but I quickly fell back to sleep.  I was going to be pregnant forever, remember?  I had my 40 week appointment a few hours later.  It was the first appointment I’d attended without Clara and Seven in tow, thanks to the kindness of a ward member.  It was nice to have a real conversation with the midwife.  Thankfully, all was well with baby and me.  I had to set up my 41 week appointments, including extra monitoring for being overdue.  For the first time, I thought it might be a good idea for the baby to make their entrance.

Around 4:30 that afternoon, I had another clue that labor was approaching: bloody show.  I informed my mom, but had to convince her to stay in Globe – I didn’t want the pressure to perform.  I decided to go teach ballet, which Anson thought was insane.  I was just happy to have a distraction!  When I walked into the studio, everyone was shocked to see me.  Apparently there had been a rumor started the day before that my baby had been born!  I was amused, but sorry to disappoint.  The rest of the night went normally.  Anson finished building the cosleeper, my brother-in-law came over to give me a blessing, and I went to bed early, all just in case I went into labor that night.

Sometime after midnight, I lost the battle of sleeping through possible contractions.  It was almost unbelievable that contractions could be so strong, yet still 15-20 minutes apart.  I tried to stay in bed, to rest, but I soon found myself jumping to my feet as a wave would start, eager to walk through the pain.  I was definitely confused; it couldn’t be labor!

At 3:03 a.m., I decided to time the pains.  I thought I could prove that I was being a huge wimp.  The pains were 10-12 minutes apart, plus the occasional 6-8 apart.  No way it could be real labor, right?

Finally, at 4:20 a.m., I decided to experiment.  What would happen if I didn’t get back in bed?  Would labor pick up or die out?  When the next five contractions were 4-6 minutes apart, I was shocked.  How did that happen?!  I decided to call my mom.  I reluctantly updated her on my situation and told her we could just “hang out” if nothing happened.  That was at 4:45 a.m.  Half an hour later, I was on the phone with Amy, the midwife.  She said we should meet at the birth center around 6:15-6:30 a.m.  At that point, I was still unconvinced that I was in labor, but part of me hoped that 6:30 wouldn’t be too late.

My mother-in-law soon arrived to watch the kids.  By that time, contractions were 3-4 minutes apart, and I could tell that my mother-in-law was worried.  I started to worry, too, and headed towards the car, knowing full well that we would beat the midwife, but feeling a very strong desire to be at the birth center, regardless. 

During the car ride, I focused on counting all of my body parts during contractions.  When we arrived, I exited the car and noticed my feet were soaked with sweat.  I also started shivering and my teeth were chattering.  It was about this time that I finally started to believe that I might really be in labor.  Anson took over the contraction timer, while I paced the parking lot, with a towel draped over my shoulders.  The 20 minutes it took for Amy to arrive seemed like an eternity.  I felt vulnerable and unable to progress.  I suddenly realized that my mom probably wouldn’t make it in time for the birth.

I was feeling a lot of downward pressure during contractions outside the birth center.  I both wanted to keep my legs together to stop progress and open them up by a foot it get it over with.  Once inside, Amy checked me and said I was almost at the end of transition (translation from the future: 9cm).  The tub was filling SO SLOWLY, so I walked in circles, pants-less, with my eyes closed, desperately willing it to be full.

FINALLY!  I was able to enter the tub and it was a huge relief, both mentally and physically.  Then, things got weird.  My contractions spaced out and got much less intense.  My mom showed up (yay!), so I thought maybe things would pick up.  Nope.  I was very present and alert at this time.  I began questioning Amy about what was taking so long.  She said my waters were still intact and “helping” the baby to descend slowly.  OH HECK NO!  I started to get very impatient.  The only thought in my head was that I needed to break my own water, to get the baby out.

That strange period lasted for 1-1.5 hours.  Contractions spaced out and lessened in intensity.  I was just kneeling in the tub, waiting for something to happen.  I was so annoyed with everything, especially when people tried to remind me of my birth plan (“let my body push, don’t interfere”) and how I believed in “natural”. I’ll admit that I did try to break my own water, every time I thought someone wouldn’t notice!  (For this online birth story, I’ll leave out the details of that endeavor!) Time dragged on, my feet fell asleep, I tried different positions, I did a lot of complaining, but nothing happened.

And then, all on its own, IT BROKE!  I was so happy and announced it proudly.  Yay!  (7:57 a.m.)  The downward pressure immediately increased.  The contractions intensified and quickened.  I gave small pushes during the surges to help baby drop.  With each inhale and exhale I would tilt my head from right to left.  Suddenly, I felt the head bulging and almost crowning.  My left hand quickly and instinctively dove down to lend support.  The midwife and nurse heard the splash of my hand and rushed into the room.

With each inhale, I imagined lava and fire, but with each exhale, I imagined blowing snow onto the painful burn, extinguishing it.  The first crowning push (8:03 a.m.) didn’t seem to stretch me enough, so I tried to hold back.  It was extremely painful, much more than I remember with Steven, so I found it difficult to control myself.  As much as it hurt to do so, I tried my best to keep the head crowning until the next contraction.  Then, in the next surge or two, the head finally emerged.  What an amazing relief!! The midwife instructed me to grab the head and I vividly remember feeling a tiny ear with my left hand.  It was magical!  I asked Amy if I could wait for another contraction to birth the shoulders.  She was hesitant and asked for “grunty pushes” while she checked the neck for a cord.  Amy then told me to lean a different direction (very hard to do!) and to push.  Then – I pushed!  My baby was born and lifted out of the water, onto my chest, at 8:05 a.m. 

The baby was silent at first, but I saw his eyes moving.  For a split second, I thought (and asked aloud) that something might be wrong.  While Amy rubbed his back, he let out his first cry.  Hallelujah!  I peeked between baby’s legs and then subtly showed Anson.  Another boy!  I knew it!

Everything from that moment on went smoothly.  Only the after-pains gave me any bother.  Robert was a perfect blessing.  Breastfeeding was amazing (well, at least until my milk came in!).  I escaped without any injuries.  Anson and I were able to take a nap while my mom and Mimi loved on the new baby.  The day was wonderful, magical, and sacred in every way. 

Usually, the birth story would end there, but I have to add this gem:

On the way home from the birth center, a few hours later, Anson drove me through a cute neighborhood.  In actuality, he was checking up on a job site!  His brother walked up to the truck and said, surprised, “Oh my heck!  Is that your wife in there?”  We all laughed.  I’m not sure how many husbands take their wives and hours-old babies to work with them!  I don’t think I’ll ever let Anson live that story down. 

The Mitt Rally

Clara and I attended our very first presidential rally last night and it was an interesting experience.  It wasn't Mitt's speech or the protester with the "Spay and Neuter Republicans" sign; it was Clara's wild antics that made the night so special.

In her defense, she is a sick baby and I took her to an outdoor event, dangerously close to bedtime.  She made me pay for these missteps by shrieking anytime I sat down and going nuts when I tried to nurse her.  While I was trying (mostly unsuccessfully) to nurse her, she was punching, kicking, trying to rip my cover off, and screaming each time (out of a million) that she unlatched.  I looked up for a second to see a woman turning her husband away from looking in my direction and that's when I remembered why I never look up while nursing in public.

Even though it was mostly a disaster, it was still nice to get out of the house.

(This is the life of a mom, I guess.)

A Girl and Her Daddy

Those first few weeks of parenthood are a curious mix of magic, sleep deprivation, and what-the-heck-are-we-doing.  For awhile there, I think we were both intimidated by our little one.  I could be found taking copious notes on nap times and diaper contents, while Husband was turning his parental rights over to the boobs.  

'I think she's hungry' ... 5 minutes later ... 'you should feed her' ... 5 minutes later ... 'I think she wants the boob' ... 5 minutes later ... 'but I don't have boobs!'

Needless to say, I think the daddy-daughter relationship is starting to bloom.  

And oh how it melts my heart.

That's Amore!

Hey lady!  All of a suddens, I'm feelin' a little empty in my's midsection, if ya know what I mean.  I'm like an old car that done run outta gas.  Fahget about it!

  

How's 'bout you step to it and make me a little somethin' in the kitchen, sweetheart?  I could really use some canolis or a lasagna, ya know?  Just like the old lady used ta make.  

Alright beautiful, snap to it.

Mamma mia!  Now that's the stuff!

Here I Am, All Hopped Up

The devil is a 3 week growth spurt.

One day you're nursing your baby every 2-3 hours and the next day you feel like punching your dearest husband, breaking out a can of formula, and eating an entire package of Oreos.  

Oreos.  The entire package.  So good.

And cookie dough.  

And blueberry bread. 

And peaches, for good measure.

And there's still ice cream  in the freezer, if that's not enough.  

Oh, and let me tell you, it's not enough.

While she's nursing for comfort, you're hitting up the online mommy forums (is this normal infant behavior?!?) and attempting a self-inflicted sugar coma... anything to put you out of this glorious misery.

But then, her eyes!!  They are so precious!  And that feathery hair!  Until you remember that your nipples are on fire because you somehow burned through 200 tablets of ibuprofen and there's no way you can get dressed, let alone make it to the drugstore for more.

Yet, you don't feel bad because it's been 9 months of discomfort and an actual baby emerging from your actual body without so much as a Tylenol!!  

When suddenly, you realize that this is a Twilight Zone of trauma and awesomeness and that you're also hanging out with a really cute baby.

And do you really want it to end?

Meanwhile, all she's thinking is, "Where's the mom boob?"

Sleepy Smiles

Clara eats for 30-45 minutes every 1-3 hours, so we spend a lot of time together, especially while the sun and the whole world are sleeping.  (I guess that's nature's way of keeping momma and offspring close, to protect from rogue monkeys and big, baby-eating snakes.)

I am one who loved sleep in her former life - all 8 hours, every night!

While living in the sorority house, I had my closet rearranged, my underwear hung from the chandelier, my pants pulled down while holding a lunch tray, and my clothes stolen out of the shower on numerous occasions.  (I would like to mention that all of these pranks were pulled by the same prankster.)  But the only prank that boiled my blood, so to speak, was the time that I was attacked with a fake lion and my blanket was stolen... in my sleep.

Nope, I was not happy about my sleep being disturbed.

For some crazy and surprising reason, the Kieren Mom has let go of her obsession with 8 hours of sleep and has decided that she will probably miss middle-of-the-night-feedings when she is an old biddy.  With that in mind, she tries to see the bright side every time she hears those telltale whimpers coming from the crib next to her.

Besides, where would she be without watching the sunrise every morning, big Clara burps, changing poopy diapers in the dim light, and the milky smiles?

And is there anything cuter a sleeping baby?

Our Day Today

Our day started with a 2:00 am feeding.  I woke up to my little girlfriend making funny noises in her crib, which is inches away from my side of the bed.  I admit it, I can't bear to have her in another room and until two days ago, I couldn't even sleep unless she was pressed up against my left side.  But daddy was right; we are all sleeping better now.

4:00 am... 6:00 am... 8:00 am... 9:00 am... 11:00 am

I am a nursing machine.

When we finally stumbled out of bed after the 9:00 am milk session, we were greeted by a box of Bosa's donuts.  I helped myself to a donut with maple frosting and sprinkles, half a strawberry frosted donut, and later, for lunch, a glazed donut.  Truth be told, it's not really a donut unless it has sprinkles.

(A big thank you and a big kiss to a very thoughtful husband.)

Clara was fussing, so I strapped her in the backpack and we tended to the back porch.  She really enjoys her koala status while I sweep up leaves and water the plants.  With her snoozing, I was able to throw on some quick make-up and, even though I swore I wouldn't do it, the navy blue dress that I have worn for at least 3 days every week for the past 4 months.

Then, I ate two ginger cookies.

Clara and I put our heads together and decided that we should brave an outing to the most exciting of stores: Target.  I thought she would sleep through the whole trip, but she was squawking by the time I got to the underwear aisle.  Luckily, she passed out on my shoulder and I was able to push the cart and select items with my right hand.  (I am pretty sure I have a miniature left bicep now.)

At the check out stand, I discovered that men suck and have no manners.  I held a newborn baby over my left shoulder and with my right hand, unloaded the basket, paid, and loaded the basket.  Oh no, it wasn't hard to maneuver a package of 36 rolls of toilet paper with one hand and an infant in the other, but thanks for asking, cashier man and customer man.

They should be ashamed of themselves.

Then, I halfway wished that Clara would start crying so that I'd have an excuse to nurse inside the Barnes and Noble while drinking an ice cold Starbucks treat.

No such luck.  Therefore, I headed to the dry cleaners where I didn't know anything about starching shirts.  

Whatever.

I spent the rest of my day eating a Swiss Roll, wishing someone would feed me, finishing the second book of the Hunger Games, and wondering if babies can nurse (purposely) without getting any milk out.  (In other words, am I a human pacifier?)

It was a good day.

I should probably wash my pillow case, as it is covered in milk drool.