Some thoughts in my head when I inexplicably couldn’t sleep

“Sleep when the baby sleeps” is the most full of crap piece of advice ever.  Sometimes I do it…especially if there’s a blissful 8am nap.  That’s the best nap because everyone can just pretend it’s still night or that we’re in our early 20’s and still slept past 7am. 

Sometimes, though, I want to LIVE MY LIIIIIIIIIFE!  You cannot take my FREEEEEDOOOOMMM, Booberry!  So basically there’s this thing called “Four Month Sleep Regression” that should be called, “OH MEEE GAWWWD WHY?!  MY CHILD USED TO SLEEP SO WELL AND NOW NEVER SLEEPS UNLESS I HOLD HER NEXT TO MY BOOOOOOOOOOOB.”  It’s the worst.  We (Booberry and I…the Doctor tries to stay out of the way also known as does not help (but we love you)) are working on some good sleep habits.  There are infinite books on the subject and I have two on hold at the library because I already spend too much money buying baby crap on Amazon Prime (oh I have to go update my subscribe and save brb).

“Good sleep habits” according to parenting experts (summarized by the internet and a friend of mine who read all the books thus making it so maybe I don’t have to) include:

-          Not nursing the baby to bed

-          Having the baby fall asleep on her own after putting her down while drowsy but not asleep

-          Putting the baby to bed in her own bed as opposed to the stroller or swing or car seat or other baby shortcut device

-          Don’t swaddle once they can roll

These are basically tips of everything I don’t do:

-          She only falls asleep directly after nursing

-          If I put her down she wakes up and starts blowing raspberries at me

-          She only falls asleep out of my arms if she’s in a baby shortcut device

-          She punches herself in the face and wakes up if I don’t swaddle at least her right arm

So, basically, we just struggle until I put her in the swing and it creaks from the effort of rocking my giant baby (the manual says 25 lb limit but the internet said the swing craps out at around 16lbs.  Guess my daughter’s weight??!) and then when she’s deeply unconscious I can get her out of the swing and she stirs and then falls back asleep as soon as she’s in the bed with a pacifier. 

This is when I should sleep.

But sometimes I don’t wanna.

Because I want to hang out with the Doctor.  Or blog.  Or clean (hahah yeah right…omg I need to change the laundry brb).

Here’s what just happened LIVE: I had to get hangers for the laundry so I had to walk by the baby room.  The hardwoods are incessantly creaky so I had to tip toe around the creaky bits like they were landmines.  Then I just sprinted the last stretch and got the hangers and then repeated the process to get back down and once I got to the laundry room I realized I forget the baby monitor so I went and got it and then took one article of clothing out of the dryer and Booberry woke up and started in on her “cough cry” which earned the nickname “Her Ladyship” as in “Ahem.  I demand assistance in the most polite way.  Ahemmmm!” and now I’m hoping she can put herself back to sleep because that’s what the sleep people say to do oh NOPE there’s she goes into a real cry brb. 

45 mins in her crib is her new record.  I’ll take it. 

I have officially and definitively defined (is that redundant?) unconditional love.

Oh the laundry I forgot brb.

Ohhhhhh kaaaay back.  Unconditional love:

“If my daughter was a sociopath and murdered my husband I would still love her.  If my husband was a sociopath and murdered my daughter, I would no longer love him.”

The Doctor agrees with my definition and is not at all offended.  This is why I love him…but apparently there are limits to my love and he is okay with those parameters. 

What was this post about?  Oh yeah…not sleeping. The other night when I wasn’t sleeping and the Doctor was keeping me up with his snoring, I wrote down some notes about thoughts in my head at that moment.  Sometimes when I write things down at night they make little to no sense when I get up.  Something I wrote down the other night is: “old man little boy nuke.”  And I had NO IDEA wtf that was supposed to mean until I remembered that the snoring made me think that my husband is an old man and that many other things he does makes me think he’s a little boy and then I was wondering if those were the names of the nuclear weapons but I looked it up and it’s “Fat Man and Little Boy” which does not apply.  But yeah, husbands can be simultaneously old men and little boys.  I made a t-chart:

Old Man	Little Boy
Snores	Has zombie nightmares and wants to cuddle
Wears polo shirts	Wears star wars tshits under polo shirt
Mows the lawn	Sings jibberish loudly while mowing the lawn
Has a job	Bought video game controllers to take to work
Likes to drink whiskey (“like a man” he says)	Eats mostly pepperoni pizza from Little Caesars
Is awesome dad	Because he is a child at heart

I love T-charts.

The other note I put down is “hardly ever cries.”  That refers to me.  While preggo, as you may be aware from a previous post, just about everything made me weep uncontrollably.  One time I cried, hard, for three hours…I must have had colic.  I don’t remember now what it was so clearly it wasn’t a life-changing tragedy.  And now I was noticing that I couldn’t remember the last time I cried from being upset.  Sometimes I cry because Booberry is being sweet and little and snuggly and that’s more of a bittersweet cry.  But, when I wrote the note, I noticed how, once we got over the hump of newborn HORRIBLEness, my mood has stabilized and I’m generally a pretty happy person.  Isn’t that nice?!

Of course, two hours later, Booberry was still awake and fussing and I broke down into exhausted weeping and the Doctor went and slept in the guest room and I nursed Boo until she was unconscious and then put down sound asleep.  And then I went to sleep for three hours until she woke up again. 

But it’s the little victories…

Parenting Advice from a Novice

There is a saying in medicine: “See one, do one, teach one.”  I know a few doctors and would trust them with my care in general.  BUT THAT IDEA IS TERRIFYING!  I know it’s not really true.  It’s not really like, “Oh hey I see you have a brain tumor, I’m going to do the surgery for you.  Sure I’ve never done it before but I’ve seen it once and the guy who is going to be telling me what to do has done one, so we’re good.”  But it is true for things like stitches and taking blood pressure and stuff of that fairly innocuous nature.  Trust me, I’ve seen ER, I’m basically a doctor.  TV MD. 

So I’ve seen a kid.  I’ve had a kid.  Let me teach you how to have a kid…JUST KIDDING.  But seriously folks, I get a lot of advice all the time from soliciting it like a hooker on a corner (what is wrong with me today?) and totally unsolicited.  I have sifted through it and here is what I came up with:

1.        Do not take parenting advice.

a.       I know, I know, I’M the one giving this advice…am I saying not to read the rest of the post like one of those “following directions” tests you got (and I failed) in elementary school?  No. But what I’m saying is this: if it doesn’t sound right, then you have no reason to take this advice…even if it’s from your mom or a mom friend who has five genius children…or even your doctor.  If it sounds wrong, get another opinion.  Or hey, make your own because IT’S YOUR KID.  It’s your responsibility and HECK, you have only known the lump for a week/month/year but you still know it better than anyone else does.  Maybe, though, stop referring to your child as an “it.”

2.       Take parenting advice

a.       Wait, am I on crack?  No.  But life is a paradox so here it is.  You know nothing (John Snow)!  You’ve never done this before!  And even if you have, this is A NEW AND WEIRD LITTLE INDIVIDUAL you just created…and it is different from everyone else on the planet so, if you need help, ask!  Or if your kid is liiike having ONLY GREEN POOP  (like Booberry recently) and that seems weird to you, maybe follow up on that.  Or if someone super arrogant and annoying says something to you and you don’t want their stupid advice and you didn’t ask but actually that does sound like a good tip, just get over yourself and try it out.  And there’s no point in me telling you not to read horror stories on the internet because you’re going to no matter what so just refer back to advice #1 as needed. 

3.       Delegate

a.       Green poop.  That’s what precipitated this.  See a lactation consultant. Why wouldn’t you see an LC?  If you don’t like the one the hospital brought you, get another one.  They are neat.  The stereotypical advice moms get is, “Breastfeeding shouldn’t hurt.  BUT OH MY GOD IT HURTS SO BAD!”  which is super true.  Of course it hurts to have a suction cup pull at your nipple every two hours.  That takes some getting used to!  But get help with that.  Because it should not hurt once you get it all sorted out and somehow train that precious creature that sucks the juices from you to do it without bruising you.  If you are not breastfeeding, that’s just fine,  and see number 1 because people are judgy bitches about breast juice but some people are adopted and they aren’t dying or stupid because they didn’t get their mom’s precious bodily fluids, so your kid will be just brilliant, too! 

Tell people to do your dishes.  Realllllly, they don’t mind and everyone knows how to do dishes.  Or they should.  If not, TEACH THEM and then make them practice on your dishes.  Not everyone has my mother-in-law aka “The Hurricane” who will come to my house and clean the entirety in half an hour flat.  But you do have people asking “what can I do?” and they can do something.  Like dishes.  Don’t be such a perfectionist that you redo the dishwasher after someone else doesn’t do it efficiently.  Let it go, like a Disney princess, because you don’t have time any more.  You are not Olivia Pope and you cannot HANDLE everything (I watched some Netflix while pumping). 

4.       You are the best parent in the world.    You are the worst parent in the world.

a.       At least in your own head.  Yesterday, I woke up after my child slept eight hours and she smiled at me and had a nice yellow poop  (thank you, lactation consultant) and then we went to coffee with my mom group and she smiled and gooed and took a cute nap on my lap and they inquired about my oversupply problem (which is like saying your biggest flaw is being a perfectionist when talking to other moms, but it is actually a thing to fix) and I felt like THE BEST MOM EVER.  Then, in the afternoon, I went to my neighbor’s house and wedged Booberry in the corner of the couch while I went to take my birth control and she decided to try to commit suicide by pitching herself two feet forward and head first off the couch and my neighbor TOTALLY NINJA saved her by making it a controlled fall and supporting Booberry’s tiny, daredevil head all while holding her own kid.  I felt like the WORST MOM EVER!  But my neighbor got to be the BEST MOM EVER in that moment and I’m super thankful she was right there.  So basically, every day you will fail a little but, if your kid is still alive at the end, YOU FOUGHT THE DAY AND YOU WON!  Mom guilt will happen forever (I’m flooded with shame thinking of her plummeting off the couch) and you will always think of worst case scenarios (I totally just paused writing this to make sure Booberry was still breathing because she’s all the way in the other room and has been asleep for a long time), but deal with it.  You’re the best mom ever (to your kid).  I mean, logic dictates that you are also the worst mom ever since you are her only mom unless you are in a two mom marriage, but stilllllll….optimism, people!

5.       “It goes so fast!”  Is a lie…and a truth.

a.       I told you life was a paradox.  Old ladies and moms of snot-nosed ten-year-olds will stop you on the street to wiggle their fingers at your baby and they will proclaim her the cutest baby that ever lived (your suspicions have been confirmed) and say the SAME DAMN SENTENCE, “Enjoy this.  It goes by so fast.”  And you will roll your eyes.  Because you were up all night with her and you have mastitis (“what cows get”) and she screamed at you for no reason and has weird newborn baby acne and your husband doesn’t like you anymore (he does, I hope), and she doesn’t even acknowledge your presence let alone love you and it’s only 2pm and no one is going to come home to help you or give you a pee break for at least three hours and you MIGHT DIE OF SLEEP DEPRIVATION.  It goes slow.  SO SLOW.  And then, suddenly, you’re packing up the size newborn clothes.  And also the 0-3 month clothes.  And she can roll off couches and hold things with her hands and put them in her mouth.  And you have this beautiful moment of clarity one day as she wriggles between you and your husband at 7am, blowing bubbles with her lips and refusing to go back to sleep because she’s so excited to see you and you will smile and then start to cry because this is never going to happen again.  And your husband will look at your like you’re crazy and say “I’m sure we will hang out with her in the morning in bed again” and you say, “But never like this!  Never will she ever be this small again!  Never exactly this age and stage of life again!” And you will see a little newborn in the bathroom at the mall, dead asleep on his mom’s chest and you will think (but maybe keep the thought to yourself because she looks stressed) “I hope you enjoy this, because it goes so fast.”

Some Stupid Similes (and a metaphor) from the English Teacher

…after a weekend in California for a wedding…these are not grammatically correct.  My English teacher OCD is making me say that.

Having a baby is like having a doll because I had the kind of doll that you feed fake baby food to and then she poops in her little weird baby cloth diaper and I totally had a baby clothes fashion show the other day until the doll got so annoyed and squirmy I had to give up.  Also people say, “She looks like such a little doll!” but I’m pretty sure that’s because, surprise, my baby is super white and no longer has horrific eczema. 

Being a mother is as exhausting as being a teenager who babysits except you get used to being sleep deprived since you can never give the kid back and go home and watch like five hours of Dawson’s Creek in syndication even though they’re the lame college episodes.

Going to the airport with an infant is like going to the airport with your cat: you’re desperately hoping you don’t get pooped on and that the crying doesn’t anger the passengers and that no one gives your cargo a disgusting airplane disease omg why is that old lady coughing that disgusting phlegmy cough without covering her mouth and no you did not just try to touch my cargo!

This one is from the Doctor: taking the baby to a retirement community is entering a field of land mines.  But the mines just grasp at the air surrounding the baby and remark on the roundness of her head. 

Having your baby scream bloody murder during an airplane’s descent is as torturous as sitting next to someone else’s baby screaming bloody murder during an airplane’s descent except it’s so much worse since you are simultaneously aghast at the unhappiness of your tiny, sweet child and also deeply embarrassed that this is happening to you and you are now the person everyone hates and then everyone is really nice about it because people are better than you thought they were which is the biggest relief in the world but you’re so stressed you almost wish someone would give you a hard time about it so you could vent your stress in a RAGEFUL RANT about how your baby is just scared and in pain and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. 

Wearing a bridesmaid dress in a postpartum body is like making home sausage with your torso.  Spanx for the win. 

Changing diapers is like a box of chocolates…you never know what you’re gonna get.  But 0-8 times a day it’s poop.  The surprise, though, is WHAT COLOR?

Being away from your three month old for over a day is as strange as not having a three month old but suddenly remembering because your boobs feel like they’re going to explode every two hours. 

Breastfeeding in wedding garb is as sweaty as everything else I do because breastfeeding makes me sweaty for some reason.

Having a kid during a heat wave is like owning a pet vampire because you will do anything to keep the blasting rays of the sun from touching the precious, very white skin of your child even to the extent that you have to give your kid vitamin D drops because she doesn’t get any direct sunlight. 

Being a parent is as amazing as every cliché. If the cliché were also covered in a light layer of sweat and boob juice…and smiling.

Afterword: while looking up google images for “simile,” many pictures of teeth came up (“smile”).  English is hard.  

You know that thing where...

You know that thing where you go to Nordstrom Rack for sports bras and buy two based on the look of them and then they don't fit your newly giant boobs so you go back and when you take off your shirt to try them on, your baby sees your boob and says "GOOOOO!" and then you squirt boob juice all over the stroller (fortunately not all over the clothes you weren't going to buy) and then your baby starts crying and then you have to feed her in the handicapped Nordstrom Rack dressing room and you're sure everyone knows?

You know that thing where your infant slept through the night and it was blissful and then you told too many people about it and the karmic gods saw fit to teach your baby how to roll onto her face while swaddled and now you can't swaddle her any more and she's too young to self soothe so no one sleeps anymore?

You know that thing where you go to a new mom meet up group and you're so desperate for a friend who understands you that you overlook significant personality differences like a girl who doesn't know how to choose a boyfriend and when you find someone you like for reasons besides that their kid is your kid's age you have to try really hard not to come off too needy but really you just want to hang out and talk about squirting your boobs in Nordstrom Rack?

...where you get exactly one third of a chore done a day because you get interrupted and also your attention span ain't what it used to be (and sometimes you just go on Facebook or blog instead of doing laundry because you long to taste the sweet freedom of doing something totally selfish)?

...where you have people over and at some point the baby freaks out and you have to hang out with her in her room and you pretend you're really sad about it but really you're not used to this much adult human conversation at once and you appreciate the chance to speak in gibberish and pick at your daughter's eye goo crusties for a few minutes while you hear them discussing world politics you don't care about anymore because you have become a giant boob?

...where your baby is the cutest and sweetest and best and most advanced baby in the whole world simply because you made her and that's the most narcissistic and god-complexy thing that ever was and you don't care it's just true, duh?!

...where they told you breastfeeding would burn a ton of calories and so don't worry about the number on the scale but you do because it's shorts season and you are always hungry for hamburgers because of the breastfeeding and then you're like "screw it" and then you remember you're in a wedding in three weeks so you go push the stroller up and down the hills in your neighborhood and then get so hungry you need a hamburger?

...where you're just waiting for the houseplant to die already so you don't have to feel guilty about not watering it and you totally could if you cared but it's just a plant and am I a bad person for not caring about a plant?

...where a shirt is still clean if it has baby vomit on it as long as it's rubbed in?

...where your google search history now contains phrases such as, "neon green baby poop" and "why do my armpits itch when I nurse?"

...where you think you've got it all covered from a parenting perspective until every day when you realize you're just making it up as you go like when you didn't know to give her vitamin D or when the campfire made her eyes red or when she pooped everywhere and you had to give her a bath but normally Daddy Doctor gives her a bath and you realize you have no idea how to give her a bath and want Daddy Doctor to know that you're fallible because you know you can be too know-it-ally with the baby stuff?

...where you wake up several times a night to make sure she's still breathing even though you know deep down that she's fine but you worked so hard cooking her you're not about to lose her now and end up waking her up by being close to her and she looks super pissed at you and you feel guilty but do it again a few hours later?

...where the most interesting thing in the world is watching her sleep or coo or especially smile at you and you have no idea what movies are in theatres and don't care at all which celebrities got married and you're sitting in your living room in a nursing bra and underwear and dirty hair and smelling like baby vomit and you wouldn't have it any other way?

Yeah. Me too.

What' I'm having for lunch...and dinner.

Month 1

Right now I am writing this instead of thank you notes.  Sorry to those of you who have not yet gotten thank you notes for your generous and adorable baby gifts. I promise, I'll do it.  They're sitting right there in front of me.  I just am so excited to have some "free time" right now that I had to spew out some thoughts.

Right now, little lady Booberry is asleep in the pack n' play in our bedroom with the sound machine on really loud.  This is miraculous because generally she refuses to sleep flat and, in fact, almost always refuses to fall asleep in anything except the Doctor's arms while he's bouncing on the yoga ball or the MAGICAL swing my sister-in-law loaned us.  Seriously.  There are INFINITE mom blogs talking about all the baby products you NEED and my two cents on this is SWWWWWWIIIIIIIIINNNNNGGGGGG.  There are other things that are good to have (yes those fancy muslin blankets are awesome), but the swing makes it so I can occasionally eat a meal with other adults at my dining room table or sleep for more than two hours (like three hours...).

Right now, Booberry is ONE MONTH OLD (happy Earth day).

She is still more a pooping, eating lump of tears than a human, but she did see her reflection yesterday and smile (She's so vain. Actually, she just had gas).  Her emotions range from
"I am confused by this thing in front of me that isn't a boob"
 to
"I need attention so I'm gonna cry"
 to
"I'm pretty sure I'm dying so I'm gonna cry so hard it physically hurts my mom's body"
to
"There's a boob in my mouth so I'm cool for a minute."

That's a lot for a ten pound thing!  Ruby is roughly the same size and her emotions are:
"Catdome is being mean to me so I'm upset"
"I'm asleep or close to it."
"There's lunch meat somewhere look how cute I am gimme."
"Booberry is crying, how can I help?" (so cute)

I feel like this post is sort of unorganized.  I was pretty sure I was well rested.  But I'm also pretty sure my brain hasn't grown back yet from pregnancy.  My phone app, like always, tells me that's normal.

Ok.  The last month.  Here's what I learned:

C-section recovery is just awesome.  Every time I pee, I'm thankful for my c-section.  Too much info?  Don't care.  It was great.  I've been off drugs for a while now so I can say with (some) mental clarity, that recovering from that major abdominal surgery was really not that bad.  Sure, it hurt to laugh or cough for a while there, and sure, I'm still not supposed to lift things heavier than the baby but I do all the time and then I feel like I pulled my uterus, but I have to LIVE MY LIFE sometimes and take my SUV of a stroller out of my SUV of a forrester.  I obviously haven't experienced birth any other way, but I highly recommend a good surgical removal of baby.  As I said to my OB as I said goodbye at my checkup, "Let's do this again sometime."

Baby weight does not just come off like some people promised.  First of all, they gave me so much dang fluid in the hospital that, when I weighed myself at home, I hadn't lost any pounds from the birth...which basically means I gained ten pounds from giving birth because the baby and all the other stuff was gone.  But that chunk did come right off in the form of COPIOUS DRIPPING SWEAT.  Now I'm just stuck with the actual pregnancy weight which seems to be quite cozy hanging out around my midsection.  Of course, I'm technically not allowed to do strenuous exercise, so I can use that as an excuse.  The $10 of half-off Easter candy I bought yesterday does not need to be entered into the record.

mmmmm....worth it....

Babies do not take good newborn photos.  WELL mine doesn't.  Seriously, do they drug the kids before they take the pristine, sleeping with one arm propped up pics?

Not my child.

They surgically removed my modesty and vanity.  Right now I'm wearing sweatpants I slept in last night because the slightly nicer sweatpants I put on this morning when I "got dressed" got puked on.  Also, I will probably show you my boob.  When I was on drugs, I forget how many people I showed my boobs to...not like on purpose...but just because I couldn't be bothered to cover up. I'm trying to show less people my boobs now. And, I've sort of made peace with my stretch marks (which appeared on my legs as a result of the post-birth edema despite an entire pregnancy of moisturizing).  Finally, I continue to talk about how ridiculously amazing having my water break was (best thing that ever happened to me...we can say it's because it led to the birth of my sweet, hangry little Boo, but also because it ended the bonus week of pregnancy).

My whole world is boobs.  My whole.  WORLD.  I spend MANY hours a day with my own boobs (I mean, technically, all my hours I'm with them...but I'm actually USING them now).  Sometimes her ladyship likes to have hour-long, leisurely luncheons.  Sometimes I have to pump so the Doctor can feed her at night and I can sleep a little after spending the afternoon cluster feeding her (cluster feeding is when they eat always...which my child does from about 3pm to ? every night like the invite to a frat party).  Sometimes I get unpleasant infections (mastitis) and more than one person (man) said, "Oh.  Cows get that." (gotta love Oregon dudes).  Yep.  I'm a milk cow.  Moo.

I'm still crazy.  I would argue that I'm less crazy now.  The Doctor would probably make a face, though, indicating that we should not argue with the crazy lady.  But, yeah, still kinda hormonal.  Like most people, I had a few days of  "baby blues."  For me, baby blues felt like inexplicable, inconsolable grief.  Like someone had died and not just been born.  It wasn't triggered by anything in particular and I had no ability to self-soothe.  The Doctor could usually talk me down by telling me this was going to go away and that he loved me and crap like that (love you).  My OB said, "Of course you have baby blues!  Look at all the things that are happening to you: you have mastitis, you're exhausted. your husband is back at work, your hormones are insane, and you have a baby now." Fortunately, the blues went away pretty soon after I got better thanks to  the most glorious antibiotics, but I really feel for people who get postpartum depression and try to just deal with it.  Super unpleasant.  Don't do it.  Also, as predicted, I regularly accidentally wake her up while checking to make sure she's still breathing.

Oh yeah and I have a baby now.  Sometimes I forget that I didn't always lug around a carseat full of screaming adorableness (she does not like getting into the carseat but will eventually fall into a deep, beautiful slumber if I can calm her down or drive on a bumpy enough road).  It's super weird having this tiny(ish) creature that I cooked in my body now hang out in my house.  Neither the Doctor nor I ever spent significant time with a newborn (I don't really remember my sister at that age and didn't have to take care of her anyway) so this little thing that seems mad at us all the time is sort of a mystery.  I tried to read to her today because my phone told me to and she wasn't having it...I'm still pretty confused on how reading to her at this age will do anything.  All she wanted to do was lie face down on my chest while I sang Sondheim until she got hungry again.  We see older babies and long for the day when we can play with our creation and that she will maybe show us more preference than a guinea pig would.  Yet, I still love her somehow.  She does not do much or give me much back in return (I mean she gives me massive amounts of bodily fluids, but I didn't really ask for those), but I still get excited to wake up to her in the morning (early, early morning).  Well, my boobs are, anyway.  

I should take a nap.  The whole "sleep when the baby sleeps" thing is well and good, but I'm an adult and I'm not programmed to sleep at 2pm when it's sunny out.

Nevermind, she's up.  Boob time.  

My Birth Story: It's only a little gross I promise but yeah, prepare yourself for some bodily fluids.

People, it finally happened!  I am NO LONGER pregnant.  As you may have surmised, I did not much enjoy being with child.  I can tell you, having a kid that lives on the outside of you is INFINITELY better than having one suck the life force from within (although I will say the sucking of the life force from without in the form of breastfeeding is as painful as people described to me, but that's what GLORIOUS lactation consultants are for...that's another post).

Lots of people want to know the gory details of exactly how Booberry entered the world.  If you do not want to know, perhaps skip this post and keep your innocence.  After last weekend, I no longer have any shame, pride, or personal boundaries, a fact I fully realized as I chatted with my mother-in-law yesterday while pumping about how the machine sounds like repetitive Scooby Doo (ruh uh, ruh oh, ruh oh).

My story begins...

Booberry followed in her mother's footsteps in so many ways, one of which was that she stayed put past her perfect due date of the ides of March.  The Doctor and I decided to get Booberry her own cherry tree which will grow with her in the front yard and we will take milestone pictures in front of.  We were in sight of the nursery the Sunday after the due date when the Doctor stops for a pedestrian, a mother and her toddler.  The woman isn't crossing and is giving us an inquisitive look when BAM!  we're rear-ended.  Both cars pull to the side and the Doctor goes to talk to the driver.  The driver, like a line from a "what not to do" video, says, with a hint of surfer-dude, "Oh man!  I'm so sorry, I was just reaching for my phone..."  So, yeah, we'll call that a "no fault" accident on our part.  I thought to myself, "Hey, something just happened to me, I should just call my ob to see what's up."  And so, even though I felt totally fine, I called the doctor's office and they paged the doctor on call, a lady by the name of...Dr. Cherrytree.  Yes, that's a real person and not a character in a sitcom.  She's super nice.  But she did say we had to go to the hospital to be monitored for four hours.  BAM!  Shit got real.  

But we still went and picked up our tree.  The Doctor planted it soon after:

Then I changed into my "going to the hospital" outfit and we packed the car for what could be THE BIG ONE.  We got to the hospital and were quickly escorted to triage where I was hooked up to fetal and contraction monitors.  Booberry was galloping away in there, totally fine, which we all had a feeling she was.  My uterus was steady as a flat line.  No contractions to note.  I could see the hope fade from the Doctor's eyes, resigning to spend yet more time with the giant crazy person who ate his wife.  We went home that night and neither of us slept a wink, too dejected and stressed from our non event.  

Wednesday the 19th my doctor said they'd induce me, but not until the 24th to which I whined in a tone I am not proud of, "but that's soooo long from nowwwwwww."  So, Booberry would be in there an extra ten days.  Then the OB did what the Doctor refers to as "when Stephen Colbert fingered you" because my OB looks a bit like Stephen and he "swept my membranes" which is, yes, like a very unpleasant fingering.  The OB also said that, because of my dainty little pelvis and what he was guessing was a baby over nine pounds, I should mentally prepare myself for a c-section.  The Doctor was catatonic on the way home.  He reminded me of Cameron in Feris Bueller's Day Off after he saw the mileage on his dad's car.  He went to work and I sobbed hysterically into Catdome.  My friend brought over her six week old and let me hold her foot for an hour, which helped me feel better except for the CRUSHING WEIGHT OF MY OWN BODY.  

Thursday was dark, emotionally.  The Doctor was working late and then decided to go hang out with a couple guy friends and said he'd be home by ten.  I probably could have nagged him into staying with me, and I did feebly try, but thought it might be good for him to get his ya yas out before this thing eventually went down. I literally spend the whole day alone in the house, unable to walk more than a few pathetic steps and listless in my lack of purpose.  I knew it was bad when I identified a strange, electronic noise that was only audible in the living room and seemed to have no source and I became obsessed with it like the guy in "The Telltale Heart."  My in-laws called to check up on me and I could tell they thought I was becoming pretty unstable because, despite their 9pm bedtime, they offered to come over.  I declined and went to bed myself.  I was just dozing off, thinking, "Man I'm tired, it's gonna feel so good to be unconscious for a while..." when I felt the sensation of peeing.  Except I wasn't controlling it.  I jumped out of bed and made it the two steps to the bathroom when a large amount of clear liquid soaked my pants and puddled on the floor.  I did the STEVE HOLT pose: 

because I'd been told that, once your water breaks, they always deliver the baby within 24 hours.  THIS WOULD BE OVER IN A DAY!  Ruby sauntered into the bathroom.  She'd been weird all day, following me around the house puking.  I almost took her to the vet but was too disabled.  I tried to shoo her away from my puddle but she went up to it and sniffed...and then started PURRING SO LOUD.  WTF, cat?!

I sat on the toilet, liquid still trickling out of me, and called my husband.  No answer.  I left a cheery message.  Slightly unnerved, I called his friend.

Me: Hey is the Doctor with you?

Friend: No...he just left.  What's up?

Me: NOTHING BYEEEEEE!

I called my doctor's answering service.  I called his parents who were dead asleep.  I called the Doctor again and left a message along the lines of, "YOU ARE NOT DOING THIS TO ME RIGHT NOW, MATTHEW CRAWLEY!"  If you don't get that reference, you are not caught up on your Downton and need to get on it.  I called my dad and found out he ALREADY HAD A FLIGHT for the next day...how?!  He just bought a bunch of flights and had been cancelling them as days past due date rolled around. I got the call back from the doctor on call at my OB's office.  It was that midwife I don't like.  She informed me that my normal doctor wasn't on call and asked if I might prefer a midwife.  "I WANT AN OB!" I said, forcefully, and she promised to leave a note with the intake people at the hospital.  

 I called the friend again.

Me: Ummmmm....can you call the Doctor....?

Friend: Is something going on?  Do you need me to get in a cab and come over?

Me: (still on toilet) NO!  Just keep calling him...repeatedly.

I left the Doctor a message along the lines of "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

I got in the shower and my phone started ringing.  I could see the Doc's pic and said, out loud, alone, in the shower, "LET HIM WORRY!"  The phone continued to ring until I got out of the shower and I found out that the Doctor was very nearly home and was, as I hoped, freaking out that I didn't answer.  I was going to go get dressed in my backup "going to the hospital" outfit but liquid was somehow still coming out of me so I just wandered around in a towel getting things together until the Doctor came home and it was ON.  

He was so excited in the car.  He was this excited:

I had to tell him to calm down and drive safely.  

In the parking lot of the hospital, I felt another GIANT GUSH of liquid (geez, how much is there?!) and I sloshed to triage where they had to check my pee to make sure it was my water that had broken and not just me peeing my pants.  Uhhhh....yeah it was my water.  Duh.  

Once in labor and delivery, they decided to put me on pitocin to speed things along.  The risk of infection goes up when your water breaks before you're in active labor. I found out I was in the super special 10% of people whose water breaks as the first sign of baby time.  I am so gifted.  We all went to sleep and the Doctor proceeded to snore peacefully for six hours while I began to get contractions I could feel.  Nothing too dramatic, but those were real. 

In the morning, when my in laws showed up, I had not slept all night, being woken up by the contractions which were still only at a...5 on the pain scale, I thought.  I was offered the magical epidural.  

Me: But I can still talk through my contractions!

Nurse: You can still get it now since you can't sleep though them.

Me: LET'S DOOOO THIIIIIIS.

I actually ended up getting two epidurals because, as I've been saying for years, I have slight lower back scoliosis and the first one didn't work.  Lots of people say getting an epidural is the worst part, but, honestly, it wasn't that bad.  It was a little scary being told to hold completely still because there was a needle entering my spine, but it was a lot less painful than how my hips had felt the last week of pregnancy.  Soon I was on a painless cloud and made a glib facebook status about how I was having a contraction right then but could still fb because of the perfect epidural.  We wikipedied March 21st and were thrilled to learn it was World Poetry and World Puppetry Day.  What a great birthday for Booberry.  I took a nap.

My doctor just HAPPENED to be on call that day and came in to say hi.  

Me: I'm so awesome!  It's the best I've slept in three months!  

OB: (poking at my swollen feet) Sometimes when we get bored, we like to poke at the women's edema.  They can't do anything about it.  

And we determined that I was in... ACTIVE LABOR.

I don't know what time that was.  I know I was at four centimeters and needed to get to ten.  I know my family stuck around until the fourth hour I was at eight and then we sent them home and that was 9pm on the 21st.  At 11pm, still at eight, the baby had been having decreased heart rate with big contractions and I had what was called "failure to progress."  They had me on oxygen which I think was scary for everyone to see but my nurses were so good, they never let me see the severity of the situation.  Time for the C-section.  The Doctor got quiet.  I was secretly just so thankful they weren't going to make me push.  I hadn't slept, really, and hadn't eaten anything besides hospital "gelatin" and ice chips since some cheese and crackers Thursday night and a spoonful of peanut butter I forced down after the midwife told me to eat a meal before coming in.  I ate it on the toilet...

I felt like I was cheating the system, never having had hours of painful contractions to count before being admitted and never having to push.  My mother-in-law is helping me work though this feeling of inadequacy. 

My WONDERFUL and amazing nurse who I want to track down and hug came in to...shave me, and they upped my epidural so I couldn't feel anything below the boobs.  The OB and my husband made jokes to each other about shaving shapes into me and landing strips which I thought was perhaps not appropriate but, frankly, didn't care AT ALL because at least the Doctor wasn't just silent and pale any more.  Off we went to OR 1. It was past 11:30 and the Doctor was still saying Booberry's bday would be the 21st and I started betting on the 22nd.  The OB and nurses started taking bets on the size of the baby and my OB and I were in the "over 9 lbs" pool while most of the nurses were voting for 8 lbs.  

They took me in alone and splayed me, Jesus-like, with my arms out, tubes going into me.  The Doctor got to wear a cool spaceman outfit and had to wait in the hall for me to be prepped. They put up a big blue sheet so I couldn't see what they were going to do to me and I was warned there would be "pressure" but not "pain."  They brought in the Doctor and I said to him, as he earnestly held my hand and told me everything would be okay, "You think you want to look beyond the curtain, but you don't.  DON'T LOOK."  (he totally looked).

The whole extraction of child took only 10 mins. Yes, I could feel them pulling me apart by hand, but, no, it did not hurt.  I am SO GLAD it was a c-section because, not only was Booberry not responding well, my pelvis little, her big, but she was also face up, which would have been near impossible to push out.  The OB said they opened me up and she was just STARING at them, alert.  Incidentally, that's what they said about me when I was born.  The Doctor had the normal, human reaction to her being born: red eyes, smile.  When they brought this 9 lb 4 oz lump of flesh around the corner to show her to me, my reaction was just...shock.  As in, "HOW THE F WAS SOMETHING SO BIG INSIDE OF ME JUST NOW?!"  They plopped her down and the Doctor held her in place and a nurse took our first family picture:

Then they took her away and the Doctor went with her to get her various reflexes checked and they sewed me up. I accidentally saw the medical refuse as they wheeled me away...all I can say is...GIANT BUCKET OF BLOOD.  But, it's cool.  Something else weird about the whole procedure is that I was not cold, but everything I could feel was chattering uncontrollably.  It was like my body knew I was being ripped apart but my brain didn't.  It went away a little while after I got back to my room, where the Doctor was waiting, proudly proclaiming that she passed all her tests, and they put my daughter on my chest...where she promptly injured my nipple so severely the lactation consultant described it as "the most purple I've ever seen."  That's my girl...

Recovery is for another post, but I tell everyone I meet that having a baby is SO MUCH better than being pregnant with one.  Yes, I'm on heavy narcotics (my dad had to fill out a lot of paperwork to pick them up at Walgreens), but I'm in significantly less pain than I was that last week of pregnancy.  True, I didn't sleep more than an hour at a time from Wednesday night to the next Wednesday, but the reason for being awake was pretty cute.  Yes, my feet have been described as resembling "hairless hobbit feet," but I don't have shooting pain when I walk.  Yes, my child is a biter and I spend HOURS a day feeding her or preparing to feed her, but I could care less about any of the inconveniences.  Yes, the Doctor and I parent and sleep in shifts, but he is the CUTEST in the world with her and is exceeding all my expectations in his amazingness as a dad.  

My friend asked me what the best part of being a new mom is and I didn't really know what to say.  

All I could come up with was, "I don't know...I just love her."

Simple as that.  

How Twilight Got it Right

My OB and I were joking about how, in the movies, people always have their water break and then they have like one contraction and then they go to the hospital and then they have a baby and that whole thing takes twenty minutes and how that's not realistic.  Realistic is that one feels progressively worse for a period of several weeks until one cannot take it any more and then one gets driven to the hospital and stays there for another day and they break your "bag of waters" (why is that such a weird and gross expression?) and then there's a baby.  And babies are adorable even if they're not the three month old cherubs portrayed on TV.

To quote Carrie Bradshaw, "I couldn't help but wonder..."

How do some of the movies get it right and wrong when it comes to the CREATION OF LIIIIIFE?  Like many people, pre-pregnancy, I did my research and re-watched or watched some movies to inform me about the subject.  Some of these movies are awesome and hilarious.  Some of these movies are youtube clips of episiotomies (don't do it).

In honor of the Oscars, here are my awards.  The...Bumpies.

Best Depiction of How Crazy Pregnancy Makes You Feel: Rosemary's Baby

How it's right: sometimes the hormones make you feel like the whole world is against you...that even your loving husband is in a coven sent to turn you into a gestational machine for it's own personal gain at the expense of your life.

How it's wrong:  Not positive, but pretty sure Booberry is not the antichrist.  She seems pretty cool so far.  Even though, DANG IT KID, it's time to be born (tomorrow is D day)

Most Quotable: Juno

How it's right: it's just FUNNY.  Because, yeah, Juno gets pregnant like our moms and teachers and is not super rosy colored about it.  (on the left: thank you to my sister for the awesome photoshopping).  Also, TEENAGERS: this is a good lesson on how easy it can be for your tiny, fertile bodies to get pregnant.  DON'T HAVE UNPROTECTED SEX unless you want a human.  Also the scene with JK Simmons in the hospital after she gives birth and gives up the baby (spoilers) makes my cry EVERY TIME.  And it heavily features a Toyota Previa which makes it cool.

How it's wrong: Some say it romanticizes teen pregnancy because Juno doesn't really have any terrible repercussions for her actions and her parents don't disown her or whatever...but whatever.  It's unrealistic because Jason Bateman plays a skeezeball and that's just never gonna fly.

Honorable Mention Most Quotable: Baby Mama

How it's right: Ok this might be too much info.  But there's this scene in the movie where the childbirth coach tells the characters to rub oil "down there" to prepare for the stretch of childbirth.  And Amy Poehler has a great line about just spraying some PAM down there.  SOOOOOOO, my phone app (see next award) mentioned this and I went down into the man cave and announced that the Doctor needs to "rub olive oil on my taint" (Tina Fey's line) and then he informed me that his microphone was on and his dental school buddy just heard that...

Also, this clip made me laugh SO HARD this last viewing:

"Just me and two fatties." is the part that gets me.  The Doctor is not fat...and people have said things to me like "I can't believe you're due next week, you're so small" and I'm like "TELL THAT TO THE SCALE! YOU LIIIIIIIAAAAR."  But yeah, I'm concerned about how much I feed Booberry and that she will be large and break me.  It's cool.  I love her.

How it's wrong: How could two women basically MISS first trimester?  Neither woman has any discernible morning sickness for like two months (Ok Tiny Fey has some stuff at the end but like eight weeks in!).  I started feeling like a lump about two days before the positive test and just kinda chalked it up to summer heat until I found out it was because the hormones were strong with this one.

Best Adaptation of a Phone App: What to Expect When You're Expecting.

How it's right: I am SOOOO Elizabeth Banks in this movie.  Throughout, she has every "normal," "textbook" pregnancy symptom and she keeps waiting for her glow (HINT: the glow is actually just sweat) and doesn't get it until she has the actual baby.

How it's wrong: the hilarious dad group is way too good to be true.  I wish the Doctor had a group of witty stroller dads to hang with.  Chris Rock is the ring leader (and has our same cool stroller).  Chris Rock is amazing in everything he does, even CRACKED OUT children's movies.

Best (worst) Picture: Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part I

First: why did I watch this movie?  I have no idea.  I'd read about a third of the first book because I thought I'd like it since I teach the young adults and HATED IT SO MUCH I'VE BEEN COMPLAINING SINCE about what a terrible role model Bella is and how awful everything about the book series is: the writing, the plot, the sparkly vampires.  So, for some reason I watched BD pt 1...maybe I missed Oregon that day.  

ANNYYYYYWAAAAAAY:  

Here's how it's right;  How I felt yesterday can be (overly dramatically) summed up with this clip:

Ok, let's break this down:

1.  Bella gets pregnant by not using protection (TEENAGERS...SEE?!)

2.  Immediately the fetus starts to suck away her life force, leaving her a shell of who she once was.

3.  The baby breaks her spine and kills her

4.  The baby is a superhero and Bella is reborn as a vampire.

So my situation isn't quite as dramatic: basically the baby is nice and low now which is fantastic except she's sorta off balance or something because I went for a long walk yesterday in the beautiful sunshine and kinda can't walk now without shooting pain going through my right hip down my leg.  I spent the day yesterday watching movies, alternating between bouncing on the glorious yoga ball (who'd have thunk I'd like YOGA things) and snuggling with Ruby in a chair.  Ruby ONLY snuggles me when I feel like I'm dying.  The last time was during first trimester when I was too queasy to function and the time before that was when I had a migraine.  So I know I deserved sympathy.  She just follows me around, even when there's a vacuum (thanks, awesome husband) and gives me love.  Awwww....RUUUUUBY, you have no idea what's coming. 

The Doctor came home last night and brought me a heating pad which I greatly appreciated except it didn't work so he went BACK to the store and got me a fancier one and I've been wearing it since and also he convinced me to take some Tylenol so I'm feeling better now.  Still hobbling, but not weeping while I do it.  

Conversation I just had with the Doctor when I thanked him for making me feel better:

D: I feel like you are like Michael Scott on The Office when he burned his foot.  (episode recap: Michael burns his foot on a waffle iron and totally over-reacts, unable to function that day and requiring nursing)

Me: that is so mean.

D: Not because of the severity of your injury but because of your over thinking of pain medication.  He crushes advil into his oatmeal and then is like "Oh I feel the healing going into my foot."  That's you.

Me: So mean.

D: I mean, you being pregnant is nothing like Michael burning his foot.  I don't mean it like that...maybe this wasn't a good example.

Me: Thank you.  

How Twilight got it wrong: so many ways, of course.  But mostly because pregnancy makes Bella a skeleton and then she gets reborn a super hot (or at least that's what we're supposed to believe) vampire and she has NO weird post-baby pooch and her hair is MORE lustrous even though everyone knows pregnancy makes your hair lustrous and then it falls out in terrifying chunks after you give birth.  Also, Bella's pregnancy is accelerated and she only has to be pregnant for like a second whereas I, as of tomorrow, get to be pregnant for the full nine months plus overtime (looks like).  Everyone says ,"first babies are late" and then everyone tells you stories of how they had theirs like two weeks early and how fun and surprising it was.  Nope.  I get the full experience.  Screw you, Bella, for getting to pass out and miss the whole thing.  JK.  I don't want to die like Bella even if my sparkly husband can make me eternally nineteen after he EATS THE BABY OUT OF ME...ew wtf is wrong with Stephanie Meyers??

So, happy pi day everyone.  I'm going to go back on the yoga ball with my heating pad and bounce the day away because the good Doctor thinks I should just stay inside.  "Good thing our house has plenty of rooms for activities" I said.  To which he replied, "Because it is your prison..."

Thanks, love.  

No it's cool, he's cleaning.