One day at a time

As I've been writing, I am having a hard time transitioning back to full time work.  In some ways, it seems odd for me to write that.  I never stopped working.  While on mat leave with George, I wrote 2 conference papers, attended 2 conferences, wrote an essay for an anthology, co-edited said anthology, and co-wrote introduction for said anthology.  I submitted the anthology to a publisher, along with two colleagues, and said anthology is now under contract with a reputable academic press.  I devised a project and wrote a grant for said project, which was funded.  I did a lot while I was on mat leave.  But I wasn't teaching.  I wasn't going to meetings, which seem endless this time of year.  I wasn't answering student emails.  I wasn't doing a lot of things that I'm doing now.  I feel like there isn't enough time in the day to be the kind of academic, the kind of mother, and the kind of partner to Archer that I want to be. 

Here is where I'm supposed to write something pithy about finding balance.  Well, I happen to think balance is bullshit.  I do.  It is impossible to achieve any sort of balance.  Things fall through the cracks.  It just happens.  I do--Archer and I do the best we can.  We try to make sure we talk to each other for 5 minutes a day.  We try to find 5 minutes a day for each kid.  We try not to go crazy because the house is a wreck.  We try to focus on the fact that we're doing well in our jobs and that our kids are happy and healthy.  I, especially, try to focus on that.  I'm still struggling.  I expect I will continue to struggle until this routine feels normal, whatever that means.  In the mean time, I'm not worried about balance.  I'm taking things one day at a time.

Personal, Professional

I am officially back at work, as I've written about extensively.  I am also officially back in the classroom.  This has had profound affects on me personally and professionally.

Professionally, I'm happy.  I have taught this week (for the first time in 16 months), and I enjoyed it.  I love teaching, and I know I'm good at it.  I like getting students interested, and I am able to get them to respond to things they may not otherwise respond to.  I am happy with the content of my classes, and I can already tell that most of my students are genuinely interested in the material and will be open to discussion.  I am also getting research and writing done, which makes me really happy.  It's slow, as writing often is, but it's happening.

Personally, I'm struggling a bit.  George  started child care full time last week; he now goes every weekday.  He enjoys it, and he is doing well in his class.  I found it really hard not to have a great deal of one on one time with him, though.  I had to sneak in quiet minutes with each of the boys, actually, and that was hard to do.  I managed, but given the nature of our weekly schedule, I don't get big chunks of time with each of them as I did while I was on leave.  I am finding the transition of the full-time work groove to be more difficult than I anticipated.  I've cried every day this week about how the days have gone from fairly relaxed with lots of time to get necessary tasks accomplished to schedule driven.  It's more difficult than I anticipated.  I am, however, following the advice of a dear friend and giving it time.  I'm trying to keep my expectations realistic and to not judge myself for being upset.  I'm not so good at either of those things.

Changes

In two weeks, Wild Man and Bear start school, Wild Man as a second grader and Bear as a Junior Kindergartener.  That week George starts childcare full time, and my time as a stay-at-home mom officially ends (although it technically ended in May when my mat leave ended, George has only been in childcare part time, making me feel like I am still a stay-at-home mom in some ways).  I'm feeling really conflicted about these impending changes. 

On one level, I'm thoroughly enjoying watching my children flourish.  Bear, in particular, has grown a lot this summer.  In spite of some initial bumps, he has thrived in day camp.  He has become much more independent, and Archer and I are both confident he will excel at kindergarten.  Wild Man has proven to us that he is becoming a mature, responsible child.  He has taken to the role of older sibling without hesitation, and he is increasingly asking for more responsibility.  He loves looking out for his brothers (as much as he loves tormenting them, as is an older sibling's right, I suppose), and they have come to depend on him a great deal.  George is settling into child care, and while he may be the most serious and observant of our children, he is slowly claiming a place for himself amongst the babies in his group.  I'm proud of how they have adapted and their willingness to try to things.  I think this speaks to mine and Archer's ability to instill confidence in them.

On another level, I'm sad that I won't be working from home most days, that I will be back to "balancing" work and home life.  I'm sad that I can't just hang out at the park all day if I want to.  I realize this will change.  I know myself well enough to know that by next week I will be excited for the start of the school year, that I will be energized about my courses and new projects.  But today, and likely for the next few days, I just want to hunker down with my boys and squeeze the last few moments out of the summer.

Happy Belated Birthday to George!

A few weeks ago this thing happened, George turned 1.  We were traveling, so I wasn't able to document it here.  We did, however, celebrate.  We had a family party in our hometown with some really dear friends whom we don't get to see often.  George was really excited for homemade cake and cookies (made by his godmother), but he didn't really care about his birthday.  You see, babies aren't in to birthdays.  Parents, siblings, and grandparents are into birthdays.  I firmly believe that we celebrate first birthdays for the adults, not for the baby.  Archer and I celebrated surviving our first year as the parents of three energetic boys, and we celebrated the funny, thoughtful, kissable little guy who is George.  We're still figuring out who he is, but we're having a lot of fun watching him come into his own.

George

As I've written, George is now in childcare three days a week.  This has been a hard transition for both he and I.  So hard, in fact, that Archer was surprised.  After all, I have transitioned two other children into childcare, both of whom flourished with their respective caregivers.  He was not prepared for me to cry every day we dropped George off during his first month in care.  As I told him, though, I had to put Wild Man into childcare when he was 3 1/2 months old.  I had to go back to teaching and finish my dissertation.  I was able to work out a part-time schedule for him, but he had to go into childcare.  With Bear, I was back in the classroom when he was 10 weeks old.  Archer was able to take 6 months of family leave, but by the time we put Bear in childcare, I was accustomed to leaving him for most of the day.  George, however, had never spent more than 4 hours away from me, and only then a handful of times.  Those times he was in Archer's care.  I have been with him a significant portion of every day since he was born.  Putting him in someone else's care, even for 6 hours a day, 3 days a week, during the summer, just seemed, well, wrong.  I'm managing, but after almost 6 weeks, I'm still a bit upset every morning.  I'd rather be with him. 

It hasn't helped that George finds childcare a bit daunting.  He loves his brothers.  He loves their noise and their mayhem.  He actually crawls around the house to find them on the days he's home with us.  But he doesn't really like babies, it seems.  He finds them noisy and irritating.  He gets easily overwhelmed in childcare, and he refuses to take a bottle (he will, however, drink water from a sippy cup throughout the day).  He is hesitant to nap in his crib there, and he is struggling to bond to the caregivers.  He does love the room and the time outside on the playground.  He especially loves lunch, and he really loves it when he is the only baby awake in his room.  He is having a rough time adjusting to everything else.  I know he'll be settled in by September, when he starts going full-time, but his rough transition has made my transition a bit rougher. 

Our little family is going through lots of changes right now (Wild Man is finishing up first grade; Bear is leaving the childcare center to start some day camps in preparation for JK; George is starting childcare; and I'm back in the office), and all of them have me feeling more than a bit emotional. 

Church

In the past 3 months, Archer and I have started taking our boys to church.  I haven't attended church regularly since, well, ever.  My father is a lapsed Catholic, and my mother was Presbyterian.  We didn't go to church unless we were visiting my mother's parents.  Even attending church then was a big deal, at least for my mom.  My dad never went, not even out of respect to my grandparents, which was upsetting to everyone.  My mom went occasionally, but her visits were usually prompted by lengthy guilt trips on the part of my grandmother.  As an adult, I would go with my grandparents when I visited them.  It meant a lot to them, and as it was really no hardship to me, I went.  I rarely discussed religion with my grandparents though as it was hard for me to explain that I see religion much differently than they did.  It was easier just to go than to debate the finer points of theology.

Recently, Wild Man has started asking questions about religion, questions that Archer and I are really unprepared to answer.  We can't answer, in part, because we're not sure what we  believe, and we can't answer some questions because we simply don't know enough about Christianity to answer.  So we've started attending church to give our children some sort of religious grounding, to combat our own ignorance, to feel more connected to our community, and to figure out what we believe in.  I know there are lots of people out there who will likely be offended for our reasons, but I can't honestly say I feel called to go to church.  I haven't been divinely inspired or anything like that.  I really just want to learn more, and I also want to be able to help my children find their way.

You see, I feel like my parents did my siblings and I a huge disservice by not educating us about religion.  We never discussed religion in my house when I was a child.  If religion came up, it was only when my father openly derided anyone who was religious for his or her hypocrisy (he never explained how religious people were hypocritical, just insisted they were).  What I know about Christianity, Islam, and Judaism is what I've gleaned on my own. I've read some religious texts, and I am familiar with the Bible (I have to be given the period that I study).  I took a few religious studies courses in college out of interest, and I read a lot.  By virtue of all that I am not completely ignorant about religion.  But I don't feel like I can adequately answer my children's questions about religion.  I want my children to have a religious background because I want them to have something to reject.  I want them to be able to say, with confidence, I believe in X, but I don't believe in Y.  I want that, in part, because I can't do that.  I know so little about theology and doctrine that I don't really know what I believe.  So we're going to church and I've been reading some spiritual narratives.  I'm still not sure what I think, but I find comfort in knowing what other people believe, in knowing that I'm not the only one with questions.

I am also really enjoying the church we're going to.  It was recommended by some friends, and the congregation and ministers (they are a husband and wife) have been really welcoming.  They have also given us a lot of space to get used to things.  No one has called us at home or tried to visit us.  Both ministers have offered to talk to us "when we're ready," but no one has pressured us.  That has been nice, comforting even.  I appreciate that they recognize that we're trying to figure this out for our family and not trying to strong arm us into anything (which has been my experience with very religious friends in the past).  It also helps that we've specifically chosen a denomination that is very liberal and open-minded.  This specific church is also very welcoming of children. No one cares when George starts jabbering during the middle of the sermon--and I mean he jabbered so loudly that he made the minister laugh mid-sermon.  No one cares if Bear comes to church in his slippers--seriously, I have bigger battles to fight than getting the kid into "real" shoes.  And no one cares when Wild Man stops the ministers during "Children's Corner" to ask a doctrinal issue--why can't I take communion yet?  I don't know if this church will become my spiritual home, but I do know this church has welcomed me and my family while allowing us to get acclimated and to determine how involved we want to be.  For that, I'm grateful.

Productivity

Since dropping George and Bear off at daycare this morning, I've managed to finish a large section of a paper that has been dogging me for almost two months.  This paper is the culmination of a project I started with two colleagues over a year ago.  It has been an exciting process as it has allowed me to work in an area I find intriguing but know almost nothing about.  For that reason--at least I'm blaming it on that--I have really struggled with this essay.  In fact, writing it has been more painful than writing my dissertation.  But now, I'm almost finished.  In fact, I can now see the finish line.  That makes taking George to daycare just a little bit easier.

George

George starts daycare today.  For now, he will only be going two days a week.  While my practical side tells me that this is necessary in order for me to get some crucial work done, my not-so-practical side is sad.  I've never spent more than 4 hours away from him, and on those rare occasions, he has been in Archer's care.  I somehow managed to get him a spot in the room Bear was in, so he is with a teacher we know well.  In fact, she has already baby-sat him a few times.  Archer was hopeful I wouldn't be too upset this morning because, as he said, "We've done this twice already."  I managed to keep it together until we left the center, but then, I had a good cry. 

My George

Here's my daily lunch date for the last several months. . .

Conflicted. . .

that is the word that best describes how I am feeling today.  In fact, it best describes how I've felt for a week or so now.  I know why, more or less.  My mat leave officially ends next week.  I say officially because I timed my leave with the start and end of classes; thus, I don't go back into the classroom until September as the Winter semester at CU ends April 11th.  My responsibilities to my departments will be relatively light: end of the year meetings, faculty development retreats, and evaluating transcripts.  I have to finish adapting one of my courses to teach as an on-line course, but I have much of that done already.  I have two essays I need to finish revising and submit, and my goal is to have both under review by August 15th.  But given all this, I don't expect much will change, at least not till exams are over.  So I have another six weeks or so in which I will primarily be a stay-at-home mom.  George is slated to go into daycare part-time sometime at the end of April or beginning of May, depending on when a spot is available. 

I know this is a great situation.  I know I've been really lucky this year.  I like my job, and I know I'll be happy once I go back to work.  But I'm still conflicted.  I didn't expect to like staying home as much as I do.  I haven't longed for "adult" conversations, the way so many people told me I would.  I've enjoyed making muffins with Bear and just hanging out with George.  I've liked meeting Wild Man at the bus stop almost every day and listening to him describe his day.  I've found a groove of sorts, and now I have to find a new groove, one that will be infinitely more complicated and focused on schedules--at least by September.

And on the other hand, it will be good to have more than 45 minutes at a time to work, to know my work time is my work time, and that my time with my  kids doesn't have to be so split.  I think I'd feel less conflicted if the last few weeks I hadn't been so focused on getting an essay done.  I've been writing in snatches, but most every free minute is devoted to trying to get this thing finished.  As I wrote before, it is slow going, which is frustrating.  I know I am ready to have time to focus on work.  But dropping George off at daycare the first day will be infinitely harder than it was to take Wild Man or Bear, and neither of those days were what I'd describe as easy.   

The baby I wasn't sure I wanted

In November 2011 I discovered I was pregnant.  We were not trying to get pregnant, and if I'm being completely, brutally honest, I'm still not sure how it happened.  I mean, I know how it happened, but the event, as it were, was brief.  It was, in fact, not even completed because, as I recall, Bear woke up screaming literally seconds after it had started.  Following an evening together, with a lovely dinner that Archer made for us and at least two bottles of wine, we had, apparently, done just enough.  Thus, I blame George's conception on one too many glasses of wine, a momentary lapse in judgement, and, well, fate. 

I was less than happy about being pregnant, as I wrote here.  I was, in fact, horrified. I cried for two weeks.  I called my best friend daily, who reassured me that I could manage.  That it would be okay.  That we could afford another baby.  That I had really wanted a third child but convinced myself that I didn't.  After three days of such phone calls, my friend said to me what I had been thinking but wouldn't allow myself to say outloud: "M, if the thought of another baby makes you this unhappy, you don't have to have it."  In that moment, my dear, lovely friend offered me what I couldn't, what I had refused to offer myself: the space to consider what my life would be like without this unexpected third child. 

I imagined life very much like it was: a good life, a happy life.  Working, parenting Bear and Wild Man, being with Archer, traveling.  I talked to Archer, who remained largely silent throughout my emotional turmoil.  I talked to my doctor.  I had bloodwork.  I did the research.  I talked with another dear, dear friend who had made the horrifying, gut-wrenching decision to end a pregnancy over a decade ago.  I made an appointment.  I knew Archer didn't want me to, but I couldn't see a future in which we weren't both so stressed out by work and by finances, struggling to be the parents we wanted to be but couldn't be because we were so constrained by time and by resources.  I couldn't see a happy ending.

Then, my wise, honest, loving friend, who had been through it before she had her children, said, "You will want to keep it a secret, but this is big.  You won't be able to keep it a secret forever.  Somehow, I think, Bear and Wild Man will find out, or perhaps you will want to tell them.  Can you explain it to them?  Can you answer their questions?"  I knew I couldn't.  More importantly, I knew I wouldn't be able to answer my own questions, to address my own what-ifs. I would never be able to believe that Archer, whom I know only wanted me to be happy and excited, had forgiven me. Twenty-four hours later I cancelled the appointment.

Now, well over a year later, George is six-months old.  He is a happy, blue-eyed, wiggly, giggly baby.  He has completed our family.  He is the piece we didn't know was missing. He has transformed each of us in big and small ways, even Wild Man and Bear, who are both more compassionate, a bit more patient, and so loving to him and each other.  Now, I look at him and I get emotional.  But not for the reasons you might think. 

I don't regret that period, that whole horrible, dreadful time when I wasn't sure I wanted him.  I realize now that was part of our journey, his and mine.  His unexpected arrival made me stronger, made me a better mother in many ways.  I'm more protective of my children now, of my time with them; I'm more empathetic and, perhaps, more understanding.  In those dreadful, dreadful weeks--and even in the emotional months after I decided to go through with the pregnancy--I realized that, despite all my fear and worry, I was fortunate enough to be in a position to go through with an unplanned pregnancy.  I don't take that good fortune for granted because not everyone has it.

In those gut-wrenching weeks, I learned firsthand,  something I had always suspected: choosing to end a pregnancy is not an easy decision.  It is not a decision that is made lightly.  It is agonizing and horrific and vomit-inducing.  Those of us who have been in such a position to contemplate such a decision, let alone make it, and go through with it judge ourselves harshly, perhaps daily for a long, long time.  But I know now, again as I always suspected, that sometimes that decision is what is right for that person at that time.  And the many, many women who have to make that decision, are not cowardly or desperate, nor are they cruel or emotionless, as so many people would have us believe.  They are brave.  That is what having George taught me.

Stay-at-home Mom

Starting today, that is officially what I'll be until late-May.  My leave officially starts on Saturday, but Archer starts teaching today.  He'll be working from home a bit, but most days I'll be on my own with George.  Archer will be here in the mornings, of course, but M-W he'll leave by 8:30 to go to campus, dropping Bear off at daycare on the way.  He'll be here a bit longer Thursday mornings, but when he does leave, I'll be on my own with George and Bear till 3:15, when I'll load them up into my nifty jogging stroller to pick Wild Man up at the bus stop.  Archer won't get home till 5:30ish most Thursdays as he teaches a late afternoon class.  Fridays haven't been worked out.  He doesn't teach, and he'll likely take the lead for a few hours every morning so I can try to get some writing done.  I do expect that he'll have to go to campus some weeks, though.

How is the first morning going?  Well, Archer took Wild Man to the bus stop.  When he got home, we loaded up George and Bear into the jogging stroller and took a long walk (we're both trying to get back into shape).  When we got home, he kept George occupied while Bear colored so I could take a quick shower.  Then I read stories to Bear while nursing George.  After Archer left, I talked Bear into using the potty (we're potty training, and while it's going well, he can hold it for a long time.  I have to bribe him to go on the potty).  As a reward for going, I'm letting him watch an episode of The Backyardigans, and George is napping.  I've done some routine stuff, like washed the dishes and answered emails.  I'm contemplating what to make for lunch, as it will likely be easier to make lunch while George is napping.  After that I embark on what could be the most difficult part of the day--trying to get Bear to take a nap.  Sometimes he naps, and sometimes he doesn't.  If he doesn't, the day will be much, much longer for all of us.  I'm hoping to get into some sort of a routine in a few weeks, but a lot of that depends on George.  I'm a little worried about keeping Bear occupied while nursing George as much as I do.  I expect I'll be nursing while playing cars and putting puzzles together a lot in the next few weeks.

My normal

Okay, so I have a 5 1/2 year old, a 3 year old, and a 5 week old.  Most days I'm up by 6:30--not by choice mind you, but primarily because either George or Bear are awake by then.  On the days that Bear wakes up first, Archer gets up with Bear so I can sleep for a few more minutes.  During an average day, I am able to get a shower (I generally shower at night to ensure I do get one), get dressed, and make at least one meal.  I have been to the grocery store, to my office (only once), to pick Wild Man up at day camp, and out to lunch with my entire family.  Most days, my clothes match (although I may not be altogether happy about what I'm able to wear right now), and my hair is brushed.  I gained about 30 pounds, and through no effort other than breastfeeding, I only have about 10 pounds to lose (no, I'm not back in my pre-pregnancy clothes, nor do I think I will be anytime soon).  I have managed to go shopping once (with George in tow) as I needed some shorts that I could fit into.  I've also managed to submit two reports for work, read two books (for pleasure), and make notes on one project (these notes are so rough that I don't even want to admit how rough they are, but they are notes).  I've ordered birth announcements (which may never get mailed), and I've had George's portrait taken.  I've taken (with Archer) Wild Man and Bear to the pool, been to friends' houses for dinner, and taken Wild Man to several play dates.  I'm also trying to potty train Bear.  Most days I feel like I get nothing accomplished, and most days I'm okay with that.

Why am I listing all of this?  Well, I had coffee with a good friend this morning, and she asked how I was doing.  I said, "Fine.  I've got some stuff to do for work this week as my leave doesn't officially start till next week, and I'm trying to find the time to do that."  She was equally aghast and impressed, and I don't get why.  I don't feel like any of the above makes me superwoman.  It just feels normal for me.  I am not the kind of person who can not do things.  In fact, the more I stick to a "normal" routine the less likely I am to get overwhelmed and/or anxious.  If I don't have things to do, I tend to feel out of control, and feeling out of control leads to anxiety, which isn't good for me.  My friend implied I was doing way too much, but I don't think so.  I told her, "This is my normal."  It's what feels right for me, at least most days.

Clutter and unnecessary remarks

Over the last few weeks, both my mother and Archer's mother have called to check on me.  With Yetta, I keep it simple.  I tell her I'm tired, but fine; we're all adjusting well, and no, we don't need anything.  That's my standard line, whether it's true or not.  With my mom, I'm a bit more honest.  In fact, yesterday I was not having a good day.  It had nothing to do with my children and everything to do with the clutter that was threatening to consume my house.

You see, Archer, as wonderful as he is, isn't great about putting things away.  He routinely fixes something and then leaves his screwdriver lying on the kitchen counter for 3 weeks.  That is one example; I could name many others.  I have grown to accept this as a flaw that I cannot fix.  I've tried.  I've tried nagging; I've tried behavior modification; I've tried everything.  So usually I just put the stuff away.  It's easier.  If I get really irritated, I pick it all up and dump it on his desk for him to put away.  And rather than put it away, he will push it aside so he can access his papers and his keyboard.  This leads to lots of minor arguments.  I put something away, and he's sure he left it on top of the refrigerator (which is, apparently, an optimal spot to store tools, loose batteries, belts).  He goes to locate said item, and when he finally deigns to ask me if I know where it is, I tell him, "I put it in your toolbox in the basement because, you know, that's where your tools go."  He then gets irritated because he has to go to the basement to get said object, and I'm irritated because if he just put it away in the first place we wouldn't have this discussion for the 9 millionth time.

Add to that the fact that we have two children who have free reign over the house and that their puzzles, books, cars, and Legos often end up in places where they don't belong.  Oh, and let's not forget all the ephemera that accompanies a new born--burp cloths, blankets, socks, and the like.  Yes, my house was more than a bit cluttered.

Typically I take an hour on Saturday and put things away.  It is the most efficient way I've come up with as I can't retrain my entire family (although Wild Man and Bear are well on their way to putting their things away at the end of the day) nor can I hire a professional organizer.  I don't mind either.  But George has made this almost impossible lately.

Yesterday I was at my wits end.  I was tired and needed a nap, but more than that, I needed my house to be clean and de-cluttered for one day.  I was less than pleasant as everyone and everything was preventing my plan for de-cluttering.  I will not go into details, but I will say that Archer and I had discussed this plan on Saturday night.  Thus, when I came downstairs to find Wild Man and Bear had dumped out their extensive Lego collection all over the living room and that Archer was napping with George rather than taking out the vacuum cleaner I was annoyed.  My mom happened to call when I was finally able to get everyone to accomplish a specific task to de-clutter the house.  I told her what was going on.  She replied, "Well, M, you have three boys now; you may have to accept a certain amount of clutter, at least until George is older."  I was so irritated with that comment that I changed the subject and then got off the phone.

Why was I irritated?  My mom is absolutely right; for a while, at least, I'm going to have to deal with some clutter.  Other things trump having a neat and tidy house.  I can (and usually do) live with that.  But every. single. time. I talk to her she reminds me that I now have three children.  And I want to say, "Really?  Three?  When did that happen?  Oh right, I do vaguely remember giving birth to the third.  Thanks for the reminder, Mom."  Yes, my impulse is to be snarky and sarcastic.  But she says it very snarkily too.  As though I should have realized life would be so hectic and chaotic when we decided to add a third child to our family.  Yes, I'm being testy and a bit immature, but honestly, I could live without hearing that unnecessary remark ever again.

Birth Story, Part 2

Part 1 is here.

10:00 am

We met Dr. V, and I knew her.  In fact, as she stood beside my bed, I looked at her intently, trying to remember where we’d met.  She introduced herself to Archer and me, and then she gave me a quizzical look and asked why I looked so puzzled.  I said, “We’ve met before.”  To which she said, “It’s possible, but I’m very bad with faces.”  Suddenly I knew where we’d met, so I asked, “Do you know J?  She’s my good friend.”  Dr. V said, “Yes, we’re quite good friends as well.”  Then I said, “I think we met at her daughter’s birthday party over a year ago.”  Her face lit up.  She said, “Yes, I remember.  You have two little boys, and we talked about schools.”  We continued to chat as she examined me, and I was more comfortable with her since I knew her a bit.  She had also been J’s doctor and knowing how much J had liked her put me even more at ease.

During the exam, the baby moved again, and Dr. V was unable to get his heartbeat.  She became a bit concerned and decided to put in an internal monitor.  While she was trying to get the monitor on the baby’s head, she inadvertently broke the rest of my bag of waters.  It seems that L had not fully punctured it.  As the amniotic fluid literally poured out of me, Dr. V joked that I was going to ruin her new shoes that she had purchased during her recent trip to Europe. 

At that point, I was still only 3 centimeters dilated, and Dr. V asked me what sort of birth I wanted.  I said that I wanted as few interventions as possible.  She also asked about my previous labors, and after learning how fast both Wild Man and Bear and been born and that Wild Man had been induced by only breaking my water, she said, “I want to give it a bit before we run the oxytocin.  I’ll check back in about 90 minutes, and if you haven’t progressed at that point, we’ll talk some more.”

So for the next 90 minutes or so, I got up as I wanted to and moved around a bit, but mostly I stayed in bed, trying to rest.  Archer and I chatted with my nurse, as L moved between my room and her other patient’s room.  Around 11:45, L asked me if I would mind if she went home to shower; she’d been at a birth the day before and had gone home to sleep that evening, without showering.  I said, “I’m still only having contractions every 15 minutes, so sure, please go shower.”  At that point, the contractions were becoming more uncomfortable, but they were still not painful.  I figured that L had plenty of time to go home and shower.

12:30 pm

My nurse studied the printout of my contractions and noticed that they were getting a bit closer together, about every 12 minutes.  As we were talking about this, I had a strong contraction, and the baby’s heart rate dropped to 80, and it stayed down.  After a minute, a crowd of people came into my room—2 NICU nurses, 1 other nurse, and 3 residents.  My nurse was standing right next to me, and Archer was holding my hand.  The head resident (he’d only introduced himself by saying, “I’m the head resident”) pulled on surgical gloves and declared, “I need to check you.”  I rolled over, and without as much as asking my name, he proceeded to check my cervix.  Now, I have an oddly positioned cervix.  If this resident had taken a moment to read my chart, to talk to my nurse, or to ask me anything, he would have learned this.  But he didn’t.  Instead, he proceeded to check my cervix as though he was digging to China.  It hurt—a lot.  He also started another contraction.  My nurse, looking aghast, said, “She’s not medicated.”  Knowing he needed to see if labor was progressing and if the internal monitor on the baby had moved, I gritted my teeth and let him check.  But when he said, “Her cervix is really high and posterior; I can’t seem to get to it,” I quietly said, “Take your hand out of my body.  We need to wait for Dr. V.”  He was clearly embarrassed, but he moved away from me.  By this point, the baby’s heart rate had come back up, but Archer said quietly, “M, it stayed down for 3 minutes.”  I sighed heavily, as I knew what that might mean.

Dr. V arrived at that point and started asking questions.  She said, “Has she been checked?” My nurse said, “She asked to wait for you.”  So Dr. V checked me.  The internal monitor was still in place, and she said I was now 5 centimeters dilated.  We then had the C-Section discussion.  It went like this:

Dr. V: “If the baby’s heart rate drops again like that, we will have no choice but to get him out as quickly as possible.  I will have to perform an emergency C-section.”

Archer: “Since M has not had an epidural, what will happen with anesthesia?”

Dr. V: “We will try to get her an epidural, but if it is a true emergency, we will have to put her under completely as it is faster.”

M: “I don’t want a C-Section, but I obviously want the baby to be safe.”

She then asked me why I didn’t want the resident to check me, asking if it was “because he is male or because of his technique?”

M: “It was his technique.”

Dr. V: “I see.  I need you to understand that I’m in charge of the entire floor.  I cannot always get here immediately, but the resident can.  If he can’t check you, that slows things down and doesn’t let us see how the baby is doing.”

M: “Yes, I understand that.”

Dr. V: “Plus, this is a teaching hospital, and he has to learn how to do it properly.”

M: “Yes, I’m teacher, so I understand that as well.  He doesn’t, however, have to learn on me.”

Dr. V looked a bit surprised and told me she’d be back in an hour to check on me, reassuring me that she could see my monitors at the main desk.

1:00 pm

My midwife returned from showering and getting some lunch.  My nurse updated her, and she apologized for not being there. 

1:15 pm

My contractions started coming a bit faster, about every 8 to 10 minutes, and they were getting stronger.  I also experienced a lot more back pain.

1:45 pm

By this time, I was in active labor, with contractions every 4 to 5 minutes, lasting for 2 minutes, and I was in back labor.  At some point, the baby had turned, and the pain was excruciating.  I was hooked up to 3 different monitors, and every single time I moved, the baby’s heart rate fluctuated, so just as I did with Wild Man, I labored lying on my left side.  My midwife applied lots of pressure to my hips with every contraction, and Archer did the same on my lower back.  This helped some, making the pain manageable.  I have to admit though I was less than pleasant.  After my conversation with Dr. V, I had decided I was going to have a C-section; this was my way of preparing for that.  On some level, I figured I was going to need the epidural anyway so managing the pain became much more difficult for me. 

2:30 pm

I had an overwhelming desire to push, and I told everyone so.  My nurse called the resident back in, but this time a female resident came to check, and she was much more pleasant than the male resident.  She checked me, and said, “I’m sorry, you’re only 7.  You can’t push yet.”

After she left, my midwife leaned over and whispered, “If you feel the need to push, do it gently.”  So when I felt the need to push, I did.  I continued laboring with her help and Archer continued encouraging me, despite me telling him that I really, really wanted the epidural.

3:05 pm

I again said, “I need to push now.”  So again, everyone came back in, and the resident said, “Yep, she’s fully dilated; let’s get set up.” So the nurses began setting up, and I pushed with L and Archer’s help.  Dr. V walked in and said, “Why isn’t the table set up?”  The nurses couldn’t get my bed broken down to set up the stirrups, and in the meant time, I was still trying to push.  The bed was finally together, and my legs were forcibly put in the stirrups—I hate stirrups.  The resident kept telling me not to push, and I ignored her.  Dr. V looked at me and said, “We need to make sure the baby is in the right position, so stop pushing or you will hurt yourself and the baby.”  So I managed not to push.  Then the baby’s heart rate dropped to 60, and the resident said to me, “M, we’ve got to get your baby out now. Push as hard as you can.”  I wanted to say, “Gee, that’s what I’ve been trying to do for the last 10 minutes.”  So I pushed, and 5 minutes later, George was born.  The NICU nurses wanted to take him right away, but Dr. V quickly determined he was doing well.  She insisted that Archer cut the cord (in fact, she gave him no choice in the matter, which I loved as he hadn’t cut Wild Man or Bear’s cords) and that I be allowed to hold George for a few minutes.  The nurses then took him to the warmer and checked his heart rate and breathing.  He was doing so well that he was back with me in about 10 minutes.  While the resident gave me two stitches (without a local; she reasoned that I’d need 6 “pokes” with stitches and a local but only 4 “pokes” for the two stitches.  I said, “They aren’t exactly ‘pokes,’ but fine.”), Archer and I debated names.  We chose one that hadn’t been in the running long, but that really seemed to fit the baby.  We then had a brief conversation with Dr. V, and she returned me to my midwife’s care. 

In the end, after 15+ hours at the hospital and about 2 hours of active labor, George was born on July 24^th at 3:20 pm, weighing 7 lbs 5 oz and measuring 20 inches long.

Quiet

All of our family visitors have left, and as odd as this sounds, our house is quiet again.*  Yes, Wild Man and Bear make lots of noise, but it is noise I'm used to.  Slowly we're settling into a routine.  The hardest thing is that I'm nursing, and George is eating on demand.  I can be in the middle of cooking dinner or reading to Bear, and I suddenly have to get Archer to take over. He is doing a lot of the heavy lifting, so to speak, and that is frustrating for both of us for various reasons.  George is a laid-back baby, so that makes life a bit easier. 

*At some point I'll describe Yetta's less than fun visit, but for now I'll just be glad to have my house back.

Getting back in the game

George is now three weeks old, and my mind is already thinking about the projects I want to try to accomplish while on parental leave.  I am not expected to get any work done, but most people manage to get a few things done.  My plans are not overly ambitious, and now I'm still in the thinking/planning stages.  I'm optimistic, albeit cautiously, that George will nap for several hours each day (in fact, he's napping right now), enabling me to get at least an hour's worth of work done each day.  Bear will be home with us 2 days a week, so those days will likely be more hectic, but I hope to have their afternoon naps coordinated by October.   And I am fully aware that none of my plans may come to fruition, and I'm okay with that too.

A Pseudonym

I have finally chosen a pseudonym for the baby.  He will now be known as George, as in Curious George.  Why?  He is already intensely curious.  At not quite 3 weeks old, he is already trying to hold his head up, tracking objects, and listening for his brothers.  I think he's going to do everything early!