Happy One Month my Little One

Today my daughter is officially one month old. I can't believe we made it through the infamous first month with everyone intact! I have to say that no amount of anything could have prepared me for what it was like living with a newborn (except maybe trench warfare). Who knew that babies were different than children? Children I can handle...babies.... REALLY HARD (although, I will say, not as hard as a new puppy - at least infants don't chew your coffee table, and they wear diapers so that you aren't constantly cleaning poop off your floors).

Perhaps the reason that I found the first month's adjustments so difficult is because I practise a sort of extreme attachment parenting. I don't subscribe to the nonsense about letting children 'cry it out.' I never leave my daughter alone for longer than it takes me to pee. Most of her day is spent sleeping on a family member, talking to a family member, or be carried around by a family member. At night she sleeps beside me, often with my hand in her little bassinet, her fingers wrapped around my thumb. I do my very best to listen to what she's trying to communicate, and then fix whatever problem she might have. Maybe because of my intense commitment to this, she doesn't really cry. The longest she's ever cried is *maybe* two minutes at a time, a couple times a day. And I could count the number of times on one hand that she's really had a crying spell. Normally her displeasure is made apparent by little grunts, and the grunts sound different for each complaint she might have - hungry, wet diaper, dirty diaper, gas, just wanting a hug, etc. After one month of living together, I think I'm pretty good at disciphering her grunts, and thus can head off any further shows of displeasure by taking care of the cause of the grunts post haste.

As well as being an extraordinarily good natured baby, she's also an extraordinarily dextrous child, and has been since birth. At her 3 day check up with our midwife, she interwove her fingers and placed her folded hands on her chest in the classic pose of patience the entire time our midwife was listening to her heart beat. Of course our midwife was floored, because babies aren't supposed to be capable of something like this until around the six month mark. Just to prove it wasn't a fluke, Stella has done it over and over and over again - usually while eating a bottle, and generally it seems to be a symbol of her contentment. She also is already capable of grabbing bottles and pacifers (and fingers) and pushing them into her mouth, taking them out again, waving them around a bit, and then replacing them in her mouth. Again, a feat not supposed to be possible for several months. And, at the risk of sounding like a bragging parent, she's also capable of holding her head up on her own for several seconds at a time, and has been since birth. It's like she's deliberately trying to defy the baby books.

Perhaps it's because of these spectacular and stunning demonstrations of individuality, but ever since the first few days home I've had such a sense that she's a real little PERSON, with a personality and an intellegence already fully formed and waiting to break free. I don't feel for her at all the way I've felt about other newborns. She doesn't respond well to the typical things that entertain babies - she HATES baby talk or baby games, doesn't like being read to from children's books (although grown up stories are fine) and will not tolerate any sort of suggestion that she's anything other than an autonomous human being. I often find myself engaged in conversation with her the same way I would be with another adult, reading her expressions as answers to my questions. She decides when it's time for a bath, time for a bottle, time for some family cuddle time, etc. Lots of people tell me that I'm spoiling her and she'll become an unruly toddler, but I think the fact that she doesn't cry and is apparently a very content little baby indicates that in fact it's quite the opposite. By allowing her to make choices within the confines of a predetermined set of boundaries, even at this age, she is developing a sense of trust in her family, as well as a sense of who she is.

This is the same sort of system as recommended by Myla and Jon Kabat-Zinn their book Everyday Blessings: the Inner Work of Mindful Parenting. It's the same system that my mom used to raise me, more or less, and I think it's an excellent model for parenting children in a way that allows them the freedom to be who they're meant to be, while still providing loving guidance. Although the book is based on buddhist ideals, it's full of great advice for all parents, and I urge you to read it if you have, or will have, children.

That said, as much as I want her to be her own little person, I'm not looking forward to the day when I can no longer dress her in super cute little outfits of my choosing. :) The hoodies with little ears on them - priceless!

A really great bookend to 2007

A few weeks ago I wrote a post for 'accidental dharma' about what being pregnant had taught me. And while yes, many excellent lessons were learned during the last nine months, nothing could have prepared me for the whiplash inducing pace of lesson after lesson heaped upon me during labour, childbirth, and the days immediately following. My labour experience taught me, in a very real and crushing way, to have no expectations. I'd like to share with you our birth experience. It is, in and of itself, long enough to be a stand alone post. I'll write another post tomorrow about the dirth of dharma that accompanied it.

Dec 30, 2007
At about 1:30pm, while sitting in bed surfing the internet (pretty much all I did for the last 2 weeks of pregnancy) I felt a little gush between my legs. My first thought was 'did I just pee myself?' I know about 'water breaking' but this didn't feel like 'enough' fluid to be amniotic fluid, so I was a little confused. I went to the bathroom and broke out the amnicator swab that my midwife had provided me with so that I could check any suspicious leaks to see if they were amni fluid. As soon as I swabbed, the little stick turned black, indicating that it was, indeed, amniotic fluid. But the flow had stopped, and so I didn't know what to do. I deliberated for about an hour, as my usual midwife was out of town for the holidays, but finally relented under pressure from my mother to call the on-call midwife and get her opinion.
She said that she'd think about what she'd like me to do, and call me back. I was hoping and planning for a homebirth, and I still had one more week to go before I was in the 'safe' zone for such things.
An hour later she called me back and told me to head in to the hospital. They were going to induce labour if things didn't get started on their own, since a tear in the amniotic sack can lead to lots of problems. So, I packed my bags and headed in to labour and delivery, fully convinced that my body would do what it was supposed to, and I'd still have my natural birth, even if it WAS in the hospital.

7:00pm - I'm feeling little contractions, but nothing major. I'm not dilating, and labour does not seem to be starting. The on call OB decides to let my try to labour overnight on my own, and if no progress is made, we'll have to start an induction in the morning. The contractions are just enough to keep me in a constant state of 'uncomfortable'.

10:00pm - They make my husband go home, and I'm all alone, scared, and pretty upset sitting there in my hospital bed. Every 4 hours a nurse comes in and pokes me and takes vitals, making sleep impossible, even though they've given me enough tranquilizers to knock out a hippo.

Dec 31
7:00am - My husband returns, as does my midwife. They check me, and since I've been contracting all night I'm really hoping I've made some progress. Not so. I'm still tightly closed and my body isn't doing what it's supposed to be doing to get a baby out. They start a pitocin drip in the hopes that my contractions will start to pick up. Bye bye natural labour. I'm still convinced that I can do it without an epidural though. I have their assurances that once I'm in real active labour we can abandon the pitocin and let my body do it's thing.

10:00am - Just sitting in the hosptial bed, still not really feeling much. The machine says I'm contracting, but I'm not really feeling it. The midwife tells me to get up and walk around to help move contractions along. Since I'm hooked up to a billion machines, this is easier said than done. Once we finally get all the wires sorted out, the husband and I start wandering the halls.
Walking makes the contractions strong enough to feel, and for the first time I'm starting to think I'm in labour. For the next several hours we alternate between walking (which I really don't like) and laying in the hospital bed.

2:00pm - The pitocin dosage is pretty high at this point, and I'm definitely feeling it. I move to the birth ball, but the act of sitting means that I can't keep the monitors in the right place for them to hear the baby's heartbeat. Instead of being able to focus and work through the contractions, I'm forced to hold the stupid paddles in place, and every 10 seconds move them around because the baby has squirmed away and the act of her moving means that we can't hear her heartbeat, and a bunch of alarms go off.

3:00pm - I have a breakdown because all I want to do is breath through contractions and focus on labour, but I have to hold these stupid paddles in place. I say there's no way I'm going to keep holding these damn paddles, and that I don't care if they can't hear her heartbeat. If they want me to continue with labour, they need to figure out how to do it without me holding these things. I'm getting frustrated and angry at this point, which the midwife takes to mean that I'm really in labour, so they move me to the birthing room.

4:00pm - They check me, after 9 hours of a heavy pitocin drip. I'm now 1cm dilated. One. I start to cry, totally frustrated and exhausted from what is now 24 hours of labour. The midwife and OB conference, and it's decided that they'll give me until 8pm to get the baby out. After that, if I've not made real progress, we're going to be forced to do a c-section. It's now been over 24 hours since my membranes ruptured, and the risk of infection goes up exponentially from here. At this point, the risk to the baby is too high to continue playing around. I'm so exhausted and frustrated that I don't even care. I'm alternating between being really depressed and being really motivated. I can't really describe the feelings, but at the top of my list was an overwhelming sense of failure.

4:30pm - To hopefully speed things up, the OB ruptures what's left of my membranes. A lot of fluid comes out, which indicates that I just had a little tear. As soon as he does this, my body is racked by one continuous excruciating contraction. I'm in overwhelming pain, and it's everything I can do to stay conscious. It seems that THIS is what people are talking about when they say a pitocin induction is hell.

5:00pm - After half an hour of this, I realize that I just can't continue to labour without an epidural, especially since there's no way of knowing how long it's going to be. If nine hours resulted in 1cm, how long will I need to labour to get to 10cm?? I relent and begin to beg for an epidural. I'm crying as he puts it in, as much from the emotion of again, feeling like I've failed, as from the excrutiating pain. The epidural was the worst pain I felt in the entire process. But, as soon as it's in it's absolute bliss. For the first time in over 24 hours I feel calm. At this point I realise how many little aches and pains I've been carrying around with me for the last several months. For the first time in over half a year, I'm not in excruiating back pain. I ask my husband if we can have epidural drips installed in our home.

Now that the epidural is in, they kick up my pitocin to epic proportions, hoping to kick start a really good labour.

5:15pm - Alarms start going off. My blood pressure plummets to a dangerous low. The baby's heartbeat slows to a dangerous level. The epidural has made my blood pressure drop, causing the baby to go into distress. A team of nurses and doctors runs into the room, and starts flipping me around to get the baby to respond. I'm hooked up to oxygen to hopefully get some oxygen to the baby. There's talk of an emergency c-section. After a few minutes though, my blood pressure comes back up, and the baby's heart rate returns to normal. All the nurses leave. I flip back over onto my back, and the baby's heart rate falls again. Apparently I'll have to stay on my right side for the rest of the labour process.

6:00pm - Now that I'm calm I can focus on the task at hand. I absolutly refuse to have a c-section, so I begin to do visualization and meditation exercises. Unfortunately, the epidural has caused all contractions to stop. My midwife tells me that there's no way that I'm going to dilate 9cm in 2 hours without contractions. She begins preparations for a c-section. I sign the consent form, and then return to focusing on my body. I can do this. I have a dialogue with the baby, asking her to help, to move downward, to work with me.

7:30pm - I start to feel something. I'm not sure what it is, but it feels like someone has their hands in my vagina and is stretching. I tell my midwife. She says that maybe it's the baby finally moving into position and we'll start to see some dilation. I say this feels like it's external, not up high. She tells me that 'stretching is not what we want. Let me know when you feel pressure'. I say this definitely isn't 'pressure', so she says that it's not time yet. She goes to find the OB, so that he can check me in a few minutes, to confirm that I've not made any progress, and so we can begin a c-section.

7:55 - I tell the midwife that, ok, it's not pressure, but I feel SOMETHING very strongly, and I feel VERY uncomfortable. I tell her that I think she had better check me, because something is happening. She relents, I think more to shut me up than anything else. As soon as she gets her hands down there her face pales. 'You're almost totally dilated, and the baby's head is right there. (man has she got a lot of hair!) You just have a tiny little lip of cervix left. I can't believe it. You weren't even contracting, how did this happen?!' She tears out of the room to find the OB because I'm going to have this baby any minute. I'm overwhelmed. I can't believe we did it. I instantly start feeling the pressure they were talking about, and I'm overcome with the urge to push.

8:00 - My midwife comes back, and the OB will be in in a few minutes. I don't think he really believed her when she said I was going to deliver any second.

8:20 - I can't hold it in anymore, and the OB still isn't there. I tell my midwife that I can't keep fighting the urge to push. The baby's coming out whether they like it or not. She tells me, rather concerned, that I can't start pushing yet. She checks me, and the lip of cervix is gone and the baby is RIGHT there. I tell her I'm pushing whether they like it or not, so she best get a doctor in there now. She tells me I can't start pushing until the NICU team is there, because technically the baby is early and could have problems breathing. I yell back that they'd better get there fast then, because I'm pushing. I start to do little pushes whenever I feel the contractions that apparently aren't happening.

8:30 - The NICU team and the OB arrive. As soon as they get in the room, I start pushing with everything I have. They keep telling me to do this, or do that, or put my hands here, etc, but I'm in my own world. I'm totally ignoring their orders and pushing when and how I feel like it.

8:50pm - Baby Stella is born. After only 20 minutes of pushing, my little 6 pound 5 ounce miracle arrives. My husband cuts her cord. They lay her on my chest while they cut the cord, and man is the cord ever short. She's crying, but sort of quietly and is pretty weak. The NICU team takes her, and as soon as they get her she starts screaming. My husband goes over to the table with her and starts taking pictures while they clean her up and check her over. I'm so absorbed by this that I don't notice there's a team of people still focusing on me. I direct my attention to them, and I hear words like 'prolapsed' and 'hemoraging'. Apparently I'm losing a lot of blood, and they can't find my uterus. They think it's slipped down into the birth canal. If they can't stop the flow of blood, I'm going to need emergecy surgery. After about 10 minutes they get it under control. They stop the bleeding and I get to hold my little girl for a few minutes before they take her to the NICU to make sure she's ok. My husband goes with her so that they can weigh her and check her vitals properlly. She doesn't get to nurse, which I'm very upset about.

9:30pm - They remove my epidural and I'm instantly fine. It's supposed to take up to 5 hours to wear off, but it took about 3 minutes. I'm up and walking around in about 10 minutes.

10:30pm - I finally get the ok to go to the NICU to visit Stella. She's in an incubator just to make sure that she's warm enough, and hooked up to 3 different monitors making sure that she's breathing fine and that all her organs are working. We spend about a half hour just adoring her before I'm finally too exhausted and need to head back to the room. I don't sleep the whole night because I can't bear to be apart from my daughter. The next morning we get the ok to bring her to our room, and we haven't been apart since.

Stella's birth was an amazing lesson in having no expectations. It was definitely not the natural homebirth I had hoped for for my daughter, and I'm convinced that the reason Stella doesn't breastfeed is because of the trauma she suffered at the hands of the maternity nurses. Regardless of whether my hopes or expectation have been met, Stella is a fabulous little baby. She's happy and alert full of personality. She rarely cries, and when she does she's instantly soothed by contact with my husband and I. She sleeps next to us at night, and is attached to a family member for most of the day. Our first weeks home have been one lesson after another, but that's a whole other post.

Welcome to the world little one.

I have so many things I want to say, but I don't have the time to write them. Having a newborn at home is a great lesson in living in the present. You cannot dwell on the past, nor can you plan for the future - you simply are too tired, and anyway, your plans never turn out how you expected.

I'm working on a post about her birth - please be patient.

Sorry, it'll be a while until I'm able to write again. A little someone arrived early. :)