A Taste of Something New

Luke has a crazy appetite. The kid is 4.5 months old and weighs 19.5 lbs!!! He gets about 20 oz of breastmilk (that's all I can make) and 10 oz of formula in a day. I know plenty of babies that eat this much and aren't near as big as him. I am diligent in measuring any formula he gets, so I know he isn't getting concentrated formula with higher calories. My only guess is that my milk is high in fat? He's a 'healthy' little boy. That's all that matters. I love his chunky thighs and the rolls on his arms. His little pot belly and two chins make me squint as I smile with glee.

I stumbled across something called baby-led weaning when Luke was first born. It is a concept, from what I understand, to let your child discover food on their own terms and feed themselves. Milk stays their primary source of nutrition for the first year of life, though. Food is for play and exploration only. No cereal, no spooning purées, just safe, soft table/finger foods. Supposedly, it really promotes self-reliance, independence, and decreases 'picky eating.'  A picky eater myself, I would do anything to shield my son from this curse. Maybe start him out on a different foot. Maybe try this baby-led weaning? That was my plan. 

Planning has not seemed to be on my side since the start of wanting a family, though. Why I've assumed it would change from that point, eight years ago, to today... No clue. Incurable optimist I suppose. But with his appetite, and needing more and more to be satisfied, we've been entertaining trying purées. 

It's exciting to think of starting him on solids. And I'll admit, with the baby-led weaning we would be missing out on the very first spoon feeding of messy puréed vegetables that first time parents are so eager to shove into tiny, gummy mouths. 

We broke down and bought some organic purées. Organic because there is a hippie that lives in my soul. We bought the stage 1 stuff that the doctor approved. Carrots, squash, sweet potatoes, and what not. I really just wanted to see where he was in being ready for solids. We decided on carrots first. I didn't expect him to even open his mouth, let alone eat anything. He surprised me. He opened, took most of what was on the spoon, made chewing motions, and swallowed! Josh and I were blown away. 

He actually ate! I couldn't believe it. I was in such awe. And he cried because we couldn't get the spoon back to his mouth fast enough! He loved the carrots! He loved them, gobbled them up, couldn't get enough! 

It was so much fun feeding him, too! He enjoyed it, we enjoyed it. I nursed him and he had 4 oz of formula before we offered any baby food to him. The jar was 2.5 oz, and he took almost half of it! He probably would have taken the whole thing if I hadn't fed him his milk first. But I just want solids to be for exploration right now. I want milk to be his primary source of everything. I really enjoyed feeding him, though. And I liked it so much because he did. 

I've been beating myself up over how to feed my child since he was born. I never realized how much I didn't know about babies until I had my own! It's a lot earlier than I wanted to start solids. I stood my ground when cereal kept getting suggested when he was only 3 months. And I didn't want him to have any purées, or any other solids for that matter, until after 6 months old. But after he took that spoon so well, I'm torn. I just didn't expect that at all from him! I think we are going to continue it simply for the experience and bonding with our little man. When he finally reaches for food, I think we will drop the purées and let him lead his feeding experiences from that point on. 

I'll be sure to update the journey. 

good bye!

3 Months

 

Weight: 15 lbs 8 oz (81.6%)

Length: 23.75" (30.8%)

 

Blessed

No one could have explained to me what being a mommy was going to be like or just how much it would change my life in every aspect.

Work used to really stress me out. I have a job with a lot of responsibility/liability on my shoulders. Maybe it's because I've only been back for a brief time since having Luke, but things are different. I don't drive home rethinking everything that happened at work, what I should or shouldn't have done/said, or what I need to do the next day. I drive home wondering what kind of mood Luke is going to be in, imagining what he smells like, and how his soft skin will feel against mine. I don't stress when I am not in bed by 8pm. I just live life on the fly. I would prefer more sleep, but I'm well-adjusted to missing it. I never imagined that I could be one of those people that could function on 2-4 hours of sleep. And sometimes we aren't talking consecutively; maybe 20 minutes here, 40 there, etc. And because I'm the type of person who needed a good 10-12 hours of sleep to feel productive, I would have a child that would sleep no more than a few hours at a time. That's ok. I've overcome much worse. This child makes me feel like I can conquer the World! No doubt. He's the most challenging thing I have EVER had in my life! And yet the most rewarding. 

I hear a lot of people say they are "blessed" when things are easy, textbook, or going as planned/better than expected in their lives. Guilty myself. But if someone else's definition of "blessed" defined it for me, I'm pretty sure I would be cursed. It seems like I can't remember an easy road. I feel scarred from having to climb the side of a mountain to get pretty much anywhere I've been trying to go. 

My childhood was difficult due to a severe lack of structure. Anyone "blessed" through teenage years? Yeah, me either. I lost my brother and grandmother within two months of each other. Marriage started out very rocky and difficult for Josh and I. We couldn't conceive, after trying for years. Fertility treatments were failing. We lost our daughter. I lost Luke's twin early on, went into preterm labor, was put on bedrest, had a rough L&D, then NICU. And now our son has been very difficult compared to other babies his age. Those are just the high points of some of the most difficult times in my life thus far. But here's why I am "blessed": because despite the fact that I pointed out the negatives, the way those difficulties have shaped me is what makes me who I am. And I am a person that can overcome anything. I am a person that can see past the negative and find the good. I am a person that is inspired and becomes inspirational. 

Proving it to myself, I see my childhood as the basis, foundation, and structure to everything I am now. It was a poor foundation, weak and wobbly, until I understood life a little better. Maybe I credit my interest in my pschycology and sociology classes in college? Who knows? But once I realized that I wasn't defined by my past, and I could live in the now, my viewpoints and life changed dramatically. Through a lack of structure, I found a profound independence in myself. I was a leader. I learned very early that the way you treat people, and how you make them feel, directly affects how you feel about yourself. I know adults who still refuse to believe this. Their loss. 

I found appreciation for life after losing my brother and grandmother when I was 17. I was finally close to both of them for the first time in my life. The emptiness hurts. The loneliness scars. I lived "loosely," as older teens do. No fear of dying. I've read it has to do with brain maturity. At that age, the area in the prefrontal cortex that processes consequences and the instinct of fear (needed for survival of our species) is still very underdeveloped. I believe this was the argument in the northern US states for having an older age requirement to obtain a driver's license. I could be making that up? It just seems like I remember reading that once. Back to my story. My grandmother died of cancer and my brother a single car accident. My brother would still be here if he'd been wearing a seatbelt. Talk about a wake up call. I can't tell you how "grown up" I became about vehicle safety, particularly wearing a seatbelt. Which I still don't understand how people drive/ride in a car without a seatbelt on?! I wonder if they would be comfortble on a roller coaster without lap bars?! It's essentially the same thing. They both do about the same speeds, and while a vehicle may be enclosed, it can still go upside down. Crazy people out there. Anyway, I started to live less risky and took more control of my life, from that point on. I talked about my brother a lot. I even gave a heartfelt speech about seatbelt safety in college. I'm terrified of the day my son starts driving, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Today, he is still lying in my arms. 

College was a hard time in my life, but I am a much different person because of it. Education doesn't make people better than others, but it does seem to occasionally bring out the insecurities in the people around you. I still feel insecure around physicians with tons of experience and published research studies. It's intimidating. But it's really all in the head of the intimidatee, because those who try to be intimidators typically intimidate no one.

Before nursing school, I enjoyed college. I worked full time and took night classes and online classes. I loved the people I met, and the things I learned. Nursing school was the worst part for me. I was flat out bullied by a couple of my instructors. Ridiculous, immature, and unprofessional. One of my instructors had the audacity to say to me: "Pateints want a nurse that is competent, not sweet." This stemmed from the accusation that I was "too nice" to my patients and that I worried more about them liking me than taking care of them. The part of me wanting to be a nurse was the fact that I love to help and care for others. I am truly compassionate for other human beings, and it was never an "act" with my patients. That teacher insinuated that I could not be kind and competent at the same time. Oh, if only she could see me now. She wanted me kicked out of the program. She made my life Hell, and with all honesty, I hated her. And to make matters even worse, there were a group of girls... Ha! Girls. Grown ass women, I should say. I had this feeling that they were no good, just rotten to the their cores. But it was just a feeling, a hunch, nothing concrete. Until I sat in a satellite class with them where others couldn't hear them. I listened to them laugh and make fun of other classmates, people that they were unbelievably nice to when around. I knew it! Jerks. Immature, childish women. I'm so glad I've never seen them again since graduation! I will say that I am very happily still friends with some amazing people that I met in my nursing class, though. They made life so much more tolerable during that time, and they don't even know this very important fact. Maybe I should confess it to them one day? Yet again, another good outcome from a poisonous environment. 

Everything in life is a matter of finding the good in a bad environment. I am responsible for all of my own experiences. And I take full responsibility of that in my life. And I am happier. 

Back to my son being more difficult than other babies his age. I will accept responsibility for that, as well. I don't have a predictable schedule for him, and I choose to breastfeed, even though I do not make enough milk for him. I supplement with formula when needed. I don't starve him (whew obviously-have you seen the size of this kid?). But when I breastfeed him, it's hard to tell how much he ate, thus how much supplementation he needs. I just start out with one or two ounces of formula and continue to mix it at 1-2 oz intervals as he needs. This is freakin tedious. Not like poppin a baby on a boob for 10-15 min then burp and done. It's a game. Is he full? Does he need more milk? How much? Ay yi yi. He's worth it, but it's very difficult to handle. My choice though, and I accept that. 

I have not made a routine with him for a sleep schedule. We bathe every night, but the times are various, and he doesn't always go to bed afterwards. His naps are also sporadic. He doesn't put himself to sleep, and he tends to catnap. I HATE catnaps. They are the devil. I've heard consistency is key in sleep/nap scheduling, so I have a plan. We'll see how it goes. 

Some people have those babies that can go with the flow of anything. Not mine. He needs constant attention, and gets bored easily. He wants a change of scenery all of the time. He stares at life outside with a curiosity inside of him that I know we will one day share.

I have a feeling he is going to be a deep thinker, motivated by good and intrigued by nature. I can't wait to watch this child grow up and get to know the amazing person he is going to become. I'm overjoyed to be a mom, finally. I am blessed. 

Kind of Sad

Today (well yesterday as it's 1 am as I type this) was my first day back at work. I worked Monday & Tuesday just on the computer, and spent time getting reacquainted with my patients and learning what's been going on while I've been out.

Today was such an awesome day. The old gang was all together again. There were originally four of us. One transferred, the other took another job, and many people have since come and gone. But today, today we all four managed to be together. It was pretty awesome. We played the radio and laughed all day. It was how work should be.

Luke was home with Josh, so other than a bit of a strenuous pumping schedule, I was pretty at ease. However, I had a moment. During a quiet minute while I was charting on a patient, a song came across the radio that gave me butterflies. Not the warm, fuzzy kind. The sick stomach kind.

When I was pregnant with Lexi, I made a video of Josh and I surprise-announcing our pregnancy to our family. It starts out with a song by Journey. That same song came across the radio today, and I felt my gut sink. I have an association to that song now: feelings of overwhelming joy and bliss, and soon after, heartbreak and tragedy. The song makes me feel sick to my stomach now. Sick with emotions of pain.

I feel that I adapted to the situation well (of losing my daughter), especially at the time. But I can't help the connotations and emotions I connect with that song. It will never be the same for me. I look at Luke often and wonder what Lexi would look like. Would she look like her brother? Would she be walking yet? I wish she were here so bad. I miss her so much. However, never 'knowing' her, I think it is the idea of her that I miss so much. I miss the connection and bond that I made with her in our short time together. I wish she were here to help me care for Luke. I am grateful, so grateful, to have experienced my first pregnancy with her. It was truly blissful. She made me feel whole. The way Luke makes me feel whole now. I think of her hearing her voice sometimes, hearing 'mommy' in that sweet, baby voice. But it will never be, and I accept that. Not always with open arms, but with realism. Just kind of sad right now. 

And the Mother of the Year Award goes to...

NOT ME! Lets just make that clear. Not that I want to elude this prestigious honorary, but I keep managing to sabotage myself.

Luke barely slept last night. I could tell it was reflux. I've had GERD for 12 years. I know the pain all too well. When my baby gurgles and gags and swallows and screams out in pain, I know exactly what he is going through. 

I would climb out of bed all night just to hold him upright, hoping it would help. And it did, temporarily. It's so heartbreaking to know my baby is in that kind of pain. We discussed it with the Ped at his 2 month check up. He suggested rice cereal, with the disclaimer that they "usually didn't recommend that this early unless the infant was at least 14 lbs and had reflux." I did my own research on why that is, and I'm not comfortable using the rice cereal at 10 weeks old. 

He offered writing him a script for Zantac, which is what I am taking while breast feeding (as I can't find good studies for the prescription stuff, like my Nexium that I've been taking for over a decade). The Zantac passes through to breast milk, but not enough to be equivalent to an effective dosage. Obviously. I declined, in office, on the script. I figured I would change my diet first and try more elevation after he eats. It's been torture night after night knowing my child is in pain. 

During the day, Luke slept more than usual. He's been lethargic and refusing a bottle. He breast feeds fine, but won't take a bottle. I go back to work in 3 days. We're going to have to work on that. Josh has been sick and running a fever since Monday. He's been staying away from the baby, but I'm still a little worried. I've been checking Luke's temp and no fever, so I don't know. 

I gave in and called the Ped to ask for the Zantac for Luke. It had been a long night, and I felt terrible for him. It wasn't until 9pm that Josh and I were able to leave to go to the pharmacy. You know, because it takes like 2 days to plan a trip out with an infant. I had to pay cash for his prescription, because I hate my insurance company and they hate me. I really wanted a 'half price milkshake' from Sonic, too. So, we scurried in that direction. 

Pulling out of the pharmacy's parking lot, Josh says, "Um Dairy Queen it is." To which I replied, "No. Sonic's shakes are half price right now." He said, "you better tell them to put those lids on as tight as possible then!" A little background here: Josh recently tried one of their new shakes and hated the combo of flavors that he ordered, so he sent it back was brought a different flavor. As we were leaving, he grabbed the cup and Blam! Disaster ensued. Milkshake everywhere: into the gear shift, down the console, in-between the seats, everywhere. We drove next door to a car wash and vacuumed the ice cream from our truck. And even more recently, I had a milkshake, on a different day, that didn't have a secure lid either. So, there went ice cream, everywhere, again. It's easy to see Josh's reserve. 

When we arrived, I ordered a peanut butter, with hot fudge, shake. But, on first sip, I realized it was just a vanilla shake. I desperately wanted that peanut butter!!! So, I politely requested a new shake. The new one was almost overloaded with peanut butter, but I tried to tolerate it. 

As we get going down the road, the peanut butter is causing my mouth to stick together. So, I reach back for the initial large, vanilla shake (they didn't take it back when they brought my new one). And guess what?! The &@&!?"&!$ lid wasn't on well. Ice cream EVERYWHERE. In my purse, the console, gear shirt, in the ventilation holes of the seat, the floor, between the seat and under it. All over my hands. And I hear Josh, "Never again. I don't care if shakes are two cents. I don't care if they're free!!! Never EVER again." Still hoping the truck doesn't smell like soured milk tomorrow in the 90 degree heat. Ugh. 

To make matters worse, much worse, I decided to give Luke the Zantac when we got home. I opened a syringe that I had at home with a needle on it. I drew up Luke's dose and discarded the needle. I squirted 1/4-1/2 ml into his cheek. He made an awful face, swallowed a bit, then tried spitting the rest out. He started gagging in a dry-heaving-like motion. Then, he vomited all over both of us. I thought I had given him too much. I rocked him and apologized over and over again. He didn't appear in pain, just disgusted by the taste. It had a spearmint smell. I should have tasted it myself first.

I decided to try to put just a few drop on his tongue, instead. But I scratched his gums with the stupid syringe. I felt it scrape. Omg I felt soooo bad. I can't even begin to describe how bad. He tried spitting out the second set of drops, then vomited again. Poor baby. I just held him close to me, vomit and all, and rocked him while trying not to cry. What an awful, awful day.

I was hopeful that we could end the day with a happy bath. Luke loves bath time. And this bath was no different; he enjoyed it. He has developed this new thing he likes to do in the bath where he shows his tongue a lot. He sticks it out like he is exaggeratively licking his lips over and over again. It's usually hilarious, but this time, I noticed blood in his mouth. Ahhhh! From where I scraped his gums! I wanted to crawl in a hole. Bad, bad mommy. I just need to sleep this awful day away. 

Here's to a better tomorrow!

2 Months

Weight: 13 lbs 3 oz (84.1%)

Length: 22.75" (54%)

Head: 39.25 cm (72.6%)

Man, I've missed blogging!

It's been 2 months since Luke was born, and I'm slacking on here. I can't count the times I've made a blog post in my head at the most inconvenient times, like when I'm showering, or feeding Luke, in the middle of giving a bath, or driving down the road. Times when I obviously can't blog. So frustrating. I've come up with some good stuff. Stories like projectile vomit turning into a waterfall under daddy's shirt onto the floor with classic daddy-dry-heaving. This is my journal. I need to be recording these things. Stories to look back on and laugh at. Maybe I will print my blog one day and make it a book for story time with Luke. Can't do that without writing, though can I?

So, back on the bandwagon! I'll start by catching up a bit.

1st month: That's over already?! Yeah, it was a blur. Feeding a newborn every 2-3 hours ALL day and night is exhausting. And being in the midst of it makes it hard to believe that people everywhere are doing this all of the time and have been since the beginning of man. Seriously?! How is this planet overpopulated? How is mankind not extinct? There are some strong women out there. Granted, I'm sure not every pregnancy and delivery goes as fabulously as mine did, or I probably wouldn't be typing this. But every newborn requires this much attention, and IT IS HARD. Whew. Breather. I should also mention that I had a low milk supply. I couldn't make enough to satisfy my baby's appetite. Which was hard. I had to pump after every feeding to try to stimulate more production. I was taking supplements. And I was inexperienced. That is key, because no matter how much education you are equipped with, sometimes you just have to live it. Can I getta Amen?! 

Luke eating every 2-3 hours was killing me. Literally stripping the basic needs to life right out of me. So, take a baby that nurses for almost an hour, then mix formula to supplement, feed for another 30 minutes, and change diaper (hopefully no disasters, so it can be a quick change). Lay baby down and pray, pray, pray that kid sleeps, so I can pump for 10-15 minutes. Wash pump parts in the sink and possibly bottles, if they are all dirty. Finally, lay down, and try to go back to sleep. Just starting to fall asleep. Pillow finally feeling comfy. Baby is awake and crying at the top of his little lungs ready to eat again! Rinse and repeat. 

Maybe I could get an hour of sleep at a time, maybe not. I would typically have to stay in bed (getting up only for feedings) for 12 hours just to get 4-6 hours of sleep. I wasn't eating, because I was trying to catch up on sleep. The lack of hydration and food was probably negatively impacting my milk supply further. It was such a vicious cycle on my body. But it was dedication at its best, even though it felt like the worst. This spilled well over into the 2nd month, I should mention. 

2nd month: Just as hard. Trying to bring in more milk is so exhausting, and it would have been so easy for me to just give up and give the kid formula. SO EASY. But I decided long before he was born that I was going to give breastfeeding everything I had. And I have. Everything. 

He never slept longer than 3 hours. I felt like he should be sleeping longer at night, and I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing with him during the day when he was actually awake. Maybe I didn't read enough. Maybe I read too much about pregnancy and all the crap I went through instead of reading about newborns. Maybe. 

At my 6 week check-up, my OB wanted to talk about Luke the entire time. And I was annoyed by that. She wanted to tell us how he "should be" sleeping, how we "should" put him down, how he "shouldn't" be awake so long. The whole appointment was about him. But that's why we have a Pediatrician. Just because you have a baby, doesn't mean that every baby is like yours. I don't care how many books or studies you've read, when it comes to parenting, it just has to be individualized. You can offer advise, but don't tell a brand new parent what they should and shouldn't be doing if their baby is healthy. It just made me mad. I was so distracted by all of the advise that I completely forgot to even ask to get my labs drawn, so that I could see where my anemia was to get cleared to work out. I was struggling with fatigue and dizziness during an intense workout program. If it was my anemia, I wanted to take it easy until I had adequate blood cells to supply oxygen to my heart and muscles when working out. But if it was just because my butt was out of shape, I was going to push myself. 

She even forgot to give me a prescription that was for several micro urethral tears I had sustained from child birth. Sigh. And I was so frustrated that I didn't even call back to get it called in. I also didn't go back for my labs. I just decided to give my body adequate time to rebuild my iron stores and create more red blood cells before I returned to such an intense workout program (like I almost passed out after 5 minutes into the warm up!). I'll just do stair-climbing/running and sit-ups in the meantime. 

I walked out of her office feeling like the worst mom in the world. Seriously, I felt  that bad, and I know it wasn't intentional. Maybe the hormones helped a bit? Yeah, maybe that was it. 

On a good note, my mom bought this little play gym for Luke to lie in the floor and look at. He absolutely loves it. He coos and kicks and bats at all of the hanging stuff. It's adorable. Josh and I have been doing some trial and error with a sleep schedule still.

I could go on and on about all of the stuff that has happened, but it's time to move on. I'll continue with today.

Luke had his 2 month check up and shots. I fed him right before we left, so he would be content. But that also made us run late (as usual). He woke up when we got him naked for his weigh in, and he was alert and happy. And quiet. Weird for this kid. He's the noisiest baby ever! He weighed in at a whopping 13 lbs and 3 oz! His weight to height ratio was 90th percentile! He's a chunker! The Pediatrician said they don't worry about this in breastfed babies. Good. I asked about using "adjusted age" since he was premature. Our Ped said 37 weeks was considered full term and, because he was born only one week shy of that, we weren't using adjusted age for his development. So, his birth weight was in the 5th percentile for full term babies. He has accomplished some astounding catching-up! I was one proud momma. 

Luke was being so cooperative and just a delight to work with as he was being poked and prodded. Our Pediatrician is very sweet-natured and gentle, mixed with unintentional goofiness. He's been a Pediatrician for 30 years (hope he stays around as Luke grows up). He is as far from egocentric as possible, but he's very knowledgeable. We like him tons. He made the comment that the formula we were using to supplement was his favorite. He said he thought it was the best stuff on the market right now. That made me feel confident. He made me feel so much better about my parenting.

When it was time for Luke to get his oral stuff for the rotovirus and shots, the nurse was so attentive and gentle with him. He just stared at her while cooperatively sucking up the liquid. Proud mommy and daddy moment as we looked at each other and smiled. Josh and I were just in awe at how calm and cooperative he was being. He tends to be cranky at home a lot. 

When it was time for the shots, one of us had to hold him down. Instead of doing the fair thing (paper/rock/scissors), I bluntly volunteered Josh. I wasn't sure I could handle his "pain cry." I stood opposite them against the wall, anxiously. Josh gently held Luke's arms, as instructed. The nurse gave him his pacifier (which he notoriously refuses), and he took the it without the first bit of fuss. She quickly stuck his leg with a dart-like movement, and he didn't flinch. Maybe a tad at the end, because it burned? The 2nd one, he started to cry, though. Which turned into a wail through the 3rd shot. By this point, an undeniable instinct had me hovering right over him. I looked at Josh and said, "I have to take him." It wasn't a control thing. It felt like an instinct taking over. 

The nurse immediately handed him to me. He had spit out that pacifier and was screaming his "painful cry." Oh, it pierced my soul. I pressed him close to my chest and told him it was okay and that mommy was there. Within a minute or less, he went from screaming, to a pouty whine with tears in his eyes, to just blinking a lot while looking at me. I needed that. I needed to know that I could soothe him when he needed me. It made me feel like I'm doing this mommy thing right.

Newborn Pics

 So, remember the photographer that stood me up for the maternity shoot? The one that offered a free shoot to make it up? Yeah, her. Well, I emailed her the day he was born to cancel our shoot. Which was noble, considering I had contemplated just letting her wait for us to never show. But I had hoped she could do his newborn pictures. She never replied, though. No congratulations, nothing. Nope. Not getting my business. 

Eventually, when we got home with Luke and settled, I tried to find some newborn photographers. They were all booked out like 6 weeks! Really?! How do you book out like that with newborns? The available ones were way too expensive for a momma that had been out of work for 4 months, so I improvised. Borrowed my mom's Canon Rebel, then took & edited his newborn photos myself! I think they turned out ok for such a novice.

A friend sent me this necklace. There is a blue bead for Lexi's birthstone, and a clear bead for Luke's birthstone. The L simultaneously represents both of my babies. My friend is the pearl to me, as she is obviously a rare gem.

1 Month

 

Weight: 9 lbs 7 oz (46%)

Length: 20.75" (30.8%)

Head: 37.25 cm (72.6%)

NICU

Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. It sounds way more intimidating than it actually is. This is coming from a nurse, though. The tubes and alarms are a comforting thing for us. Monitors do a 24/7 job more efficiently than we, as humans, could manage. They alert us to problems, to which we then must use our knowledge base to act & solve. Of course I didn't want my precious newborn in NICU, but since he had tachypnea and a shoulder injury, I would much rather him be in an intensive care unit with monitors than in-room with an exhausted first time mom.

Speaking of shoulder injuries, he had X-rays in NICU immediately after he was born. Josh took a picture, because he thought the lead apron they put over his business was cute.

The X-rays came back fine. No broken collarbone. Hallelujah! He had some fluid around the joint from injury, but that was all. By the second day, he was flailing that arm around like no body's business.

Back to tubes and such. Looking back at pictures of my sweet baby with all of those tubes coming from his tiny, swollen body, crushes me. It's heartbreaking to see him like that. It was different at the time, though. We had a great NICU nurse that first day. She was so nonchalant. She'd say, "this is just a tube in his tummy to get out the air bubbles from the oxygen. And his oxygen is just room air. The little central line in his umbilicus is just so we don't have to poke him a bunch to draw blood, and we are going to give him some lipids and good stuff through that line." It made every little tube seem important, but like no-big-deal at the same time. She was great.

Day 1 (Saturday: the birth day)
Probably the hardest. After pushing for 2 hours, not sleeping or eating in over 24 hrs, I was give out. I tried to rest, but we had lots of eager, loving visitors coming and going. It was impossible to turn anyone away. I WANTED to see them. I WANTED to visit and chitchat. I also WANTED to rest. It was a hard time. The worst part is that everyone travelled at least an hour and no one got to see Luke. He was whisked away to NICU right after birth. There are no windows in NICU. It's a restricted access area, very quiet and private for the babies. By that night, our baby had oxygen, an OG tube, a central line in his umbilicus, EKG leads, an oxygen saturation monitor, and warmers on him. It sounds overwhelming, but I was just glad he wasn't intubated. Two other tiny babies (weighing less than 3 lbs) were. Because he was breathing so fast, they decided not to let him eat anything for 24 hrs. Babies typically have a poor appetite during that time, anyway. Nature's way of allowing the small amounts of colostrum from mom to be sufficient until the milk supply comes in. I was really bummed. I had always imagined I would feed him within hours of being born. They told us he was diuresing well, so the swelling would keep improving. He was so swollen! He was also very lethargic. Again, Mother Nature at work so that baby could recover from labor. It was hard work for him, too!

We were allowed in NICU at any time we wanted except during shift change, when confidential reports were being exchanged on all babies. This was between 6-8 am and pm. The very first night I tried to come see him alone (Josh was home feeding our dogs), I had a quarrel with a nurse. Long story short, I was given the run around and only allowed 5 minutes with my baby. Josh and I were only allowed to hold him once per shift (every 12 hrs), and we were told it was at his nurse's discretion. This was because he had a central line in his umbilicus. It was sewn in place with a clear dressing over it. I felt like saying, "I'm a friggin nurse. I know what this is and how to handle it. Now let me hold my freaking son!" That place made me want to pull my hair out.

Day 2 (Sunday: the last day with our favorite weekend crew)
The lactation consultant informed me that I could finally breastfeed my baby! I was overcome with joy. She assisted me. I had been pumping every 2-3 hrs (even all night) to increase my supply. It wasn't working well. I was logging my progress and seeing improvements, but I was very behind in my supply. He was a little rockstar baby when it came to eating. He latched perfectly. Everyone was very impressed by that. Made me a proud momma. The only thing that could have made me any happier would have been more colostrum. Boy, that was frustrating. We had to supplement with formula until I could produce enough for him. That was pretty disappointing. It was also hard to manage around all of the cords and tubing, get him situated on pillows, and me in the chair to feed him. My LC would weigh him before and after feedings to see how much he was getting. It was really cool. He was only getting about 10 mls (just less than 1/2 oz), though. The whole day seemed to be about both of us learning to breastfeed. He was weaned off of his oxygen on this day, too. That was exciting to come in for an afternoon visit with him and see no oxygen on him! His O2 sats were in the high 90s-100 without it! We were so happy. It was starting to look like maybe he could go home sooner. We were in and out of NICU all day on this day. I cried when I looked at him; I cried when I had to leave him; I cried at the thought of him. I was so overrun with emotions and gratitude. The situation may not have been favorable, but my baby was in this world and doing okay.

Day 3 (Monday: the start of a long week)
Ok, I lied. This was probably the worst day, emotionally. I had read that the breastfed baby should not receive any bottles or pacifiers in the hospital as it could sabotage the efforts, causing nipple confusion. Not to mention, it takes a completely different suck reflex to hold onto a pacifier than it does to express milk. Without my consent, my baby had been given a pacifier and ready-to-feed formula several times. I was so bummed. Any time he was hungry, the nurses would just throw a bottle of formula in his mouth instead of calling me from my room to come and feed him. They weren't supportive at all for a breastfeeding mother. They would peek in the curtain every 5 minutes to see how it was going, if we needed anything, etc. In fact, I did need something: privacy. 

How is a new mom suppose to get any bonding or confidence with her child when she is constantly being bombarded with intruders?! He latched really well without any difficulties, though. It would have been perfect had I actually had supply. But I didn't. And it was hard. The lactation consultant was wonderful and very supportive. She had my back with one of the NICU nurses that kept throwing a bottle to my child at every whimper. She let that nurse have it. The nurse was older than myself, late 50s early 60s maybe? And because this was our first baby, she treated us as though we knew nothing! She wanted to tell us how to touch him, hold him, change him, feed him... Okay, he may be OUR first, but we've cared for babies before. Sheesh. I think it was that "I'm older and far more experienced than you first-timers" syndrome, because the younger nurses (more our age) were much more understanding and gave us our privacy and autonomy with him. 

I was trying to breastfeed one day, and he just wasn't interested. So, I just held him and enjoyed our time together until he gave me some more cues that he was actually hungry. Then, here comes that hag-of-a-nurse (excuse my bluntness, but it's how I felt at the time) poking her head in the curtain, invading our privacy once again, asking how he was feeding, etc. I told her he wasn't hungry and that we were just relaxing for the time. She asks, "Do you mind?" while holding her arms out. I didn't know what she wanted, but I shrugged in an annoyed manner loosening my arms from him. She then took him from my arms and shoved a bottle of formula in his mouth right in front of me. Fed him the entire bottle, burped him, and handed him back to me. Then, had the audacity to say, "See? He just needed some convincing he was hungry." Rage was flowing through my veins like hot lava. I was almost in tears. You totally just sabotaged every effort I was trying to put into feeding him and our privacy and bonding! I almost got up and walked out while she was feeding him. I was so upset, and I could tell that she even sensed it. She had the nerve to say to me, "Oh don't worry sweetheart. You'll get the hang of it." I wanted to punch her in the throat. It's easy to look back and say I would have done this or I would have said that, but the truth is that in that situation, it was different. I didn't want to make any of his nurses mad. I wanted a good rapport, because they controlled my access to him. Sad and ridiculous, I know. 

I packed my things (pump, blankets, stuff I'd bring to feed him) and went back to my room and just cried my eyes out. It was hard enough, I didn't need someone like that skewing every effort I attempted to put forth. Obviously, she ignorantly didn't even realize how incredibly invasive she was being, but she didn't even hand me, his mother, the bottle to feed him (which I likely would have launched across the room, anyway). She blatantly sat right in front of me and fed MY child. The one I had just given birth to, barely known for one day, and only held twice. I was livid. Again, a time when Josh was out getting lunch. Seems like they bullied me when he wasn't around. When we were changing his diaper once, she walked over and said, "See? You guys are really getting the hang of this!" Josh laughed and said, "This ain't our first rodeo, lady." She walked away, and didn't bother us the rest of that visit. Why are his words so magical, I wonder? Is he more intimidating than a weepy, washed-up-looking new mom? When I think of it for what it was in that sense, yeah, yeah I guess he definitely was. 

Luke had been getting fluids, nutrition, and antibiotics through his IV, but because he was eating and doing well, it was taken out that night. That was exciting, because it meant that we could finally dress him in his own clothes and hold him as much as we wanted! And we did just that. He was starting to look like a little carrot, though. I could tell his bilirubin was building up in his blood making him jaundiced. They were going to draw labs and see what his levels were. He was such a little fighter. 

Worst part of this day: I was discharged. I was told I could stay until midnight if I wanted. And I did, so I could be with my son for as long as possible. But that night, I left the hospital without my baby for the second time in my life. The same hospital. It was such a crappy feeling. I just had to keep telling myself that this time was different. My baby wasn't in my arms going out the door on this day, but he would be soon.

Day 4 (Tuesday)
Baby boy's labs came back, and his bilirubin was in the medium-high category. The NP broke it down like anything above normal is low risk, medium/med-high, then critical. She said he wasn't at a critical level yet, but he wasn't far from it. So, they wanted to start phototherapy on him ASAP. It was a simple pad with blue fiber optic lights that he laid on while wrapped up in a blanket. They said they would check his bilirubin levels again that night. Nursing him with the Bili-light was kind of a pain, but I never took him off of it. I wanted his levels to come down, so we could bring him home. I was also concerned with his levels getting critical, as that could cause brain damage. I hate being a nurse when it comes to certain situations. It makes them 10x worse. It really does.

This day was kind of blurry. I didn't sleep much, because I would get up every 3 hours and pump. I was dedicated. As soon as I had enough sleep, I got dressed, packed my things, and drove the 45 minutes to the hospital to be with my baby. I stayed ALL day with him. I took a small break to go get lunch, then came back to be by his side. He stayed on the Bili-light the rest of the afternoon, if I remember correctly, and they were going to draw his labs again in the morning.

Day 5 (Wednesday: room-in night)
After being off of the light for several hours, his levels had risen just slightly. They expected this. Later that day, they began to decline. Still elevated, but dropping. It was reassuring enough that they told us we could room-in with him. Rooming-in is where we come back to the hospital and are given a room for the night without being admitted. Luke got to sleep in our room all night, without monitors. Kind of like a trial before we took him home. 

I was in NICU all day with him again. One of the nurses even commented about how I had been there all day. Well, yeah. My son was in there. Where else would I want to be? I guess the other babies were born extremely premature and had extended stays, so it probably wasn't feasible for their mothers to be with them all day. Plus, the other moms all lived close; I lived almost an hour away. 

He had to pass a carseat test. They put him in his own carseat for 45 minutes (since that was about how long it would take to get home), and kept O2 monitors on him. He oxygen levels couldn't fall below a certain percentage while sitting in his carseat, or he would fail. He dropped a couple of times (I can't remember the exact criteria), but they passed him. I also had to sit through an infant CPR training video and be quizzed. I am BLS certified, as required in my profession. This means I am certified in basic life support, including infant, child, and adult CPR, first aid, and AED usage. I did not hesitate this training, though. I was quite afraid that I may very well have to use these skills, and a refresher was more than welcomed. 

It was a long night. I may have slept an hour or two. The nurses came in to check on him and check his temperature every few hours throughout the night. About 3am, his temperature had dropped to a point of getting close to hypothermia. They took him away and brought him back to NICU to be under the warmers again. Apparently, it's typical for a preemie to have low temps just due to immaturity. It sucked. I was so worried that it could mean he wouldn't get to come home. But then again, I was worried about it dropping if he were at home.

Day 6 (Thursday: We Go HOME!)
After one of the docs came in to round on him in NICU, he was discharged. They said his temperature was fine and that he could go home. We were so excited! We got the rundown on discharge instructions and care. My Lactation Consultant came in to have a few last words with me and write down some pointers I would need. We packed him up in his carseat (that tangible item that made it all real for me, remember?!), and headed out the door. Finally, I was leaving the hospital with my baby.

Happy Birthday, Luke

Luke decided it was time to make his appearance. Sooooo, here he is 😍

Born on Saturday, April 13, 2013 at 10:31am weighing 6 lbs and 11 oz at 18.5" long.

And so the story goes...

I had some pains near my navel all night, the last few nights, before his arrival. Sharp pains that took my breath. I was thinking I had an umbilical hernia (ugh hernias SUCK). It seemed like the pain was according to his position. Somehow, I made it through the nights.

I was supposed to begin tapering off of my medications at 36 weeks. I had missed a nifedipine dosage one morning and contracted every 5 min all night one night. Ultrasound and exam showed the contractions didn't do much to my cervix, though. Well, Thursday night I missed another one. My memory isn't my best asset.

Friday was routine weekly stuff with doctors. I got up around ten that morning with a bunch of contractions. Surprise! Not so unusual. I ignored them. Which I became really good at, by the way. A few hurt, but I wasn't doubled over in pain. I'm tough. Not to mention, I was seeing both specialists that day. 

I glanced at my house shoes right before I left for my doctors' appointments. I had my hospital bags in the truck already. I lacked a few items that I use everyday, though like make-up bag, hair stuff, house shoes, etc. As I stared down my house shoes beside my bed, I wondered if I should grab them "just in case." I was always prepared to be admitted at every appointment just in case. You just never know. But nah, I decided to live on the edge and leave them at home. I know, I'm such a rebel.

Josh had an urgent work thing come up last minute and couldn't go to the appointments with me. It was a bummer, and he was really regretful since I was so far along at this point. He rarely missed an appointment, let alone two with one being a growth ultrasound (we loved those, because we got estimated weights!). I sincerely told him that it would be ok, and to go to work. I told him I would call and tell him how much Luke weighed as soon as I knew. I didn't realize he would be the one telling me how much Luke weighed the very next morning!

My Perinatologist was out of town. So, I was supposed to see the head Perinatologist of the group. I had met him once before, and Josh and I absolutely loved him, So, I was good with that, too. The growth ultrasound went well. I had a student sonographer, so the ultrasound took forever. But it was thorough, which makes me happy. Luke looked great. He practiced breathing for us, and he weighed an estimated 6 lbs. He was measuring 2 days behind, though. It wasn't a concern, but didn't make me very happy. I worried about him coming early (righteously so), and wanted him to measure ahead and be as big as he could be. The doctor was on a conference call, and the teacher sonographer said he would be in as soon as he was finished. It was 10 min before my appointment time with my OB downstairs. I decided to skip seeing him since all looked well with the baby, and it would make me run late with my OB. I had a lot of questions about my contractions and some other stuff, but I was going to see my OB anyway.

I headed downstairs quickly. When I was called back, my OB's nurse told me that my doc had an emergency c-section and that I would be seeing a nurse practitioner. Any other day that would have been just fine with me, but I was having a lot of contractions and had questions about them and my meds. I needed my doctor, because she knows my history very thoroughly and has been closely managing my medications with me. Sigh. I was so disappointed. Not to mention she had been checking my cervix for weeks, and was very familiar with me. I was afraid the NP wouldn't be able to distinguish any changes like my doctor would. I had so much going through my mind.

The NP was nice and spoke with me in length about my current situation. When she checked my cervix, she looked a little concerned. And, in turn, that concerned me. She told me I was dilated to about 3 cm. My eyes widened significantly. Three?! Really?! It's been 1 cm for weeks! I told her I had been having contractions all morning, but that I had missed a nifedipine dose. She said she was going to put me on the toco monitor for a while and see what was happening. 

Within 15 minutes, the RN let me know I was contracting every 2 minutes. I knew I was having a lot, but like I said, I was ignoring them. Not counting, not obsessing, finally relaxing and IGNORING those darn things! And now I was being told they might be for real?!

I called Josh to let him know what was going on. We set up a game plan, so he could go home first and feed our dogs in case they admitted me. Just our luck he would miss this particular appointment. At least he wasn't out of town.

After about an hour on the monitor, the NP came back in to check my cervix. She said it was at 4 cm. So, I had dilated 1 cm in an hour?! Oh my. Josh wasn't even home yet, and we live 45 minutes from the hospital. I was starting to worry that I was going to have the baby before he even made it to the hospital. 

My contractions were still 2-3 minutes apart. My OB had completed her C-section and was on her way to the office to see me. It was the end of the day for the clinic and just starting for me.

My OB came in, checked my cervix, called it a 3-4, 80% effaced. She said it looked like the baby may have been in a little distress during the contractions based on his heart rate on the monitor. Something called late decelerations. She asked me where Josh was (he was always with me). I told her the situation and that he would be on his way soon. Very soon. She decided to send me over to L&D. The baby needed to be monitored during contractions. I called Josh and gave him a heads up, trying not to worry or rush him. He was slightly frantic, though.

The nurse brought a wheelchair to the clinic room. Guess this means I can't go get my hospital bags from my vehicle? That would be a nope. She wheeled me through hallways all the way over to the hospital L&D floor, and brought me to a room. No instructions. Just dropped me off and said someone would be up to admit me. Okay. I sat in the glider in the room and waited. And waited. And waited. After quite some time, my OB walked in. She looked surprised that I wasn't in a hospital gown and on the monitors yet. I told her that I hadn't seen a soul since being dropped off. She must have gotten on someone's ass after that. Because shortly after she left, a nurse was in to hook me up immediately, and someone finally came up to do all of the paperwork and admit me. My doctor had decided that they would run some fluids to see if that would slow down my labor any. After all, I was only 36 weeks. 37 weeks is considered full term. If the fluids slowed down or stopped my contractions, I would be sent home. But I mean come on. If fluids could slow my contractions, I don't think I would have been on progesterone and nifedipine for 3 months.

In the mean time, Josh had finally made it. We waited together to see if the fluid would make any difference. In one way, I unrealistically hoped that it would. I needed to go home. I had a maternity shoot scheduled in 2 days. And the session was going to be free, because she had accidentally stood us up earlier in the week. Yeah, seriously. We sat in a parking lot, all dressed up and excited for about 40 minutes before I finally called her. She had put us down for the "wrong day." She was so apologetic that she offered a free shoot. I also needed to go back to work on Monday, so that I didn't lose my benefits. I had a few more meals to cook and freeze at home. It just seemed like things weren't in order, and I wasn't ready. On the other hand, I desperately wanted to hold my little boy already and secretly hoped this was it.

After two liters of fluid, my contractions were still 2-3 minutes apart, but my cervix had went on strike. No more changes. Now what?! The nurse said that since the fluids didn't change my contractions, that they were keeping me over night for observation.

I was moved to a nice delivery suite. Josh brought up all of the bags (including his own). My mom and step dad made the trip, in case Luke decided to come. They hung out in the room and decided to wait it out with us. 

The nurses were checking my cervix every hour. After being moved, my nurse said I was at a good 4 cm, and my water was trying to break.

At around 1:00 am, everyone was sleeping, or trying to sleep. Poor Josh got shafted to a really hard wooden glider that didn't even recline. My mom was asleep in the sleeper chair, and my step dad in a big chair next to her. I finally talked Josh into laying his head on the rolling dinner tray table. He finally listened to me, and the poor guy finally fell asleep. 

Not me, though. Nope! I tried. Wide awake. Too much to think about. Someone was always coming in to check my cervix and do vitals anyway. The nurse popped in and said that my doctor wanted to start Pitocin on me to "speed things up." It was one of those situations where it was going to be lengthy and unpredictable to just wait it out. So, I was semi-ok with induction. I had heard horror stories about Pitocin, though. Stuff about the side effects and how bad it made the contractions hurt, so I double checked that the CRNA was close by. I had already had a thorough history/chat with her, and she knew I wanted an epidural for this delivery. I wanted to go as long as I could without one, though. I actually wanted to see what real contractions felt like. I don't regret that now, but when the "real" ones started, yeah I may have been regretting it then.

Josh decided he would "run home" and feed the dogs their breakfast. That's an hour and a half just in driving. I just knew he was going to miss this kid being born. I asked the nurse how fast the Pitocin would kick in and how quickly I could have this baby. She said it would definitely take longer than 2-3 hours. So, I felt comfortable sending him to take care of our pups at home. If I knew then what I know now, he could have went home, slept, had breakfast, and then came back.

The Pitocin made my contractions more regular. Before the drip, they were any where from 30 seconds apart to 3-4 minutes apart. Eventually, they were coming about every 2-3 minutes at a more regular pace with the Pitocin. They were a little uncomfortable, but still nothing that I couldn't handle, or even talk through. I was slowly dilating, as well. No horrible side effects. I was doing pretty good, and so was the baby!

Around 4:00 am, my OB came to the hospital (it was Saturday, and she wasn't on call). She said she wanted to deliver our baby, if at all possible. She said he needed to come quickly, though. She, too, has an infant son at home and a husband that was working that day. Due to that, she had to leave the hospital at 8:00 am. I gave Luke a little pep talk and hoped he would hurry. She delivered Lexi, and I really wanted her here to deliver Luke. She tried to let my water break on its own, but it didn't look like that was happening. I was at 6 cm, and she broke my water. She told me I would start to feel a "little crampy." She said the cramps would then get a little stronger. Whew! Had I only known...

My contractions were about one minute apart at that point. After about the third one, I was looking for focal points! I found a sprinkler head and concentrated on that. Which was stupid. I had much more success by closing my eyes and envisioning something relaxing or funny. I tended to imagine the dogs doing funny things, and it helped. Let me just say, I've passed 2 kidney stones, one in an hour, and the other took several days. I would rate that pain at a 10/10. I would rate those contractions at a 15/10. Seriously. I could barely breathe or focus. You instinctively want to hold your breath, because it hurts so bad. The nurse would say to me, "If you don't breathe, that baby won't get any oxygen either." No matter how much pain I was in, that would set me straight and make me make myself breathe. It feels like having your insides stirred and ripped out with a chainsaw. No exaggeration, people. Ay yi yi. But here's the beauty (or maybe the curse?), I forgot. I totally forget how bad it was almost as soon as he was born! He was so worth it!

I had all that I wanted of the pain. It was a quarter after four in the morning, and I hadn't slept or eaten. I needed some rest before this baby came. I was afraid I would be too exhausted to push. I hit my call light and asked if I could place my order for that epidural. The nurse laughed and said yes. Apparently, they had made bets on how long it would take before I wanted the epidural. Ha! Very funny, guys. I'm sure they do that with all of the moms wanting to wait for the epidural. At least, that's what I was telling myself. 

It was another 30-40 minutes before the CRNA came to administer my epidural!!!!! Ahhhhh it felt like the longest wait ever! My mom and Josh were talking me through the contractions and reminding me to breathe. They allowed only Josh to be present when they placed the epidural, and he had to be 6 feet away. My nurse stayed by my side to talk me through the contractions. She watched on the monitor and let me know when they were coming, peaking, and going away. Thank God! It helped so much. 

The CRNA would be talking to me, and I would start having a contraction and have to block her completely out to focus on breathing and the pain. When I couldn't answer her questions, my nurse would have to tell her that I wasn't listening, because I was having a contraction. The CRNA would tell me how to position and when I couldn't move an inch. It wasn't easy. Too much stimuli. And though this wasn't my first epidural, I was still worried about the risks while it was being done. She bolused me with a "test dosage." It made me sick. It has a narcotic in it. Sometimes, I just don't handle pain medicine well. My blood pressure dropped, I got pale, and I became severely nauseous. I asked my nurse for some Zofran, and took a sub-lingual tablet that I had in my purse in the meantime! I mean I-was-sick.

The epidural didn't take hold of the pain immediately either. It was much more gradual than I'd imagined. The nurse and CRNA stayed with me until I was comfortable. I would tell them when I felt a contraction coming on and when it was going away. Eventually, I was only feeling the peaks (still very intense, just shorter). Then, the peaks suddenly became were very tolerable. Finally! It took about half of an hour to get to that point, though. I was thanking the CRNA pathetically. I had so much relief. I was still able to feel things, though. I could still feel the contractions, and I could easily move and lift my legs. I stayed pretty nauseous the entire time, though. I was only allowed to have ice chips. Which was not a good thing later!

By 8:00 am, no Luke. My OB came in to tell us she that had to leave. She was in tears and wished us well. It was sad to see her go, but everything was going to be ok. My OB let us know that the OB that delivered her baby would be delivering Luke. My nurse was checking my cervix every 30 minutes, I think. I was at six when I had the epidural, and I was progressing well until I hit 9. Then, I had two places on my cervix that were being stubborn. They wouldn't recede, which meant I couldn't start pushing. The nurse laid me on my side telling me that gravity would do the trick for us. Um, gravity is also what makes the epidural "work." Thus, laying on my side started to make my epidural ineffective. I began having intense back pain with my contractions, and I started getting extremely uncomfortable again. I didn't realize it was positioning at the time, though.

The nurse checked my cervix again. One side was cooperating, the other wasn't. So, she put me on my other side for about half of an hour. That's when it got to where I really couldn't stand the pain, so I moved back onto my back. Within a few minutes, the pain started improving. That's when I realized it was a positional issue. The CRNA had told me not to lie flat on my back due to the baby compressing crucial blood vessels and nerves, but she also told me not to lie too far on one side or the epidural would only numb that side. When my nurse came back in, I told her I felt much better on my back. She checked my cervix again and said it was time. Everyone, but Josh, was asked to wait in the waiting room. We all hugged, and they told us good luck.

The last sticker. Bittersweet moment.

I almost get a lump in my throat just thinking back to that moment of them breaking the bed down, and getting ready to start pushing. It's like the moment of truth. The moment I'd been waiting for for months. Admittedly, I was nervous! How was this going to go? How will I push? How long? Will it hurt? Will the baby cry when he's born? Will they hand him to me immediately? What is he going to look like? What if he's not ok? Will he need to go to NICU? How is Josh going to handle this? All of this was going through my head simultaneously. This just added to the nausea. I actually asked Josh to grab me an emesis basin. I thought I was going to throw up. Nerves? The epidural? Probably a combination of both. And it felt like the room was 150 degrees! I had been burning up since I was admitted, so it must have been hormonal. As if I needed one more thing to make me feel like I would throw up. The nurse said women threw up all of the time while pushing. Really?! I didn't want to be one of those women. I wanted to have a dream delivery. Push, push, push, baby is born. Screaming ensues, and a baby is placed on my chest for daddy and I to admire and tell how much we loved him. Nope. Just like my "dream" pregnancy.

So, the bed is officially a delivery bed. Legs are in comfy stirrups. Yeah, I said it, comfy. They truly were, and it wasn't the epidural. The stirrups were thickly padded, and it just felt good to have my legs up and well supported. 

The doctor wasn't even present yet. The nurse sat on a stool and watched the monitor over my knees. She would instruct me when to push, how long to push, when to breathe, and when to stop. I was hot. I was so hot... and nauseous. Another nurse grabbed me an ice pack and put it behind my neck. That helped so much. Josh fanned me with folders. That, too, was amazing. I wish I'd had a handheld fan with a squirt bottle on it. I have one in my pool bag at home that I use in the summer when I'm laying out in the sun. I also used them when I played sports. Why, oh why, didn't I think to bring such a thing?! A friend of mine listed this as one of her hospital bag items for birth. She's a genius. I am not. If there's a next time, that hot item will make the priority list FO SHO!

The baby's heart rate was dropping. I blame the epidural again. They put an oxygen mask on me and cranked it up really high. I felt like I was suffocating in the mask. I had been wearing it since I was dilated to an eight or so. I had to take it off when I started pushing, though. I would have puked in it. It made me 10x hotter. No go, my friends. So, Josh came up with a crafty idea. My nurse would have me take a "cleansing breath" then a deep breath of the oxygen to hold right before a contraction. Josh would hold the mask up to my face (they made me hold my own legs to aid with pushing) let me take a breath, then he'd take it away so that I could exhale. Then he would put it up to my face again to take a deep breath again before holding my breath to push. It was actually genius, because I was "holding in" more O2 during pushing. Like the nurse said, "If you don't breathe, then the baby doesn't get oxygen either." This way, I felt the baby was well taken care of, as far as oxygen goes. It made me feel more confident in holding my breath. 

But I started getting dry mouth. Bad! And I was so thirsty. Remember that stupid hiatal hernia that I complained about that would make me throw up and caused so much pain?! Well, one little sip of water and as soon as I pushed, back up it came. I was all scrunched up in the bed anyway. Add a hiatal hernia to that, and it's a disaster. I would start choking while holding my breath and pushing. Josh, again, to the rescue! He grabbed a bottle of water with a straw, let me take a sip to swish in my mouth, then held up another bottle for me to spit into. That way, I didn't have anything on my stomach to make me sick or hinder pushing, but dry mouth was solved, too. He did this every time between pushes. He was so great. And I pushed forever, it seemed like, with no progress. The nurse said I was doing good and that he was coming, though. It just didn't seem like it. I couldn't feel quite enough to tell... YET.

Once I got to a certain point (a "point" that I cannot define since I have no idea what warranted it), the doctor came in and took over. This was probably after an hour of pushing. Once she came in, the NICU staff came in to set up the baby's stuff beside me. Since I was 36 weeks, they took every precaution for a preemie. I had two NICU nurses, two L&D nurses, the doctor, and Josh all supporting me. They would all tell me how "good" I was doing. They would call me a rock star and a champ. I know it was all psychological, but it worked! It totally worked! I felt like superwoman! It made me feel so good and so confident to hear all that gibberish.

As the baby began to crown, the pain began, as well. I could feel it! I could feel it all. I could feel the contractions, pressure, burning, the desire to push. It was much harder to relax between pushing once it came to this point. I felt like I didn't want to take breaks anymore. I was worried that he might be in distress being in the birth canal so long. I could finally feel when my pushing was making progress and when it wasn't. I knew when to start and when to stop without being told anymore. It still took between 45 minutes and an hour, though. 

As the baby began to crown, all I heard was, "Look at all of that hair!" I was in awe that this was all really happening. Our baby boy was about to finally be in our arms. Or so we thought. The doctor asked Josh if he wanted to see the baby crowning. To my complete and utter dismay, the man excitedly said yes! He didn't even look disturbed by what he saw. His face glowed with excitement and awe. It was a fascinating moment for him and I, both. Then, they told me they had a mirror and asked if I would like to see, too. Hell to no! I would see him soon enough. I could wait. Sheesh. Not a condition I wanted to see myself in.

As the head was being delivered, I had every person in the room standing over me screaming at me to Push! Push! Push! No cleansing breaths. No deep breaths. No breaks. Just Push! It was insanity. I was pushing. I was pushing as hard as I could while the doctor was doing whatever she was doing to deliver him. I seriously felt like I was just assisting. The burning pain was immensely intense, and I felt like I was going to rip apart! That gave me just enough adrenaline to push as hard as I could for as long as I could. It seemed like 10 minutes before he delivered! In reality, it was probably just a minute or so. 

Then, all of a sudden, I saw this baby. This grey, lifeless baby. Josh squeezed my hand, and I looked over at his face. He looked as though he'd seen a ghost. His expression was grim, and he, too, looked suddenly pale. Then, I realized the baby wasn't crying. The NICU team rushed him over to the area they had set up. I looked across the room, to my right, where they had him under a warmer cleaning him off. The nurse was rubbing him vigorously. Just then, came a sound that I will never forget as long as I live. I have tears in my eyes right now reliving that amazing moment. His wail. 

He cried hard and loud. I began to bawl, too. As in snotty, gasping for air bawling. I looked at Josh only to realize he was crying with me. All three of us cried our eyes out in that room. I am typically a very private crier. I hate crying. I feel so vulnerable when I cry. In that moment, however, I cried loud and proud in harmony with my son in front of six people without shame. They were the most joyous tears of my life. I watched diligently as they cleaned him. I soon realized something was wrong, though. 

The nurses were acting strange, and one called the Neonatal Nurse Practitioner from NICU to "get [there] as soon as possible." My gut sank. I looked at Josh. Something was definitely wrong.

The NNP came in and assessed Luke. She came over to the bedside to talk to Josh and I. She said the baby wasn't moving his left shoulder. His grasp was good in that hand, but he wasn't flexing his arm properly. Apparently, his shoulder had gotten "stuck" during delivery and caused an injury. She said there was a possibility his clavicle could have been broken, and that they would do X-rays. My baby could have a broken collarbone?! I was so sad for him. What kind of recovery would that require? She also said he was breathing a little too fast, so they were going to take him straight back to NICU to monitor him. The nurses brought him over, all bundled up, for us to briefly admire. He was so swollen. His eyes were puffy and closed. I touched his soft, little face and told him that I loved him. And there he went. Whisked away from us like he was never ours to begin with. It was bittersweet. 

They asked Josh if he wanted to go with him to NICU. He chose to stay by my side for the time, because I was having complications. The placenta was not delivering properly. If you've ever had a retained placenta, you know the process of delivering it is Hell. The doctor has to go in and manually remove it, chunk by chunk to stop the hemorrhaging. I'm glad Josh was by my side during that time. I also had a first degree laceration needing stitches. Once I was taken care of and on the road to recovery, Josh went to NICU to see Luke. He brought back pictures of him for me. I couldn't stop staring at the pictures. He was just absolutely beautiful to me. I was so in love.

Everyone came in to see us afterwards. It was so unfortunate that there was no baby in the room for everyone to hold and get pictures with. No one begrudged the situation, though. I think I did. I was disappointed that my baby wasn't in my arms and that he was injured. I wanted to go see him. 

Once they discontinued my epidural, I was required to walk to the bathroom with the nurse's assistance. My blood pressure plummeted when I stood up. I felt dizzy, weak, and nauseous. I felt horrible. I was sore and exhausted. But I pushed through it, and did what I had to do to get one step closer to being able to go see Luke.

Due to how invasive it is to manually deliver a placenta (and the possibility of minute parts of it not being removed), I had to receive antibiotics. I was put in a wheelchair and wheeled down to NICU with my IV pole in tote. We were buzzed in through an unmarked door into the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. We had to do surgical scrub at the door-that is three minutes of soapy scrubbing all the way to the elbows. Then, Josh had to put a hospital gown over his street clothes. Germs are a HUGE deal in such a place, as I'm sure one can imagine. We were taken to his isolette. They were trying to keep him off of oxygen in hopes that he would transition into the well baby nursery soon. Wishful thinking. Josh and I got to hold him and admire him. I wasn't allowed to nurse him, because he was breathing too fast. It posed a risk for aspiration. His oxygen saturation was in the 80s while we were holding him. They wanted it over 95%. Boo. They decided to put him on 1 liter of oxygen while we were holding him. We held him and loved him unconditionally.

And so the NICU adventures begin.