I have never watched so much Sports Center in my life.

In theory this would have been easier to write immediately afterward, and not days later. We'll give it a go anyway.

Last Friday I was having contractions, but seeing as how I was 9+ months pregnant, I wasn't overly concerned. I remember saying to Matthew, "well if these keep up maybe we'll get somewhere," but I wasn't optimistic that they would stay for any period of time. For the first time in I think my entire pregnancy, I actually took the time to read a book, and it felt great.

At dinner time, the contractions were still happening, but they were about 7 minutes apart, and although I could swear they felt like they were getting stronger, they didn't seem to be getting any closer together. Boo. They stayed the same as the evening continued, but with the addition of some spotting (ooh!). I still wasn't convinced it meant anything.

Then they started to get really bonkers, and the spotting changed color. I tried to go to bed, and it just wasn't happening -- I'd doze off, and each contraction would violently wake me. Finally around midnight I decided I was going to call, and they told me to come in.

We got there a little after 1 am, and it was the same drill as always. I had prepared myself for the sending home, assuming we were still not going to have a baby until our scheduled induction the following week. And then to my utter and complete shock, they checked me and I was already at 4 cm. It was for real -- finally! TERRIFYING.

I changed into the gown and climbed into the bed. I really wasn't sure what I was supposed to do at this point. It kind of seemed like just sit around and wait. The nurse was very very nice and asked if I wanted to get up and walk around and I really just wanted to lay in the bed.

Because I was Group B Strep positive, they wanted to start me on IV antibiotics. So a nurse came in to start my IV. They tried into the back of my right hand, and couldn't get it in (I still have a huge bruise over a week later). She went to her "other favorite spot" -- the inside wrist of my left hand. This time it was successful, but didn't really hurt any less (they have to put a catheter into your arm so they can fill you with large volumes of fluid if necessary). Once that was done, she left, and Matthew and I sort of stared at each other again not knowing what we should be doing.

The contractions were continuing to get stronger. I had to be hooked on the monitor once each hour, but other than that I was free to do whatever I wanted -- I could go walk around, I could take a shower, etc etc. I asked for the 'birthing ball' but was extremely disappointed at what emerged from the closet. The thing barely came up to my knees. I asked if there was a bigger one, and was told no. I tried sitting on it and my knees came up into my chest. Not going to work.

They asked me if I wanted an epidural, and I said I thought so, but not yet. They told me that it takes the anesthesiologist up to 30 minutes to respond to the page, and then another 20 minutes for the epidural to kick in, so it could be almost an hour from when I asked for it. I wasn't ready yet.

I would say maybe 10 minutes later, around 3:15, I was ready. The contractions were getting excruciating. I remember how excited I was after our coping with labor class to try out all of the laboring positions, and when it came down to it all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball on the bed and groan. I was now at 5 cm.

The anesthesiologist came in, and explained to me what was going to happen. I couldn't focus on anything and had started to shake uncontrollably. They told me it was because I was in the middle of active labor. It was scary. And so was the impending procedure.

They told me to sit on the edge of the bed and lean over. They waited until one of my contractions finished before starting, but guaranteed me that I would have some while they were placing the epidural, and I had to sit perfectly still. What you've heard is correct, the injection of the local anesthetic was the most 'painful' part, but the rest was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life. It doesn't hurt when they place it, but you feel pressure in your spine that feels very Not Normal. I had another contraction and tried to sit still -- the additional nurse that came in put his big burly forearm on the top of my shoulders to get me steady. I shudder thinking about it! Then she said she was done, and they started the IV. I lay back down in bed, still shaking all over. Slowly the tingling entered my body. I started feeling the contractions less and less, but it was replaced by this dull feeling -- not the painful pins and needles, but the tolerable version. I was still able to lift my legs, but was not allowed out of bed. Now we really could do nothing but wait. The shaking eventually stopped.

They started me on pitocin to keep my contractions up with the epidural, and the nurse suggested that I try and sleep. I put on headphones and attempted to, but I kept startling myself awake. So I just sort of laid there. Every (half hour? hour? I don't remember) the nurse would come in to help me turn over, so I wasn't just getting numb on one side. There is nothing on TV at 5AM on a Saturday morning.

The doctor came to check my progress around 9:15 AM. I was at 7cm, and she was impressed that I had progressed that far with my waters still intact. I felt proud. She decided to break my water to keep things moving. It is the most bizarre feeling in the world to have a cervical exam and not feel a damn thing. Every time they went in there I had to cover my face with my blanket. I was expecting Niagara Falls when they broke the water considering where my fluid levels had been at the last few ultrasounds, but they told me it wasn't that bad (more apparently came out when I was pushing).

Then we waited again. Matt and I played a couple of games of Uno. I was starting to feel contractions through the epidural -- I shudder to think what they would have felt like had I not had the drugs. I dutifully pushed my button for more juice every chance I could.

The doctor was on rounds and was going to be back to check on me "within a few hours." When she came back around 11:15 (again, covered my face with the blanket) she said that I was at 10cm and ready to go. Say what? I expected some kind of flurry of activity, but the doctor left, and the nurse said to me, "you ready to start pushing?" Next to getting the epidural, this was the scariest part.

Apparently I was a 'natural' at pushing. The nurse was very impressed. Pushing has to be the most physically exhausting activity a human being can possibly do. I think I might actually prefer running a marathon over delivering a baby. After every round (three 10 second attempts per contraction) I couldn't decide if I wanted to throw up or pass out. I hadn't been allowed any food or drink since the epidural went in, so I had absolutely no reserves. People were talking to me, and it felt like I was in a haze. I would talk, but it wasn't me talking. I know that makes no sense, but none of it made any sense. It was scary.

The doctor came in and out to check on things and supervise. I was surprised how most of it was handled by the nurse.

After an hour plus, I was getting slightly discouraged. I kept asking things like, "are we at least halfway there?" "Are we getting closer at ALL?" and received generally positive responses. Unbeknownst to me at the time, Bug was turned sideways, which was what was making things so difficult. No one told me, and I am extremely happy. I do remember at one point the nurse stopped telling me I was doing a good job, and Matt told me later that he wanted to take her aside and tell her that she needed to keep telling me I was doing a good job so I wouldn't give up. I also found out later that the nurse and doctor had some sort of secret conversation about how much longer they would let me go before, I assume, intervening. Again, VERY GLAD I never knew this until afterward.

The fainting/vomiting cycle of feelings did not subside. I had on an oxygen mask mainly for psychological reasons and a damp washcloth on my forehead, which was changed after every push. I tried eating ice chips, but they are probably the most unsatisfying way to quench any type of thirst.

Magically, after almost two hours of pushing (and thank you, doctor, for using running references -- she told me at one point that I was at mile 24, and all I could think about was, that's great, but those last 2.2 miles are the most hellish miles OF THE ENTIRE RACE) the heavy artillery came out, and I finally knew that we were close. The doctor put on her scrubs and splatter shield, the trays came out, the end of the bed came down, etc etc. At almost exactly two hours, she finally emerged (thank you, dormant abdominal muscles for preventing me from needing a c-section). I totally pulled a Kardashian but didn't realize it at the time. The told me to look up, and there was Bug, and they told me to take her -- little did I know I was actually taking her... from myself. Weird.

They put her on my chest and I believe at this point Matt cut the cord. I was so overwhelmed I had no idea what was going on. She was crying, bloody and somewhat purple. I did not feel any sort of elation or instant love, per se -- just confusion and torturous exhaustion.



The I was just born face.

They took her away after a few minutes to weigh her and measure her. The doctor then began to repair me. The entire time I had forgotten about that part -- and the fact that she came out sideways did not help matters. She was down there for a while. I have no idea how many stitches I needed or to what degree. And I don't think I want to know. The only thing she told me was that I tore inside (didn't know that was possible) and outside. Maybe at my 6 week follow-up appointment they can tell me.

After weighing her and measuring her and Apgar-ing her, they gave her back to Matt. She had a gigantic bruise on the back of her head from crowning sideways, and they told us there was a higher chance of her being jaundiced because of it. There wasn't cause for immediate concern -- she would just be watched more closely.

A half hour or so later (again, just a guess on the time) the nurse came back and asked me to get up and go to the bathroom. I was proud of myself that I made it there and back without passing out.

They eventually moved us out of the delivery room into one of the post-partum rooms, and I swear to god the room was the size of a small closet. I have no idea how you qualify for the much larger rooms with the flat screen TVs, but we were apparently not on the list.

The pain from delivery was amazing. It was like being pregnant, where any change in position made you wince. I had the ice packs, and they were nice, but not completely effective. The only pain relief I was given was 3 ibuprofen every six hours. Also, you wonder how you can bleed so much without dying.

We had her in the room with us the first night, but gave up around 2 am and had the nurse take her to the nursery so we could sleep. She was an amazingly strong baby from the beginning, and at two days old already required both of us (relatively unskilled individuals) to change her diaper -- one to pin down her legs, and the other to fumble with the tabs. Her sucking reflex could strip paint, so we caught on to the nursing thing pretty quickly, although more on that later.

Sunday we had lots of lovely visitors, but a really crusty nurse. Monday both Bug and I were checked by our respective doctors and were given the green light to leave. Bug was down in weight, but still within the acceptable range, so we had a follow-up appointment at the doctor scheduled for Friday. The drive home wasn't as terrifying as I thought it might be -- she slept the whole time.

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On Tuesday the OB home nurse came by to check on us, although most of the checking was done on Bug and not me. She was down further in weight and we were told that if she didn't have 6 wet diapers in the next 24 hours we needed to take her in to the pediatrician. So the next day we were at the doctor again.

The doctor asked me if I was pumping, and I said no, we hadn't purchased one yet. She told me that I should get one, and give Bug whatever I pump after she feeds as a supplement. So we went and spent the $250 on the breast pump.

I thought I was doing something wrong because barely anything was coming out at all. I don't know what I was expecting, but maybe more than just barely covering the bottom of the bottle. Stupidly, I just rinsed it all out because it was such a negligible, non-measurable amount. I called the lactation people at the hospital and made an appointment for Friday. Bug continued to nurse, but it felt like she would stay on for hours and hours, without much output.

Friday we were back at the doctor again for a weight re-check, and she was the same as she was on Wednesday. So good that she hadn't lost more, but not good that she was still down. The doctor recommended that we supplement her with formula, just to "get her over the hump" until more of my milk came in. She told us 4-5 additional ounces per day, so one ounce every other feeding.

Our appointment with lactation was later that afternoon. They weighed Bug before I nursed her and then afterward to see how much she was actually getting. It was something pitiful like .6 oz per booby. She kept saying things to me like, "it must be so hard for you" -- it was like she had taken a class in Phrases to Say to Make People Cry. But I didn't cry, somehow.

She ended up recommending us supplementing Bug with even more -- 2 oz per feeding -- because she was getting so little from me. She also recommended the we rent the hospital-grade breast pump because the one we bought, while good, is better suited for moms with "established milk supplies." I might as well have just flushed that $250 down the toilet.

So our typed up plan was for me to nurse, then give Bug any expressed milk from previous feeding, feed her 2 oz of formula and then pump for 10 minutes. I felt so defeated and frustrated, and still do. My body is just not producing enough milk for her and it totally sucks. We made a follow-up appointment for Wednesday, but I am not optimistic.

After the appointment we went downstairs to pick up the pump. While we are waiting in the office for them to bring one out, Bug starts vomiting all over everything. To me it makes sense that she is puking -- the thing has never had so much liquid in her entire life. It seemed like the entire 2 oz of formula she was just fed was now all over her clothes, the car seat, her hair and my right shoe. If I didn't want to cry before, I did now.

The feeding procedure is a pain in the ass. We have gotten it down to about 45 minutes start to finish, but I feel like such a prisoner because it is not a portable process at all. We can't leave the house for more than two hours because we have to be back so I can get on The Machine again. I'm excited when I pump out a combo of more than 10 cc's of milk, and that's only happened two or three times. 10 cc's is like, I don't know, a quarter of an ounce? She's supposed to have over 2 ounces each time. Although I realize that this is how much I pump after she has already ate, I have not seen an uptick in output, and to top it all off there was some article in the paper yesterday about some mom who donated like 12 gallons of breast milk to the NICU because she "made so much." (OK, full disclosure, it was actually a really sad story about a mom whose daughter died at 6 months old from a heart defect, but it reminded me of the people who can make milk but just choose not to nurse, etc). I'm happy she donated, but it's so depressing to not be able to provide for your own child. I asked Matt last night if we lived in the wild, would my baby just die? Bah.

I really want to breastfeed. I don't like the formula -- it is expensive, stinky, makes her spit up, and stains everything. That being said, it is so tempting to just give up and switch to the formula because I cannot do this combo feeding thing forever. We will see what they say on Wednesday. But in positive news, Bug has been able to handle the bottle nipple and still enjoys nursing, and has generally been less fussy and a much better sleeper. Which is good.



I love it when mom wraps me up like a burrito.

This last week has completely flown by. I can't believe she is a week old already. Matt goes back to work tomorrow and I am dreading it -- I really don't know how single parents pull it off. We will make it, though!

Oh, and P.S., I'm sorry Basie that I have been ignoring you for this last week. I know that you are very upset. I promise it won't be forever.

P.P.S. Still really pissed about the $250 pump sitting in the closet.