Wow. That was...wow.

Anyone who has had the pleasure of comparing labor and delivery stories with me knows that Olivia's birth was epic. Thirty-seven hours of hard labor and pushing; a couple of cab rides; friends, family and a doula; three different locations; minor complications for mom and baby, and finally a gorgeous, healthy Olivia. There's so much that I love about the memories of all this now, but it was a long time before I could really think that I might be insane enough to do it again. Second labors are supposed to be shorter than firsts, but as was pointed out to me, 24 hours is shorter than 37 and that is still a really long time.

So once I proved that I am indeed insane enough to do it again, I tried to prepare myself. I hired another doula, who happened to be training someone...two for the price of one. I drank raspberry leaf tea (thanks, Mary!), and used primrose oil. I talked to myself and visualized a good (i.e. swift) delivery. But when signs of labor began Wednesday before last (on top of the contractions that I had been having for ages), only to slow and then stop, I started to be afraid, very afraid that labor was not going to progress the way that I had hoped. We spent my due date on a bit of a "Family of Three" date and it was sweet and bittersweet and I enjoyed it, but I was also acutely aware of the fact that I was not in labor and didn't feel like I was going to be anytime soon.

But then Sunday morning, I woke up around 4:30 with "that feeling," just like I did with Olivia. By the time Marc and I got up at 6:30, I was officially having contractions. By 7:30 when my mom came to get Olivia, I was on the birthing ball, moaning and unable to get up. Olivia, sweet enough through the whole morning to break my heart, took the baby seat which she had been vowing was off-limits for the baby for months and pulled it up saying, "Mommy, I'll sit here beside you and baby brother can sit next to me when he comes." Thank you, sweetie.

My friend, Katy, who was at Olivia's birth, called and listened for a bit as I labored and tried to micro-manage as Mom and Marc got O ready to go. Finally, she said, "Paige, don't you think you should call the doula? I think you should call the doula. Call the doula." But I had it in my mind that everything was going to take so long; I didn't want to wear out all my resources before 9am. Three contractions later, we called the doula.

With Olivia, I labored at home from 4:30a until 5:00p. I watched a little TV until things got to be too much, walked up and down the hall, laid on the bed, sat on the birthing ball...it was a day's worth of work and while I was in a lot of pain by the time I went to the birthing center, I was able to pretty much stay on top of it. But on Sunday, by the time I made the first switch from sitting to laying down to see if that offered any relief, I was already feeling a lot of doubt. Things were happening too fast, the pain was too intense too early. If I had to do this for a day and a half...well, there was no way I could do this for a day and a half. I started to feel panicky and was having trouble relaxing my muscles at all whether having a contraction or not. We decided to fill the tub, though I had no idea how I was going to get up and get to it. I didn't ask what time it was but I felt like several hours had passed since Amy arrived.

The tub was better. The contractions were coming very fast; some of them had a little lull only to start right back up, making me feel like they were coming right on top of each other, but I felt better able to breath and moan through them and was able to construct a positive thought or two...I'll never have to have that contraction again. Hell, I'll never have to do any of this again. Marc began to look a bit concerned and started asking if we should call the mid-wife. I put him off each time, afraid that it was too early. If I went to the hospital too early, I would get caught up. Caught up in the bed and the IV, unable to move and I knew that I would ask for an epidural. I just wanted to wait it out a bit more. And then, just like that...I needed to push. I really needed to push. Suddenly everyone was moving. Marc was on the phone. Amy and Christina were getting me out of the tub and trying to throw some clothes on me. I tried to find a shoe, asked for a shirt to go over my gown. Marc had the car on and bags out the door, an armful of shirts in answer to my request. Still though, I am wondering if it is time to go. By the time we got to the car, my only doubt was whether we would actually make it to the hospital. In between coaching Marc about his driving (good to know that you stay firmly yourself in times of stress and crisis), I held my hands between my legs and chanted, "I need to push."

We pulled up to the hospital and they actually came running out to meet us, throwing me on a gurney, and stripping me half-naked on the sidewalk. Where my water broke. And here folks, is where I lost it, maybe just a little. I literally went screaming through the lobby and up the elevator. I just wanted to get somewhere and have that baby. And I let everyone know.

Once in the room, everyone was moving, asking me questions, trying to get in an IV, trying to calm me down, trying to get me not to push. Screeeetch. What? Why? Why can't I push? Because the mid-wife wasn't there. Not in my opinion a good enough reason, so pushing I was. And when the baby's heart rate dropped a tiny bit during one contraction, everyone got on board and encouraged me to do so. Two contractions later, there he was...Sawyer.

 

 

We arrived at the hospital at 11:45 and he was born at 12:02p. When I finally let that sink in, I realized that meant I had been in labor from 4:30 until noon...all of seven and a half hours. Not bad. Not bad at all.

 

 

 

It's my due date. Do I look patient?

I've been thinking that labor was getting started for awhile now. I have been at 3 centimeters for some time and have been having contractions for weeks. Every evening, I lay down thinking that I will wake in labor; instead, I'm just having to talk myself back into my maternity clothes.

Olivia's doing really well. If asked about Baby Brother, she says that she isn't excited and we still touch occasionally on the list of her things that he isn't allowed to use or play with, but she has been talking about him and kissing my tummy a lot and echoing Daddy's request for him to come out and play. I think it's a bit confusing because each evening brings a bit of a preparatory flurry and then each morning...no baby, not yet.

Our adventures in Summer Pre-School have been interesting and warrant their own entry (look for that in two months). It exceeded my expectations, but I am not sure that things are going to work out for the fall. We may have to wait until next spring when things have calmed down a bit. I don't regret it; I just wish the timing had been different.

 

First day of school

Anyway. I'm off for more resting. And more nesting. And more carbs and protein. Wish us luck!

Another little something that I don't remember from the first time around...strangers are fascinated with the pregnant. Maybe it's because I was in New York last time and most people were paying attention to my stomach only long enough to decide whether or not they needed to offer up their seats on the subway. Here, random folks are constantly commenting on my "condition" and my appearance or asking about my due date or the baby's gender. Yesterday two teenage girls gasped as they walked by me and one said, "Ooh, she's pregnant." I couldn't tell if it was more like "Ooh, you smell good" or "Ooh, you stepped in something." Probably something more along the lines of "Ooh, your stomach is HUGE."

About two minutes prior, a man had pointed out that I was expecting ("Indeed.") and then asked how far along I was and whether I knew what I was having. And just before that, another stranger sitting next to me struck up a conversation about how girl babies have faster heart rates than boys and how back in her day that was how you knew what you were having.

All in all, I don't mind. I think that it's sort of sweet. And not such a bad thing to be shown some general goodwill when out and about. Especially in these last few weeks, when I vacillate wildly between feeling on one hand immense and slow and sweaty and on the other brimming with new life and miracles and secrets.

Would you think less of me if I told you that I actually wept last night when I saw that a massive blue vein has popped up all over the back of my leg? I am just vain enough to say that if this thing doesn't go away when I have the baby, I might FREAK OUT. Just a little.

The Third Trimester, otherwise known as...

"Get up off that chair, Mommy!"

I have about seven more weeks, but it feels like this baby could come tomorrow. I have written very little here or elsewhere about these last few months which I regret, but there just seems to have been so little time. Or energy. I don't remember pregnancy being quite so draining, even though I was working a full-time job the first time around, walking my groceries and laundry around, riding the subway. Of course, I was minus one three-year-old, in better shape and as one of my mid-wives delicately pointed out at my last appointment, younger. I am tired, people.

I have a few other complaints which I'll mercifully spare you, but I am hanging in and the time is going by quickly, so I feel certain that I won't fall apart due to sciatica and heartburn. The lack of sleep might be the end of us all, though. I have gotten a little touchy lately about the whole sleep issue. People laugh as they ask if I am having to get up a lot at night to take my pea-sized (hee. pea-sized. pea. pee. get it? shut up.) bladder to the bathroom and then they laugh and remind me that I will be getting up even more once the baby arrives and I try to remember that they have no idea that we get up a lot as it is to check Olivia's blood sugar. Marc has been helping a lot lately and Olivia is sleeping well, so we are up on that score. It's when the baby comes and keeps Olivia up at night that things are really going to get schizo.

O still seems excited for the most part, though she does get tired on occasion of being asked about her new brother. This past weekend was the first time that I have seen the child actually shoot someone a dirty look in response to the inquiry. She doesn't seem terribly anxious and I am hoping the transition will be smooth for her. We have taken a step that could muddy things up, though...I'm not sure. We are going to (try to) put O in pre-school for a few hours twice a week for July and see how things go. I have to admit to feeling pessimistic about it. I just can't imagine that she is going to get comfortable with this and while I know that a lot of people would say that this is only because I won't be comfortable and that is probably part of it, but Olivia is a proud momma's girl and does not cotton to me leaving her in the living room, much less some strange place with a bunch of strange people.

Six weeks ago I was certain that this was something we both needed, but as it has gotten closer and more real with plans and visits to the school being made, I do wonder if I am ready either. Am I ready to turn her over to people who don't love her, who aren't family? Am I ready to trust someone else with her diabetes care? Am I ready for other children to possibly hurt her feelings? Am I ready to leave her to navigate her surroundings without me? Am I ready for school?

I am mentally committed to at least the summer program and I am getting all my plans and paperwork together. We'll give it a try and see how things go. She seems excited when we talk about it. Maybe she will love it, I will feel secure about it, her teachers and nurses will confidently take on the responsibility and it will be capital-S smooth. If not, she'll be a full-time big sister and we'll try again with kindergarten.

Either way, things are changing and this period of our lives is coming to an end. Very soon, there will be new people, new places and friends, a new baby. So, for now I savor these last few moments with Olivia, mornings when we wake and it is just the two of us and a whole summer day to share, evenings when we lie in her bed and talk about her favorite part of the day. And softly, I hear the clock tick, tick, tick...

An indicator of my mood today...

Marc: Can I get you a shot of espresso, honey? Upside your head?

I could not have been more nervous about telling Olivia about the baby. I thought that the recriminations and fear, the jealousy and feelings of abandonment would start immediately in a flurry of dramatic tears and tantrums. I visited websites and forums trying to figure out the timing...not too soon so that she would constantly be thinking today was the day, only to be told it would be a long wait...not so late that I was showing and everyone was talking about it over her head. I checked books out of the library and brought them home to pour over, rejecting those that blew too much sunshine about how fabulous the transformation to Big Sister would be for her and also those that put a little too much emphasis on all the naughty things she might feel compelled to do once the baby arrived and no one was paying any attention to her. I settled on a couple that seemed to tell a cheery but realistic story and Marc and I sat down with them and her one Sunday afternoon. When I opened my mouth to start, I felt like I was getting ready to jump off a cliff or start a break-up speech, like I was going to want to suck my words right back up in about 15 seconds. But when I got it out there, she was really excited. She wanted to look at the books and at my tummy and then immediately started talking about the baby in her tummy (who is, if I got the story straight...wait for it...Shotsy.)

I should have known that she would be into the idea at this point. She loves babies. We have several tiny ones in our playgroup and from the minute we walk in our friend's door each week, Olivia is focused on gettin' her some newborn. The moms are sweet enough to let her hold them, replace their pacifiers and scrutinize each diaper change.

I know that things will be different once the baby is actually here. I do think that it is going to be difficult for her, sharing us and our time, not being able to play with the baby like she does Shotsy. But for now she is really enjoying getting ready and is so sweet with me, kissing my tummy and inquiring about the baby after my doctor appointments. One afternoon not long ago, I exclaimed about something in the kitchen and from the other room, she asked, "What is it, Mommy? Is the baby here?"

And while she told us from the beginning that she thought the baby was a girl and we should name her Ruby, she seems very excited to learn that she is actually in fact going to have a little brother.

oh, by the way...