Anwen Bay
4.9.11
6 lbs 15oz ~ 20.5 inches
Successful VBAC!!!
Details to come.
After I change some diapers. And get some sleep. And nurse the baby. And calm a tantrum.
She is bliss.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
39 weeks.
I'm 39 weeks today.
This is a weird feeling, considering my last pregnancy ended abruptly with the emergency delivery of Rhys and Quin at 33 weeks.
As of my appointment with the midwife today, the baby is no longer breech...following a week that consisted of three visits with a chiropractor who specializes in the Webster technique, lots of DIY moxibustion, a heavy dose of Pulsitilla, hours of inversion, and a totally fast, painless, and successful version. I'm so thankful that we're back on course for the VBAC, even if I am still reeling from the stress of the situation and dealing with it like an uninhibited ninety-year old woman with a knack for saying all the inappropriate things that cross her mind and no thoughts of apologies.
Now we wait.
On the one hand, I love the waiting. I have something awesome about to happen - I don't know when or how or what it will be like, but at this point birth is pretty much a guarantee. Though I did see a TLC show once about a woman who had been pregnant for something like sixty years. But that unfortunate woman aside, this kind of feels like when you have a box full of maple sugar candy in front of you and not even one has been nibbled yet, and you know you're about to go hide in a corner somewhere and just gorge yourself. The delicious anticipation. If you're not from a maple sugar candy area, I'm sorry.
And then on the other hand, there's the reality that the time between now and delivery may seem short to those who are not carrying an extra human being in their womb while chasing two toddlers around all day, but for those of us who happen to be in that boat, well, OH MY GOD HOW AM I GOING TO GET THROUGH NEXT WEEK BECAUSE THE DAYS ARE SOOOO LONG AND THERE IS STILL SNOW ON THE GROUND AND THE WEATHER ISN'T LOOKING LIKE WE'LL BREAK THE FORTY DEGREE MARK IN THE NEXT FIVE TO SEVEN DAYS.
And I want to see her. I want to see her eyes, and whether or not she has hair, and if she looks like Rhys or Quin or Kyle or me or none of us...I want to experience this birth process that I've been fascinated with for as long as I can remember...
I'm so close and so far. I try to settle in and remember that it's always more exciting to have the full box of maple sugar candy rather than just the empty wrappers with a few maple crumbs in the corner of the box, but then I remember that that's a terrible metaphor because in this case instead of empty wrappers I get an actual baby that I get to keep.
So there's that.
I thought writing might help me find a nice Zen place. Instead I find that since I rarely write anymore, I'm rusty, which means my writing is 1. of poor quality and 2. hardly satisfying.
Instead of some nice Zen insight, I offer a crude summary:
This is a weird feeling, considering my last pregnancy ended abruptly with the emergency delivery of Rhys and Quin at 33 weeks.
As of my appointment with the midwife today, the baby is no longer breech...following a week that consisted of three visits with a chiropractor who specializes in the Webster technique, lots of DIY moxibustion, a heavy dose of Pulsitilla, hours of inversion, and a totally fast, painless, and successful version. I'm so thankful that we're back on course for the VBAC, even if I am still reeling from the stress of the situation and dealing with it like an uninhibited ninety-year old woman with a knack for saying all the inappropriate things that cross her mind and no thoughts of apologies.
Now we wait.
On the one hand, I love the waiting. I have something awesome about to happen - I don't know when or how or what it will be like, but at this point birth is pretty much a guarantee. Though I did see a TLC show once about a woman who had been pregnant for something like sixty years. But that unfortunate woman aside, this kind of feels like when you have a box full of maple sugar candy in front of you and not even one has been nibbled yet, and you know you're about to go hide in a corner somewhere and just gorge yourself. The delicious anticipation. If you're not from a maple sugar candy area, I'm sorry.
And then on the other hand, there's the reality that the time between now and delivery may seem short to those who are not carrying an extra human being in their womb while chasing two toddlers around all day, but for those of us who happen to be in that boat, well, OH MY GOD HOW AM I GOING TO GET THROUGH NEXT WEEK BECAUSE THE DAYS ARE SOOOO LONG AND THERE IS STILL SNOW ON THE GROUND AND THE WEATHER ISN'T LOOKING LIKE WE'LL BREAK THE FORTY DEGREE MARK IN THE NEXT FIVE TO SEVEN DAYS.
And I want to see her. I want to see her eyes, and whether or not she has hair, and if she looks like Rhys or Quin or Kyle or me or none of us...I want to experience this birth process that I've been fascinated with for as long as I can remember...
I'm so close and so far. I try to settle in and remember that it's always more exciting to have the full box of maple sugar candy rather than just the empty wrappers with a few maple crumbs in the corner of the box, but then I remember that that's a terrible metaphor because in this case instead of empty wrappers I get an actual baby that I get to keep.
So there's that.
I thought writing might help me find a nice Zen place. Instead I find that since I rarely write anymore, I'm rusty, which means my writing is 1. of poor quality and 2. hardly satisfying.
Instead of some nice Zen insight, I offer a crude summary:
- Baby is, at this point, head down.
- VBAC plans are, at this point, a go.
- I am, at this point, excited and anxious as shit.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
30 weeks
I don't want another c-section.
Early in this pregnancy, we decided we'd go for the birth we'd hoped for with Rhys and Quin but weren't able to achieve; first because of the twin pregnancy and then later because of the unexpected placental abruption which led to their early emergency arrival at 33 weeks. We decided that this time, we'd go for a VBAC in a freestanding (non-hospital affiliated) birthing center.
It felt so right. I immediately began thinking about whether I'd want to bring patchouli candles to create my birthing ambiance, or whether lavender would win out.
Our ability to move forward with the VBAC as planned was contingent upon my placenta being in the right place during our OB consult and ultrasound after we hit the 20 week mark. At 23 weeks we went in, nervous and excited to get the go-ahead for moving forward.
First we had the ultrasound. Learned we are having a girl. Learned that placenta-wise, all was as it should be. Placenta far away from my Cesarean scar, far away from the cervix.
Next was the OB consult. We went in, giddy about our girl, giddy about our green light. The OB talked to us about the risks of VBAC. She talked to us about Rhys and Quin's birth. She mentioned that although the placental abruption probably would not recur, if it did, being so far from a hospital, our baby could die. I could die.
Suddenly, I was back at the hospital the night Rhys and Quin were born. Laying on the bed and bleeding, waiting for the ultrasound, waiting for them to tell me my babies were dead. I was on the operating table as they pulled my babies from my body and whisked them away. I was in recovery, confused and cold and shaking, wondering if we'd all survive.
And then I was back in the OB consult, sitting next to Kyle and nodding at the doctor's blurred words. I knew I wasn't going to be bringing patchouli candles or lavender candles or anything else with a flame to this baby's birth. In one startling second, the idea of a birthing center birth went from being exactly what I wanted to something I knew I'd never have.
The next day I transferred my care to a group of midwives who deliver at a local hospital with a decent VBAC rate, and began attempting to stem the flow of fear that suddenly gushed from every molecule of my being.
What if she's born too early? What if I can't conquer my fears enough to let go in labor and VBAC successfully? What if IT happens again? What if IT happens again and I'm at home alone with the boys??????
I'm scared.
And I'm angry.
I'm angry at the doctor who was on call the night Rhys and Quin were born. That doctor, who for whatever reason, knowing I lived 30+ minutes from the hospital, told me I probably had a kidney stone when I called an hour before my water broke complaining of terrible back pain and cramping. Suggested I push fluids...at 33 weeks pregnant with twins, after a positive fetal fibronectin test, several hospital visits to stop my pre-term labor, and a steroid shot that morning to develop the babies' little lungs. A kidney stone. That same doctor who didn't call me back for over ten minutes when I called the emergency on-call service to say my water had broken and I was gushing blood all over my living room floor. That same doctor, who responded to my report of blood by saying, "it's normal. Put on a pad and come to the hospital" and then adding a cheerful, "congratulations, your babies are going to be born tonight!"
I'm angry that my trauma over the babies' birth is still there. That I'm scared shitless. That I didn't need to go through some of the trauma. That the doctor could have said, "why don't you come on in" when I called the first time, and should have said, "get here NOW" when I called the second.
But it is what it is.
I have ten more weeks to go. Ten weeks to get to an okay place.
I've made progress since our consult. We've hired a doula. I talk a lot to our midwife. I'm reading and re-reading Birthing From Within. I'm working and trying and processing.
I've accepted that this is the next leg of my journey.
It will be what it will be. In the end, I get to determine what it becomes.
Early in this pregnancy, we decided we'd go for the birth we'd hoped for with Rhys and Quin but weren't able to achieve; first because of the twin pregnancy and then later because of the unexpected placental abruption which led to their early emergency arrival at 33 weeks. We decided that this time, we'd go for a VBAC in a freestanding (non-hospital affiliated) birthing center.
It felt so right. I immediately began thinking about whether I'd want to bring patchouli candles to create my birthing ambiance, or whether lavender would win out.
Our ability to move forward with the VBAC as planned was contingent upon my placenta being in the right place during our OB consult and ultrasound after we hit the 20 week mark. At 23 weeks we went in, nervous and excited to get the go-ahead for moving forward.
First we had the ultrasound. Learned we are having a girl. Learned that placenta-wise, all was as it should be. Placenta far away from my Cesarean scar, far away from the cervix.
Next was the OB consult. We went in, giddy about our girl, giddy about our green light. The OB talked to us about the risks of VBAC. She talked to us about Rhys and Quin's birth. She mentioned that although the placental abruption probably would not recur, if it did, being so far from a hospital, our baby could die. I could die.
Suddenly, I was back at the hospital the night Rhys and Quin were born. Laying on the bed and bleeding, waiting for the ultrasound, waiting for them to tell me my babies were dead. I was on the operating table as they pulled my babies from my body and whisked them away. I was in recovery, confused and cold and shaking, wondering if we'd all survive.
And then I was back in the OB consult, sitting next to Kyle and nodding at the doctor's blurred words. I knew I wasn't going to be bringing patchouli candles or lavender candles or anything else with a flame to this baby's birth. In one startling second, the idea of a birthing center birth went from being exactly what I wanted to something I knew I'd never have.
The next day I transferred my care to a group of midwives who deliver at a local hospital with a decent VBAC rate, and began attempting to stem the flow of fear that suddenly gushed from every molecule of my being.
What if she's born too early? What if I can't conquer my fears enough to let go in labor and VBAC successfully? What if IT happens again? What if IT happens again and I'm at home alone with the boys??????
I'm scared.
And I'm angry.
I'm angry at the doctor who was on call the night Rhys and Quin were born. That doctor, who for whatever reason, knowing I lived 30+ minutes from the hospital, told me I probably had a kidney stone when I called an hour before my water broke complaining of terrible back pain and cramping. Suggested I push fluids...at 33 weeks pregnant with twins, after a positive fetal fibronectin test, several hospital visits to stop my pre-term labor, and a steroid shot that morning to develop the babies' little lungs. A kidney stone. That same doctor who didn't call me back for over ten minutes when I called the emergency on-call service to say my water had broken and I was gushing blood all over my living room floor. That same doctor, who responded to my report of blood by saying, "it's normal. Put on a pad and come to the hospital" and then adding a cheerful, "congratulations, your babies are going to be born tonight!"
I'm angry that my trauma over the babies' birth is still there. That I'm scared shitless. That I didn't need to go through some of the trauma. That the doctor could have said, "why don't you come on in" when I called the first time, and should have said, "get here NOW" when I called the second.
But it is what it is.
I have ten more weeks to go. Ten weeks to get to an okay place.
I've made progress since our consult. We've hired a doula. I talk a lot to our midwife. I'm reading and re-reading Birthing From Within. I'm working and trying and processing.
I've accepted that this is the next leg of my journey.
It will be what it will be. In the end, I get to determine what it becomes.
Monday, January 10, 2011
28 weeks
This morning I decided to make a smoothie. Although I seem to have no trouble gaining weight in this pregnancy, I feel like really "taking care of myself" has been a struggle. So a smoothie. Full of brewer's yeast, wheat germ, flax seed, fruit, yogurt, milk, all the good stuff. It took me ninety minutes to make. Not because I had to pick the fruit, milk the cows, or even grind the flax seed myself. No. It was because I am Mama and this morning, that meant diapers and bartering for peace and returning boy bits into diapers where they rightfully belong. But finally, I hit "blend" and had a luscious smoothie ready for my enjoyment. Sixty minutes later, after taking two sips and spending at least three quarters of an hour searching for (but never finding) Cookie Monster, I decided to really buckle down and just drink the damn thing. Enter toddlers into kitchen. "Noothie! Noothie!" Thirty minutes later, after consuming a good 80% of my breakfast, they were both busy tantruming over my glum announcement that our smoothie was all gone.
This is why I have not posted in four months.
This is the one thing that scares me about having a third baby.
I don't know how to get it all done.
Mothering, working, cleaning the house, making sure our refrigerator has more than an old jar of artichoke tapenade sitting on the top shelf, making sure we don't run out of dog food or milk or toilet paper, making sure Rhys and Quin know how much we love them and have the security in their world to grow into the people they deserve to be, making sure I remember to eat so that this new baby is born strong and healthy and robust...
...these are the things that I love and that consume me and often claim victory over my life.
And although it is crazy and full and hectic every second of every day, life has been really good.
We're lucky.
I am still blown away by how lucky we are.
I still can't believe I'm pregnant. From sex.
By surprise. Unplanned.
An infertile girl's dream come true.
Speaking of girls, I'm gestating one, and feeling pretty thrilled about that.
I have other things I need to write about.
I need to write about how I weaned the babies and it broke my heart, about how we're planning a VBAC and I'm simultaneously thrilled and terrified, about how this pregnancy has been an exercise in feeling confident in myself as a mother while finding the strength to ignore advice and input that isn't helpful to me, and about how I'm trying to squeeze every last drop of experience out of this pregnancy to savor the right now.
It all has to come later, and I confess that I have no idea when that will be. Maybe this week, maybe next month. It all depends on how things go with my morning smoothie.
This is why I have not posted in four months.
This is the one thing that scares me about having a third baby.
I don't know how to get it all done.
Mothering, working, cleaning the house, making sure our refrigerator has more than an old jar of artichoke tapenade sitting on the top shelf, making sure we don't run out of dog food or milk or toilet paper, making sure Rhys and Quin know how much we love them and have the security in their world to grow into the people they deserve to be, making sure I remember to eat so that this new baby is born strong and healthy and robust...
...these are the things that I love and that consume me and often claim victory over my life.
And although it is crazy and full and hectic every second of every day, life has been really good.
We're lucky.
I am still blown away by how lucky we are.
I still can't believe I'm pregnant. From sex.
By surprise. Unplanned.
An infertile girl's dream come true.
Speaking of girls, I'm gestating one, and feeling pretty thrilled about that.
I have other things I need to write about.
I need to write about how I weaned the babies and it broke my heart, about how we're planning a VBAC and I'm simultaneously thrilled and terrified, about how this pregnancy has been an exercise in feeling confident in myself as a mother while finding the strength to ignore advice and input that isn't helpful to me, and about how I'm trying to squeeze every last drop of experience out of this pregnancy to savor the right now.
It all has to come later, and I confess that I have no idea when that will be. Maybe this week, maybe next month. It all depends on how things go with my morning smoothie.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Letting Go.
First it is summer. We are finally sleeping at night, we have time for us, we are in a routine. Our babies are toddlers, and they are delightful. We are the small family we always wanted to be.
In creeps this unfinished business. Suddenly I feel like this IUD is exactly what it is - birth CONTROL. I can't escape the thought that infertility taught me to let go and yet inside my body is something with CONTROL in the title. I need to face the unknown. Need to face possibility. Need to test my strength now that I am where I wanted to be.
We talk. We discuss. Do we want to open ourselves to possibility? We feel pretty balanced as we are. Kyle worries I will end up where I once was. Heartbroken. Depressed. Disappointed. Desperate. And I say, therapeutically, I need this. I remind him that it wouldn't be about trying for a baby, but to just let life happen. He listens.
We decide together. Ditch the IUD.
I feel free.
We move on.
Within a month I am disappointed in myself.
I suddenly don't want to nurse the babies anymore. Could I be pregnant?
A week later. I still don't want to nurse. I feel tired. Am I?
I start craving spice. I describe my favorite Vietnamese and Thai foods to friends and feel like crying in my desperation to eat it all, now.
I have a talk with myself. You don't even want to be pregnant right now. It terrifies you. You're back at your old tricks...one sleepy afternoon and it MUST be pregnancy, huh? You're psychotic. You made a mistake, removing that IUD. You weren't ready for the unknown. Don't let Kyle know you're obsessing over this. Just don't. You promised him you wouldn't go back there.
I decide I will take a test on the sly. Clear the slate. Confirm what I know must be true. I am not pregnant but I am insane. Move on.
I don't buy a test. There's no good time. No good time?
I am tired. I want spice. I am peeing awfully frequently.
I fess up to Kyle, sheepish. I am obsessed with this idea that I'm pregnant. I can't shake it. I'm so embarrassed. I need to take a test, and then I will move on.
I have no idea what he thinks.
He buys a test on his way home from work.
Seven weeks have passed since my IUD was removed.
I tear off the cellophane wrapper and run into the bathroom.
I look forward to breathing again.
I pee.
I start to set the test on the counter when I see the blue plus sign.
A blue plus sign.
A blue plus sign.
A blue plus sign.
The symbol I dreamed about through three years of infertility. The moment I coveted with every desperate cell of my being - casually taking a test, only to find that, indeed, I am pregnant.
In creeps this unfinished business. Suddenly I feel like this IUD is exactly what it is - birth CONTROL. I can't escape the thought that infertility taught me to let go and yet inside my body is something with CONTROL in the title. I need to face the unknown. Need to face possibility. Need to test my strength now that I am where I wanted to be.
We talk. We discuss. Do we want to open ourselves to possibility? We feel pretty balanced as we are. Kyle worries I will end up where I once was. Heartbroken. Depressed. Disappointed. Desperate. And I say, therapeutically, I need this. I remind him that it wouldn't be about trying for a baby, but to just let life happen. He listens.
We decide together. Ditch the IUD.
I feel free.
We move on.
Within a month I am disappointed in myself.
I suddenly don't want to nurse the babies anymore. Could I be pregnant?
A week later. I still don't want to nurse. I feel tired. Am I?
I start craving spice. I describe my favorite Vietnamese and Thai foods to friends and feel like crying in my desperation to eat it all, now.
I have a talk with myself. You don't even want to be pregnant right now. It terrifies you. You're back at your old tricks...one sleepy afternoon and it MUST be pregnancy, huh? You're psychotic. You made a mistake, removing that IUD. You weren't ready for the unknown. Don't let Kyle know you're obsessing over this. Just don't. You promised him you wouldn't go back there.
I decide I will take a test on the sly. Clear the slate. Confirm what I know must be true. I am not pregnant but I am insane. Move on.
I don't buy a test. There's no good time. No good time?
I am tired. I want spice. I am peeing awfully frequently.
I fess up to Kyle, sheepish. I am obsessed with this idea that I'm pregnant. I can't shake it. I'm so embarrassed. I need to take a test, and then I will move on.
I have no idea what he thinks.
He buys a test on his way home from work.
Seven weeks have passed since my IUD was removed.
I tear off the cellophane wrapper and run into the bathroom.
I look forward to breathing again.
I pee.
I start to set the test on the counter when I see the blue plus sign.
A blue plus sign.
A blue plus sign.
A blue plus sign.
The symbol I dreamed about through three years of infertility. The moment I coveted with every desperate cell of my being - casually taking a test, only to find that, indeed, I am pregnant.
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