The hell that is...the NICU

Let me start with what a wondrous and fantastic thing a NICU is. NICUs save lives every day and are a necessity. We were lucky to have three at our disposal. The one in the hospital I delivered in wasn't able to properly care for William, it wasn’t a level 3, so he had to be sent either 50 miles away to Cincinnati Children’s or 20 miles away to Dayton Children’s.

For a hospital, a children's hospital is pretty nice. Being a children’s hospital it’s bright and has all sorts of cool colors and a tank with tropical fish in the lobby. The staff was mostly friendly and the food in the cafeteria was even pretty good.

But here comes to “woe-is-me” portion of this blog…from a new parent’s point of view…NICUs suck! Why? Well no one should have a baby in the NICU. The NICU means something is wrong, something is very wrong. Of course, in our case, everything ended up great. From wrong to great in one, long, drawn-out month.

I said earlier one of the worst things a person can suffer is infertility, if they want a child that is. If you have not experienced it, you will not understand. The same is true of NICUs. Yes, people say how awful it must be, and people probably think how tragic it is, but unless you have a baby in a NICU, you’ll never truly understand.

We had something great going for us. Our child was massive for his gestation and was in overall pretty good health. I never once thought we were going to lose him after he was born. I also knew he’d be ‘fine’ in terms of development. I just knew. Even having a somewhat healthy baby in the NICU (I use that term loosely, no baby is healthy in a NICU) is still very demanding, frustrating and at times, unbearable.

As with all things, I’m a planner. I planned to get pregnant right away when we decided to try. I planned on having a great pregnancy. I planned to have the baby born, wiped off, and then handed directly to me within the first minute of his birth. I planned to breastfeed immediately. I planned to stay in the hospital for 48 hours, and then with a baby in my arms, be wheeled out, get into my car, and drive home. I planned to take the baby to his nursery and go on with our lives.

None of that happened. We didn’t plan on his birth costing $100,000+ and I’m sure our insurance company didn’t either ;-)

He was born, fast, and he did not cry. He peed, on the Doctor, a sight I’ll never forget, but he did not cry. Four minutes passed and still no sounds of any kind. Finally, he grunted. Little, high-pitched grunts, they were actually cute. I could hear them but I could not see him. About ten minutes after birth, I got to hold him, for ten whole seconds. This was not what I’d planned.

He looked right into my eyes, which for some reason, took me by surprise. It was as if he knew who I was. I posed for two pictures and then he was taken away…for six hours.

03/27/11, 9:21 PM

He was gone for six hours, and I couldn’t remember what he looked like, other than what he looked like peeing on the Doctor at the moment of birth.

Since I had a baby, but ‘had’ no baby, I didn’t get that post-birth euphoria. Clearly I had no connection to that child in some other room who I couldn’t even remember what he looked like. That’s regret number one. Not getting to hold, nurse, or love-on him the moment of birth. I regret this so much since he is our only child and will be our only child. We waited so long for him and here he was…in some other room, where I couldn’t even see him. At least I got to hold him for a few seconds, so many preemie-parents don’t get to do that, and I understand that. But I can’t imagine what it’s like for them, all I have is my own experience.

I look at him now, a year later, and am filled with sadness when I think of his birth. I’m thrilled that he’s here and healthy and wonderful, it’s not that, it’s the actual process that was robbed from me. And since he’s our one and only, I’ll never have another opportunity to live that again. Of course, even if we did have another, there’s a much higher chance of them being a preemie too...so I'd probably just relive this all over again.

Six hours after his birth, a baby was brought to me sporting more wires and electronics than R2D2. He was screaming his head off, with about four ivs in his hand and a feeding tube rammed up his nose. I held him for about five minutes and posed for pictures.

Our first family photo, 03/28/10, around 3 am.

I remember he pulled my hair, something he still does, and pulled on my lower lip. Poor little fella was awful wiggly.

He didn't feel like my baby, he felt like…a baby. The paramedics were there telling me about the ambulance ride he was about to take and what the Doctors at the NICU so far away would be doing to him. It’s all a blur actually. I’d been awake for 42 hours by that point and had a 34 hour labor, 32 hours were unmediated, I was tired and I just wanted to hold my baby and sleep.

Well sleep I kind-of got, but the baby was whisked away in his little plastic bubble of a home and that was that. I had no visitors at all when I was in the hospital. The next day I asked Chris to not visit me, but to go spend the day with William in the NICU instead. For some reason, he had no trouble bonding with him, at all.

03/28/10, Chris and William in the NICU

Me, I sat alone, starving, in my hospital room finally looking at the pictures Chris had taken of William.

The next morning I was discharged and a few hours later, I got to experience the NICU. First, even though I had a great birth, I was bleeding very, very heavily. Getting into a car, driving 20 miles, walking a really, really long way to the NICU and then sitting straight up without my legs elevated isn’t exactly what you’re supposed to be doing immediately after giving birth. I had to pee about every 30 minutes and at the time, there was no bathroom in the NICU. Of course going to the bathroom right after giving birth isn’t exactly easy, or quick.

I’d barely make it to the hospital when I’d have to use the lobby bathroom. Then we’d get in the elevator and get to the NICU floor. Once there we had to remove our jewelry and our coats and wash our hands, surgical style. Then we had to be buzzed in. Once in I had to have my photo taken and I had to sign into a book on a special page just for William. Once they established I was family, we went to the other end of the unit where William was laying in his plastic isolette, still with tubes and wires. He was, of course, asleep…the entire time.

I was finally able to sit and hold him, but I didn’t really know him still. He still felt like ‘a’ baby. I brought with me the very little nourishment I was able to pump, which I believe was one drop and handed it to the nurse. He was under a little warmer and there were all kinds of monitors beeping and going off all the time. I didn’t know what they meant at first. Before I knew it, things like “cc’s” and “Bradys” would become part of my daily vocabulary.

03/29/10, My first trip to the NICU (It was his second day in the NICU and my first)

The NICU offered me the opportunity to stay across the street at the Ronald McDonald House, but I had out of town guests and two dogs to care for at home. Instead I drove and visited every day. Some days, I stayed for 3 hours, some days, 12. I held him and remarked how small he was. He was also slightly yellow at first.

I had no idea what his body looked like really, as he was covered from head to toe in swaddling blankets and a huge hat. I was told he was too young to eat, so he had the feeding tube instead.

The evening of March 29, 2010

He would occasionally forget to breathe, which would caused “Bradys” or bradycardia which basically was a lowering of the heart rate caused by apnea. Sometimes he'd just not breathe for up to 15 seconds. Those were the two main concerns, the two main reasons he was kept in the NICU.

He had a little help with oxygen but never had to be intubated. I still didn’t feel like a mother. He did not feel like my son. I think I was still in shock that my horrific pregnancy (which had been horrible since nearly day one) ended so quickly. On one hand I was glad to eat again for the first time in seven months, and all the horrible pain (round ligament and rib pain) was gone. I missed feeling the baby kick though, and I knew he should not have been born seven weeks and five days early.

He was a medium-rare baby and I know I ordered a well-done one. I had to send him back to cook more, and that would be our life for the next month.

Since I wasn’t home resting, bonding and being catered to by others, my bleeding got much worse. I was spending my days walking down hospital corridors and spending too much time in the car. Instead of sleeping, I was pumping every two-to-three hours around the clock. I worried about William that he’d take a turn for the worse, but slowly we began to bond some.

I’d get very anxious in the mornings. I’d wake up, pump and then I’d start to get very anxious to see him. I always waited until rush hour traffic died down since the hospital was downtown. Once on the road, I’d want to speed to get there as fast as possible. When I’d turn into the parking deck, all I wanted was to find the closest space (Which I almost never could…it was a very long walk from the parking garage to the NICU) and get inside ASAP. Once inside, I had to wait for the elevator. It seemed like such a long wait each time. Meanwhile I’d see children being wheeled in beds or chairs and babies being tugged in little red wagons. I saw very sick kids and very worried parents.

Once upstairs, I’d have to go to the bathroom and then I’d nearly run to the sinks to scrub up. I’d sign in as fast as possible and try to make it to William’s bed by 11am, in time for rounds. Rounds was the ONLY time I’d ever get to speak to a Doctor about him. I will say, the NICU did great by him, but we had some issues with a few nurses and I think I only spoke to a Doctor three times the entire month he was in there. I never really knew his true condition.

Also, NICUs never, ever, EVER give you an estimate of time your loved one will be in there. We assumed he’d remain until May 13^th, his due date. Most of the time when I’d arrive at his bed, he was swaddled and sleeping, and all alone. Sometimes I’d not even see his nurse until two hours later. I’d get so pissed. We’re paying God knows what for around the clock-intensive care for our son and two hours goes by without a nurse even walking by? What if something happened to him? Who was checking on him? Babies are supposed to be held, not swaddled and left alone for hours and hours and hours on end!

That’s when the guilt sets in. Guilt…and heavily swollen feet. About a five days after his birth, I arrived at the NICU to find a massive and frightening IV poking out of my son’s head! It took forever to find his nurse but she informed me, very matter-of-factly that “Oh we blew out his veins in his arms so we had to go into his head.” Oh that’s nice. The words Blew and Out regarding my one-week-old don’t sit well with me.

Between the stress, and the physical activity, and the lack of sleep, my feet had swollen to, I swear, at least five times their normal size. I had no shoes that fit. I looked like Fred Flintstone. My legs too. What killed me was the NICU only had two recliners, the rest were very uncomfortable office chairs. Thank God I had an easy birth, sitting all day on an office chair would have been torture otherwise. I’d get so mad because I’d limp into the NICU, carrying 20 pounds of feet and legs and probably the same amount in a near hemorrhage, only to find almost always both recliners being used by………..men. Stupid, useless men who had NOT just given birth, who were not bleeding heavily, and who most certainly did not carry the entire Great Lakes in their legs and feet.

The only cure for swelling that bad is elevation and a lot of urination. Well hell, each time I’d go to pee I’d have to walk, far, and then scrub back in and hope my seat was still there when I’d return. My day would start out holding the baby and waiting for a nurse to tell me his condition. Then I’d go pee again. Then I’d have to go pump for 40 minutes or so. Then I’d get to feed him from a bottle, maybe 1 cc, and the rest via feeding tube. Then I’d get to change his diaper and maybe give him a bath. Then it was time to pee again, pump again, feed again, and repeat.

I’d leave before rush hour or stay until it died down. I’d glare at the young, healthy men in the coveted recliners and get more and more pissed off by the minute. I loved holding my son but holding a sleeping baby, while bleeding and needing to pee and ever-swelling legs, in the most non-private environment known to man is not only boring, but a hassle. No one told me about skin-to-skin with him at that time, which would have benefited us both. Heck I couldn’t get a nurse to tell me if he had a fever or not half the time.

Some nurses were awesome and I’d be so happy when I’d see their name on his own white-board. There was a male nursing student who I loved. He was sweet and attentive. I remember the day he removed the head IV. The IV was fine, it was the tape stuck to William’s hair that was the worst. It took 10 minutes, the entire time, William screamed in pain. All I could do was hold his hand, which was covered in tape and wires, and talk to him.

Some days he couldn’t maintain his temperature so he was under a heating lamp. Some days he was just swaddled, alone, and sleeping. Some days he was crying and wet. You never know what to expect in the NICU.

The first night I was able to see him, March 29^th, I changed my first ever diaper. I had the help of two nurses who talked me through it. He had what we came to call…mustard-butt. The very liquid, very yellow poo that got everywhere. I did a good job though. Chris changed the next one and got pood on. It was projectile poo, something I thought was legend. It was then we realized we had yet another hurdle. William was allergic to milk-based-formula.

He’d lost a bit of weight and had diarrhea. I was told to continue with the breast milk but for supplement, he’d have to have soy. They said it could take up to three weeks for the soy to kick in and stop his runny poo, that’s three extra weeks in the NICU…not what anyone wants to hear. The good news was it only took a week.

About 10 days after his birth my feet had gone back to normal but I was still bleeding like crazy. The good news was they FINALLY put a bathroom (Just for moms) IN the NICU, so no more walking and scrubbing back in. It’s amazing how much we love the little things. It was like a dream come true. Around that same time he got moved from his larger bed, to a smaller one just across, next to the window, to make room for a new, smaller, sicker baby. Baby “C” was only 13 ounces and he got William’s old bed. I only saw him once, for a second…so tiny. We felt so bad for the parents, what they must be going through. Baby “C” was the smallest the NICU had ever had.

His parents couldn’t hold him. Couldn’t feed him. Couldn’t even touch him I don’t think. I’d see his Mom in the pumping room and she always seemed to calm to me. By this point I had fallen much deeper in love with William, though I still felt as if we’d not bonded totally yet. I couldn’t imagine being “C’s” mom. The good news is, Baby C is nearly one now and is doing great! He’s big and has been home for quite some time. See, NICUs are great things!

The first and only time I really cried about William was eleven or so days after his birth. Chris and I were holding him and he was actually awake. He’d been awake a lot lately. His eyes were the deepest shade of blue. He was a very quiet baby, who’d just stare into our eyes. By that point, he was getting 7 out of 8 bottles a day of breast milk, and the soy was working better for him. On that day, we had to leave and I put him down in his plastic isolette. His eyes were still open. I walked away to go sign out and I made the mistake of turning back to look at him and he had turned his head and was still looking at me. Now I know he couldn’t see me from 20 feet away, but I saw his eyes, which happened to be staring into mine and that’s when I finally lost it.

He was awake and…alone. No one was nearby to hold him if he cried. And we had to leave. I was miserable all night long. I wanted him home. I could give him food via feeding tube from home! His breathing was good but he still suffered from multiple “Bradys” each day. He’d have to go seven straight days without one Brady in order to go home. He’d also need to drink, on his own, 8 FULL bottles a day (full being 25-30 cc’s).

I vowed on that day never again to leave the NICU while he was still awake. One day, I stayed for I think about 18 hours, waiting for him to fall asleep and stay asleep. Sometimes I’d get 10 feet away and he’d open his eyes. Just knowing my baby was alone, surrounded by people, but still so alone, hurt more than anything. He needed to be held! This is when NICU hell kicked in.

The last three weeks were real hell. I wanted my baby home with me. I was robbed of a good birth. When I left the hospital on March 29^th, a cold and rainy morning…it was just me. I had no flowers, no gifts…and most importantly…no baby. I was wheeled out, alone, while Chris pulled the truck to the entrance. I always thought I’d have balloons and stuffed animals and flowers and above all, a baby in my arms when I left the hospital. Instead all I had was a Candy-Striper who was, no joke, 19039 years old and got freakin’ lost wheeling me out the door!

I was home; up every two hours, but not to feed a baby….I had to feed a pump instead. I was always cataloging and chilling and transporting milk, and getting the NICU nurses to take the milk to refrigerate in a timely fashion was no easy task either. I just wanted him home. I thought I’d not truly bond until he got home. A good birth was robbed from me, and now the first month was being robbed too. A month I’d never get back. I’ll have a little newborn to hold and care for again. I’m also weird, my favorite baby-stage is the first one…the newborn stage. Those first few weeks when they do nothing.

I imagined I’d have that little baby of mine, at home with me, and I’d just hold him all day, and then put him in his crib at night. Instead I was 20 miles from my baby and he slept in a tiny isolette instead of the gorgeous nursery we’d created for him. Yes, I got to hold him every day but I felt like a part-time…nanny. I’ll never get that first month back, ever.

Each day I grew angrier and angrier. Hormones weren’t helping either. Really hardly any of my friends (but one) ever dealt with this. My sister-in-law had a few months prior, one of her babies came home after about two weeks, the other, after about three. I remember thinking at the time what hell that must be for her. Now, I was living it. So we had very little support from anyone, no one really knew what we were going through. Chris was back to work a week later and I was commuting, pumping, and holding and bathing him when I could.

As a new mother, no one was taking care of me. I was cooking and cleaning and running errands and…bleeding. I was so tired, but I had to keep pumping. Finally I was able to nurse him about two weeks in but he only latched for about three seconds and then fell asleep. He always fell asleep at the bottle too. Until he finished 8 whole bottles a day he could not come home. I’d get so mad, not at him, just mad, when he’d have ¼ or maybe ½ of a bottle and then fall asleep. Eating was such a tiresome thing for him at that time.

I was beginning to think he’d never come home. We’d see other babies leave and we’d be so jealous. Nearly all were there longer than him, were smaller and sicker than him. Why couldn’t he eat? No Doctor could tell us. The first month of his life was drawing closer when he finally finished a bottle. I’d just decided on that day, that he WOULD finish a bottle. I told him, my mother, and the nurse, “He will finish this bottle.” And they laughed. I said “No, this is a bunch of crap! He’s finishing this bottle and that’s the end of it!”

I undressed him so he was cold and kept him awake as best I could. I talked to him and told him to finish that bottle. He was getting close and I had a feeling that would be the day, and it was! Only took three weeks. He even finished his next one three hours later. But it took a few days for him to finish all eight bottles and of course they upped the amount he had to eat too. I was beginning to think it was a conspiracy to keep him in longer.

Every now and then his monitor would go off, signaling another Brady, and the seven-day countdown would start over. Chris and I really were beginning to think he’d stay in the NICU two months, or more. He had multiple Bradys a day and never seemed to finish all eight bottles. We were angry now…all the time. I was in a horrid mood, 24 hours a day. It’s bad enough the first month of his life was spent in a hospital, but now we have to wait seven straight days without a single Brady? Impossible! We’d ask the nurse every so often when he was coming home.

Finally she said “Look, when we ask you to bring in his car-seat for inspection and give you the form to consent to his circumcision that means he’ll be going home within 48 hours. I have no idea when that’ll be.”

Nice. When would that be? Before he turns 18 I hope! Hell, Hell, Hell…we were in hell. He was alone, isolated, and we were new parents, at home, without a baby. Could things be worse? Of course! Things could have been so much worse. I started pre-term labor at 24 weeks, that would have been worse. I began to bleed, heavy, and no heart beat was found at what we thought was my sixth week. We had to wait a whole week, thinking we were miscarrying, to look again for a heartbeat, which obviously, we found. It took two and a half years to get pregnant. We were told we’d never, ever conceive a child. We’d been through so much. All we wanted was a healthy baby, at home, with us. We are both older than dirt and after that pregnancy and infertility, this is our only child. We just want what so many other people had…to have a baby, carry that baby from the hospital…and go home.

And that’s finally what we did. On April 25, 2010, the nurse told me to bring his car-seat for inspection the next day and asked to authorize his circumcision (That’s for another blog). I couldn’t believe it. I called Mom in shock. I texted Chris at home, who was recovering from surgery. I texted everyone. We got the car-seat, we got him circumcised and then they said on the next day, he could go home.

I ran out and bought balloons and got a cake that said “Welcome Home.” We got a “Welcome Home” banner and got his pack-n-play all ready for him. We got his “take home” outfit all ready too, as it was a tad chilly in late April.

On April 27^th, he was one month old, he weighed 5 pounds and 13 ounces, and he was ready to come home. I didn’t get to carry him like I’d always wanted. Instead I had to go get the car while Mom and Chris accompanied the nurse who wheeled him out in a carriage. She then put the car-seat in the car for us and said “Good bye! Good luck.” My son was in my car. Chris was in the back and Mom was in the front and Peter Frampton was playing on the satellite radio. We were parents of a baby that was coming home to live with us. I could hold him as much as I wanted. I’d never have to be separated from him again, at least, until he is an adult.

I was only pregnant for seven months. But I went eight without my baby really being with me. I guess it was kind of like I was pregnant that extra month. He was home with us…and finally, we were a family….thanks to the NICU.

The dreaded head-IV

April 1, 2010

April 1, 2011

http://preemies.about.com/od/preemieagesandstages/ss/PrematureBabiesWeekbyWeek_7.htm

Baby Orzo Pasta that everyone will love...

As most of you know by now, I don't do baby food. Finding table food for William was a challenge though, until I tried this awesome recipe for orzo! Orzo is pasta, but it's small and looks like rice. It's so simple for babies to gum on, chew on, and swallow without choking. This is also something adults can eat too and love, so no need to cook separate meals! All stores sell orzo, even Wal-Mart. I boil my orzo is chicken stock, then I shred zucchini, carrots and white meat chicken and add to the pasta using a box grater, or a zester.

Ingredients

1 box of Orzo

1 box of low sodium chicken stock/broth, or three cups of homemade (Can use veggie stock too)

1 large carrot

1 zucchini

1 boiled or baked, unseasoned, chicken breast (Skin off)

Shred the chicken, zucchini and carrots into a bowl and set aside while the broth/stock comes to a soft boil. Add the orzo and keep stirring! I did this in a medium sized non-stick pot. Keep stirring or it'll cake up and stick. It takes about 9 minutes to boil. Five minutes before it's done, add the shredded meat and veggies. Once the orzo is cooked, turn the heat off and put the lid on and let it sit for a little while. The orzo should suck up all the juice. I don't add any seasoning, the broth has enough.

For a little baby, 6-12 months, add about a tablespoon of luke warm orzo to a bowl and let them eat about 1-2 pieces of orzo at a time.

William loves it, and I must admit, it's really good for adults too.

Goat cheese and steak white pizza

We made it, it twas delicious!

Ingredients

Flank steak

goat cheese

minced garlic

olive oil

red wine vinegar

shredded mozzarella cheese

roma or sun dried tomatoes

Red Pepper Flakes

(Seasonings)

Grated Parmesan cheese

pizza crust

(All ingredients are 'eye-balled', add as much or as little as you like, for the crust I use Bobby Flay's recipe)

Pre-Heat oven to 400 degrees

Make your own pizza crust or purchase a dough ball, the kind you roll out, not that Boboli crap...1 hour before, thinly slice your steak and marinate in red wine vinegar, olive oil, minced garlic, salt, pepper, onion powder, Italian seasoning, *optional red pepper flakes*. In a separate bowl, thinly slice and marinate the tomatoes using the same marinate recipe.

For the sauce of the pizza, combine olive oil, red pepper flakes and grated parm cheese, brush onto the pizza crust. Using a skillet high heat, sear the flank steaks for about 30 seconds on each side. Add the steaks and marinated tomatoes to the pizza. Break off chunks of goat cheese and add to the pizza. Top entire pizza with a handful of shredded mozzarella cheese and bake for 15 minutes. For extra crispy top, broil on high for 1 minute.

Enjoy!

Infertility, the universe's ultimate bitch-slap!

I'm a somewhat philosophical person. I also enjoy science, anthropology, and history. Never mind women's-lib or the new millennium, when it comes down to it, human's are made to, and meant to, reproduce, and that's really all there is. Nature does not care if you desire children, nature does not care if you can afford children, and nature doesn't care if you're too young or old for children. If you have the remote capability of having or siring a child, Nature will do everything in her power to ensure you do just that. She'll send women monthly reminders. For men, she sends a daily, (often in the morning) reminder that your goal that day, is to procreate.

Nature tells you to write that little note to your friends, telling them how cute "he" is. Nature tells "him" to ask her out. Nature tells construction workers to whistle at every woman of child-bearing age who walks by.

Sure, you can try to ignore her. Tell her to go to hell. But never forget this, Nature has one hell of a sense of humor. Never forget that she's infamous for her sneak-attacks. Nature can be an evil little Trickster!

More often than not, the day comes when Nature shows up, knocking at your door. You can choose not to answer, but she won't go away. She's like a bill-collector constantly calling you, all hours of the day and night, and especially holidays. Eventually, 85% of all humans open that door. Not only do they open it, but they welcome Nature into their homes. Some do it reluctantly mind you, but in the end, Nature usually wins.

There are some who still try to fight off Nature. Locking your door does not always ensure Nature will go away. She can creep through unlocked windows, maybe even your chimney! Don't forget those sneak-attacks that she's notorious for. Sometimes, she breaks the door down even...I mean, it's her job after all.

Of course knocking is just her nice way of letting you know she's there. More often than not, whether or not you open the door, she finds a way to come in for a visit, and there's not much you can do to successfully stop her.

Of course there are a lucky few who manage to elude her, but not all are by choice, in fact, I venture most are not by choice. Some open the door willingly only to find no one waiting for them on the porch. Some, keep the door unlocked, waiting for Nature's visit. Sometimes Nature never arrives, and for someone who's sitting in their living room 24 hours day, dressed, ready, with fresh cookies and a nice pot of tea steeping, Nature never arriving is the worst thing in the world. That person put everything on hold to sit there, ready, just waiting for a knock that will never come. And that's a very sad thing.

For most of us who are/were waiting for Nature, she just comes really late. Sometimes, she gets lost. SOMEONE NEEDS TO BUY HER A GPS!!!! When the time came for me to open the door to Nature...she was lost, driving around with a lousy Mapquest print-out probably, struggling to find her way to my house....for years...and years. I'm not a fan of anyone in my life being tardy. So I sat...and I waited....and waited....and waited.

We were dressed, we had the guest room all ready and waiting for Nature, but she didn't come when we were expecting her. Finally she called one day to tell us she was running really late, and that there was a less than 1% chance of her EVER coming to our house. Talk about a slap in the face. At least she called, but still....less than 1% is like....zero. But it's not absolute-zero. Less than 1% meant we had to keep the guest room ready, and we had to sit and wait for her in-case she decided to grace us with her presence.

The worst part of it was, the window of time that she could knock on our door was dwindling with each passing day. Even if she did come, since she was coming so late, the chance of her doing what needed to be done and it all turning out well was becoming very slim.

Each month, like clock work, she sent a reminder to me that she was not coming. One month, she forgot to send the reminder! So I really expected her at any moment, only to find she never intended to call on us that month. I guess her secretary 'forgot' to send me the "She's not coming" memo. About two weeks later, I finally got word she wasn't coming. Nature can be a tease...again, evil Trickster.

Finally I told her that we were not going to be home and to not bother even thinking of knocking on my door that month. We had plans....and we'd waited for two and a half years for her, and we simply couldn't sit around the house waiting that month. I guess her secretary forgot to give her that memo, because that's precisely when she granted us with a sneak-attack!

Yup...I accidentally/on purpose got pregnant. The oxymoron to end all oxymoron's. We kept the door unlocked just in case she decided to show up while we were home, and, well, she did.

The rest is history. She lied. What can I say.

Okay, enough of the cutesy minutia. That flowery description was for those of you who like my writing. For the rest, and for those who can't/don't think outside the box, here's how I really feel about infertility. It's a bunch of crap!

Like I said in the beginning, reproduction is the only reason we are here on this planet. Not just us, animals, plants, even viruses. Everything needs to reproduce. Not everything wants to though. I sure didn't. I did not want kids....ever. Kids...are...crap. I actually still feel this way. I can't stand kids, I detest children. Children are mean, self-absorbed, locust-like rapers of the natural world as we know it. Yup. I do feel this way. Despite this, I still had a burning desire to have one of these creatures of my own. And I don't care what you have to say in defense of these often smelly creatures. I don't like them. I still don't like them.

That's what amazes me. I don't like children, yet I wanted one. ONE. LOL. Not only did I want one but that's all I could think about. I guess it hit me when I was 30 years old or so. Yup, Nature came late, and then she didn't even do her job for five more years! The human need to reproduce is that strong, so strong it could take a person like myself and turn them into one of those people who understood what it was like to just take someone's child from their womb. Yeah, it's sick, but I understand why someone could crack and do that. Not that I ever would. :-)

I feel the need to say this in very large print to get my point across. Infertility is one of those things that unless you've experienced it yourself, you'll NEVER understand it. Ever!!!

You can try to imagine it, but you'll never understand. It's a small club, thankfully. The day you're told you'll never have children, for whatever reason, is the day you realize that you are a cosmic-failure. Survival of the fittest? Well that's not you. You are so unworthy, your genes can't even move forward. The buck must stop with you, because you're just a mammoth-loser. You may as well just kill yourself now to save the universe from having to kill you off itself. It's like getting a postcard from the Universe saying "You Suck!" Yup, you just got the world's biggest, clearest middle finger shoved in your face, you understand what I mean? Chances are you don't, since I only know very few people who've struggled with infertility.

I'll admit, I didn't understand it when my friend struggled with it 10 years ago. Sure, I felt bad for her, but there's nothing you can do! Kids are crap like I said earlier, and if you can't have them, so be it, move on with life.

After you're told that you will NEVER, ever, ever conceive a child, these are the things you do not want to hear from friends or family:

Some people aren't meant to have children

If it's meant to happen, it will

Oh well, you never wanted them all that much anyway, so why are you so upset now?

Go buy one

There's always adoption

Gee, (I get pregnant)/(I got her pregnant) just by saying the word pregnant, sure was simple for me!

We were told each of those lines, more than once, from ignorant people who just didn't understand. And thank God they didn't understand, because if they did, that would mean that they too were infertile, which would make this an epidemic. It's so easy to just blow it off as not a big deal. Let's face it, most people take for granted things that they never worked for. Most people take pregnancy for granted, and that's good! It should be that easy. It's meant to be that simple.

Yes, some people find reproduction to be a burden, some people find it a blessing, however you feel about it, the fact remains that it's fundamental to our being, and it's what we're meant to do. As a woman you are defined by your ability to have children. When you don't/can't, it makes you feel like less of a woman. As a man, you are supposed to sire children, I can only imagine that when you don't/can't, you too, feel like less of a man.

Walking around feeling like the world's biggest loser every day does wear on you. This breaks up marriages. Usually it's just one of you that's infertile, not both, so there's always guilt and blame. It's kind of like death, (in a sense, it's a death of your line after all) first you're in denial, then you're angry, then sad, then you grieve, but it's always with you. You see people all over with children and you wonder, are they worthy? You see a pregnant woman, and you hate her.

Unlike death, infertility isn't always permanent. You can get through it. For most infertile couples, money saves the day, and the family name. Money can pay for necessary fertility treatments and drugs, nearly none of which are covered by medical insurance. Money can pay for an adoption (You didn't think that was free did you?) or to purchase a baby even. Money. Yes, money. Obviously we lacked money. We couldn't afford in-vitro. We couldn't even afford the very expensive testing (over $2,500, none covered by insurance) to find out that we WERE infertile. Of course, we had no choice but to seek specialist's help, but naturally we couldn't afford their 'solutions' to our problem.

Most people can't. It's very, very expensive. Adoption is very expensive and good luck getting a newborn baby too. So not only are you too big a loser to reproduce, but you're too poor too as well. Let's add some insult to that injury shall we? One can't help but be negative about infertility when they are put in that position.

"You're too lame to pass your genes on, because you're a loser and you suck. You'll never pass your genes along. Now, if you give me $25,000, "maybe" your genes can be passed by tricking Nature....Nature is pretty kick-ass, unlike you, and it's expensive to trick her. Oh, you don't have $25,000 laying around? Well, screw you! The buck ends with you, as it should, because you are the world's most giant loser ever, and the buck ending with you is a good thing for humanity. Have a nice day."

Carry that on your shoulders day in and day out. Now, look upon the person "Who's fault it is" and try not to tear their head off! It takes a strong marriage to not end over something like this. How does one not walk around depressed all the time after this? How is one not filled with rage all the time? A lifetime's full of hopes and dreams shattered because you're inept, or the person you chose as your partner is inept, or even worse, you're both inept.

I met a person who had the worst of the worst in the infertility universe....they had...."Unexplained Infertility."

At least we had an explanation. My husband was, in fact....sterile. Now why remains a mystery. We had that, mixed with my poor health and advancing age, and then 18 months into our quest, ovarian cysts, all of which made it impossible for us to conceive. Our only chances were in-vitro with a good sperm of his, IF one could even be found, or artificial insemination with a sperm donor....which is what we decided to do, once we could afford it.

But there was that whole money thing, and our lack of the funds required for said inseminations. So, we had to try the old fashioned way. If you thought being infertile was stressful and depressing, try defying the odds and attempting to do the impossible...month after month, when logic screams at you to just stop because your attempts are futile.

The time, and money and thought involved with constantly charting and calculating ovulation dates month after month is exhausting....and why were we even doing that? Without sperm, one can't get pregnant. Month after month you spend half of the month trying to get pregnant and the other half thinking you are, when in fact, you aren't, and never will be. Each month when your period is approaching you wonder if your boobs are sore because you're pregnant, or are they sore because you're not?

You dream of seeing a positive pregnancy test. It's a dream that will likely never be realized. You stare at the multiple negative ones and wonder if you're reading them wrong. You also spend a fortune on those darn things, paying for disappointment.

God forbid you're even one day late. You run out to the drug store and get a pregnancy test, only to have it read negative over and over, month after month. People tell you to get a good, expensive one, so that's what you do. You hear about false-negatives and remain optimistic. (In the end, I found out I was pregnant on a $6 two pack of Kroger brand tests at Chris's insistence, since I'd given up on taking pregnancy tests.)

I told you earlier what you DON'T want to hear when you find out you're infertile. You're probably wondering what we want to hear. Well other than "You're pregnant"....nothing. "I understand" coming from someone who's been through it helps, "I"m so sorry to hear this" never hurts. A good, honest, "I just can't imagine" is benign enough.

There's nothing really to be said. Even the good stories people tell you don't really help. We got tons of the "Oh my mother's, neighbor's, son's, receptionist's, hairdresser was told they'd never conceive and now she has four kids...." tales don't actually help. At least, they didn't help me. I'm not that person's mother's, neighbor's, son's, receptionist's, hairdresser so this does not apply to me.

Logically I knew the stories were true. I also knew more often than not, infertility led to nothing but a life full of sorrow and loneliness.

When you want a baby, and can't have one, it dominates every thought and ever fiber of your being. Every time you hear that someone is pregnant, it doesn't matter who....a friend, a family member, a celebrity even, you suddenly hate that person. Why do they deserve a child and I don't? Why are they worthy to pass their genes while mine have to die off? Sure, you lie and tell them "Congratulations!" to their face but behind their back, you're filled with sadness and envy.

Then you see some baby with a parent walking down the street, and the parent is clearly a loser moron piece of trash. That piece of work was able to pass their genes, but I'm not? What's wrong with the universe when homeless crack heads can have and sire babies, but we can't? Those are the days you're full of rage, bitterness and utter hatred.

Then you have to go shopping for baby showers for friends and family, when all you want is for them not to have the baby. 'Because "I" can't have a baby, no one should' is the thinking. It's irrational and immature, but it is what it is. In the end are you happy for the friends and family who have the baby? Sure, but it's difficult to overcome the envy and sadness. Talk about feeling inadequate.

Now you may ask, how did Chris and I survive this? I have no idea. I can't speak for him. I can't tell you how he dealt with the prognosis. I can tell you he did lose hope, in the end. He accepted our fate, that it would be just us two, forever. Just us two isn't a bad thing mind you, but I didn't feel that way.

I can't really explain my feelings. I can try to put them into words, but all I can do is try to convey to you, that I always knew that I would have a baby. Maybe not 'his' baby (remember the sperm donor scenario?) but I knew we'd somehow have a baby. I knew it would not be adoption or foster care, it'd be a real, biological baby, and I hoped I'd not be Kate Plus 8! :-)

I just knew that in the end, there would be a baby. True, I'm way too cool NOT to pass my genes along...No, I'm not maternal, at all, we all know that...I'm all for that women's lib crap, women can be astronauts and not have babies if they don't want to, blah blah blah....I don't need a baby to feel complete....In fact, I don't need a baby, at all. I simply wanted one, I don't know why, I just know I wanted one. I wanted a boy too, just one. I always get what I want, in the end. I may not get it the way I intended, but I get what I want.

I wanted a house, I have a house. I wanted to go to Europe, I went to Europe. I wanted to get married, I got married. I wanted to go to college, I went to college....and lastly, I wanted a baby....I had a baby. My bucket list is complete, time to die now! LOL!

How many tears did I shed in the 2.5 years we struggled with infertility? Not one. How many days did I feel we should just give up? None. When did I realize it would just never happen? Not once. How often did I talk about this? Not very. People don't know what to say, and you don't like to mention it. It's a private, internal struggle and in the end, only you and your partner truly know what's going on.

To contradict myself, yes, I was shocked to discover I was pregnant. Mainly because we took that month off ;-) but even though I KNEW we'd have a baby, I was still in shock that we defied the odds, and overcame infertility. Not only did we overcome, but we bitch-slapped Nature in the face by doing it the old fashioned way, the "natural" way. It wasn't science or even luck, it was just what happened, it's what was supposed to happen.

Had I conceived the first time we tried in 2007, we'd not have William. If we could have afforded in-vitro, we'd not have William. Artificial insemination would not result in William either. I said it before, I'm thankful that it took us 2.5 years to conceive, had it been any other egg and any other sperm, we'd not have William. Even though I went 16 years of my life not wanting children, as weird as it sounds, I feel like I've been waiting for William my entire life, and this is the struggle Chris and I had to go through to get him...him and only him. It turns out, I didn't want a 'baby'....I wanted William, and like I said, I always get what I want.

11/13/10, Food Fight!

We thought perhaps it was time to start William on solid foods, well as it turns out, William didn't care for food much. We've never seen him make such a face. He didn't like the look of it, the feel of it, the smell of it or the taste of it. We put a tiny, itsy piece of banana on his tongue and he gagged, and then puked up a bunch of breast milk, and was pretty annoyed with us.
We tried avocado first but that just really irritated him. He was really disgusted with that. Since he refused to even open his mouth for it we switched to squashed banana and he didn’t want that either. We're doing baby-led-weaning, which means in a nutshell, the baby feeds himself what he chooses and when. You offer them 'real' food, like fruits and vegetables, and let them play with it and then they can choose to put it into their mouths themselves, or not. He did not do this. LOL...he played, kind of, but was instantly annoyed with the feel of the food. So I did go and try to put some in his mouth, which is when he said in no uncertain terms "NO"....so clearly he's not ready.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baby-led_weaning

I’m thinking his tongue-thrust reflex is still there, since he pushed the food right out. Most babies will enjoy banana, which he clearly didn't. Breast milk is very sweet so sweet veggies and fruits usually work well but he just didn't seem ready to me.

http://www.askdrsears.com/html/3/t032000.asp

I may try some organic brown rice cereal mixed with breast milk next week, just to see if he'll even put it in his mouth. I'm holding off on wheat for now, maybe another two months or so, it's a little harder on their digestive system and William has always had a pretty bad digestive system to begin with.
We got video of him refusing the food and making that awful face but it's taking a lifetime to upload, so I'll send it later when it's done. It's on Facebook right now though.
Enjoy the pictures!

My thoughts on labor...

(Exactly one week before William was born)

For the majority of my life, I never wanted kids. I had a million reasons, but one was fear of pregnancy, labor, and delivery. Well, it's safe to say I got this fear from my mother, who had a lot of morning sickness, had a normal labor but a horrific delivery. She even needed two transfusions. Well you hear that story your whole life and if you're a girl, then you more than likely never want to give birth, unless you are a moron.

So for reasons unknown to me, I changed my mind....about the baby thing, not about the birth thing. I did NOT want to pass a child through my....body...in any way. I'll admit it, I wanted a C-Section. Why? Well for one reason, nearly every single one of my friends had a C-Section, in fact, all of my best friends had C-Sections, so none of them could give me the nitty-gritty of pushing a child out through their....body....and the aftermath. Each time a friend of mine told me they ended up having a C-Section (all five of them) I thought to myself, "LUCKY! Watch me be the 'one' who gives birth vaginally." Of course knowing what I know now...my hat is OFF to all my C-Section friends! You're braver than I....major abdominal surgery does NOT sound fun at all!

So after hearing Mom's horror story over and over for years, and reading horror stories online regarding donuts and forceps and peri-bottles and vacuums and horrific pain for months afterwards, I decided that a C-Section was the way to go. I'll admit it, I was thrilled when my Dr told me around 6 weeks that my pelvis was small, and I'd have difficulty delivering a baby more than 8lbs. I said "Great!" Which shocked her. I said "Awesome, so...like a week before my due date you can give me a C-Section?" She said, "Well, if the baby is over 8 lbs, sure, I can, since your pelvis is so small, but it's not required should you want to try for a vaginal birth." I said "Oh no, a C-Section does not frighten me!" So she thought I was nuts, who cares.

One of my friends said her C-Sections were no big deal, the other said hers were awful, the rest said they weren't the greatest thing known to man, but not the worst either. Some of my friends endured long labors before ending up in the OR, some never felt a labor pain. No one could give me a good description of what labor felt like, other than Mom who said it's the worst pain in the world. But since I wasn't going to go into labor, it really didn't matter. I was also not going to find out the sex before hand, not going to breastfeed, and was NEVER going to co-sleep. ;-)

The sicker I got in my God-Awful pregnancy (http://sobe73.blogspot.com/2010/08/my-thoughts-on-pregnancy.html) the less I wanted to endure the unknowns of labor and delivery. Since the only person I knew well enough to ask about labor and delivery was my Mom, she's all I had to go by. Granted she was ASLEEP for the birth (Twilight sleep) but she remembered labor and the post-delivery very well. As my pregnancy got a little better and I began to feel like a human again, I remembered how much my gall-bladder surgery hurt, and how much more my lymph-node removal surgery hurt. Then I remembered, I freakin' HATE surgery! Why on Earth would I want to be tied down to a tiny table and have a kid ripped out of my abdomen? I'm highly allergic to General Anesthesia, what if I needed that in an emergency situation? What if I can feel them digging around my gut searching for the kid?

So....I changed my mind. I changed my mind about a lot of things. I decided to 'try' for a vaginal birth, with NO pain meds, yeah you heard me right, to attempt breastfeeding immediately following the birth, and to maybe even get a Douala. Well, of course, none of that happened either LOL, but my heart was in the right place.

I told people the story of my periods. I was blessed with the most horrific periods known to man. I never vomited from my menstrual cramps, but they were paralyzing, literally. Let me be clear, when I say paralyzing, I mean I could not walk, could not stand, could not sit...I was curled in a tight ball for days and days, unable to move or speak. No drug on Earth helped. Thankfully I only got 2-3 periods a year or else I'd flunked out of school and lost every job. My cramps are always in my back for some reason, like a knife being dug into my spine, non stop. I asked people if labor felt like really bad menstrual cramps and people would laugh and say "No, not really, labor is soooo much worse, way, way worse, like a million times worse..."

Well what can be worse than that? I remember one day at my last job I had these cramps from hell but I was able to walk if I was hunched all the way over. So I told everyone at work that I threw out my back since I couldn't stand up-right. That pain was really bad, if labor was a million times worse than it must be the single worst thing a human being could endure. YIKES!

I ended up taking the pill for nearly 10 years, it took a solid year of being on the pill for my periods to regulate and for the cramps to be tolerable. When I say tolerable, I meant if I took a bunch of Advil, I could walk really hunched over if I had to. After a year on the pill the cramps were....somewhat....tolerable. If I were really doped up I could get by with a slight hunch to my back. So, I figured I knew pain, and I knew really bad pain, but if labor was a million times worse than that, forget it!

Chris and I never really had the opportunity to discuss labor. He knew to probably massage my back but we never talked about our birth plan, or any plan. I told him I wanted to go drug free, and he of course laughed, as did everyone else....but I did tell him I wanted NO IV drugs. I hear they do nothing but make you stoned and I didn't want that.

Since I didn't want to give birth to a baby larger than 8 lbs, I always thought that a week before my due date of May 13th, or if he became too large prior to that, my Dr would induce me and then within 24 hours I'd have the baby. I could take the pain for 24 hours. 24 hours is not a huge deal. Besides, I'd probably deliver before 24 hours. Chris would be there with me, he and no one else and he'd rub my back if I needed it. I'd walk the halls with my IV of pitocin and maybe use the birthing ball. My Dr said I could give birth on my side if I wanted to, or even on all fours, anything but squatting since she had a really bad experience with that once.

I'd have my bag packed and we'd go to the hospital and two days later me and the baby would come home, and hopefully the only donuts in my house would be the edible kind. I told my Dr no episiotomy and she agreed that they were unnecessary. I loved my Dr and I wanted her to deliver me. I'd seen her weekly for nearly my entire pregnancy.

On Wednesday March 24th I saw my Dr and she did one final test to see if I'd go into labor early. I'd been in pre-term labor since about week 24 and dilated since week 29. She really, really wanted me to make it to week 33 for the baby's sake. On Wednesday she checked me, I was still dilated 1.5 centimeters and she did the fetal fibronectin test, I'd had five (http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/fetal-fibronectin/MY00128). The next day, I reached the coveted 33 weeks. The next day, March 26th at 11am...my water broke.

It came in a little squirt. Followed by another little squirt, followed by mild menstrual cramps. I was in denial. As was Chris, as was Mom. None of us wanted me to be in labor. Of course my Dr was on vacation that weekend and some other Dr in the practice saw me that day at noon. He said my fetal fibronectin came back negative and I was not in labor. He was wrong. I began to leak more and bleed. The fluid was clear and odorless that day but he sent me home, even with the cramps.

The cramps got worse and worse as the day progressed. It still didn't occur to me that I was in labor. I wasn't having a Taurus baby in March!!!! The pain was all in my back and by evening, the pain was very bad. I didn't want to see that same Dr again, so I suffered. Around 10pm the pain escalated. I had to have Chris massage my back in bed all night long. Around 1am I went to throw up, from the pain....I still didn't believe I was in labor. Maybe it was something else, anything else. Besides, the pain WAS menstrual cramps and everyone told me labor didn't feel like that.

At 10am on March 27th, 23 hours after the initial squirt and twinge of pain, a different Dr from my practice, a Dr I liked, said to get to the hospital ASAP. I called Chris at work and at 11am, we arrived at the hospital. As soon as I got into the gown and sat on the bed in triage, a huge gush of warm, greenish, icky water with big-little chunky things in it poured onto the bed. The Dr walked in and laughed, she said "Well no need to see if you're water is breaking or not, your water is clearly breaking."

Since I was barely 33 weeks, she wanted me to stay pregnant as long as possible. She hoped for one more week. But the more she talked, the more icky nasty stuff came pouring out and let me tell you, that stuff is gross. It's just so gross! It's not like the movies. The day before it was clear but this was like Jaba the Hut Snot, mixed with Jaba piss, shooting out all over my legs and the bed. They had me walk, oozing a trail of nasty Jaba-Juice, to my room in Labor and Delivery. I asked if they'd clean me up, they said sure, but never did. Eww!

It dawned on me at that moment that not only was I in labor, but I'd been in labor for 25 hours already. At noon, Chris left to get my bags and get my mother, and I was all alone. I never thought I'd have a baby nearly two months early. I never thought I'd go into spontaneous labor. Most of all, I never thought I'd labor alone in a room for nearly 90 minutes. It was a very long, very lonely, painful 90 minutes. My phone had bad reception so I couldn't even talk to anyone, but I could text.

There was no Doula, no nurse, no Chris, no one but me. It...sucked. The pain was bad but not horrific, but bad enough that I would have enjoyed a back massage. More and more water trickled out, spreading grossness all over me and the bed, while my back pain got stronger and stronger. My contractions had been non stop since 11am the day before and they weren't about to spread out then either. They were 1 minute apart the entire time, and it was 100% back labor, which people say is unbearable.

Finally Chris showed up. The Dr came in and offered me IV drugs, since I was only 2 centimeters and could not have an epidural. I said "NO" and she looked at me like I was insane, then she looked at Chris. Don't look at Chris, he's not in labor, I am and I said NO! She said "Are you sure?" I said, "Yes, I don't want to be loopy." I could tell she really thought I was insane but she pressed the subject no more. I rolled over on my right side, the only side I could lay on, and asked Chris to massage my lower back.

At 2pm, he left to do God knows what, and I began to throw up. I called the nurse and Mom got me a trash can, but the Nurse came in with a little bucket in the nick of time. I didn't know why I was throwing up. I'd not eaten in a day and I WAS in pain, however, it wasn't the worst pain known to man. Surely I wasn't in 'transition' already!

Finally Chris came back and I told him to rub my back. So long as he rubbed my back, the pain was tolerable. It dawned on me afterwards, that everything for the most part was perfect during my labor. Since I never told Chris my expectations of his role during labor (I intended to, but I went into labor before I ever could) but even though we never talked about, we just clicked! It's as if he read my mind...and my mind said "Leave me alone! Just rub my back and shut up!" LOL.

I was in 'the zone'. On my side, eyes shut, no Bradley breathing, no technique....I did not yell, I did not scream, I did not squeeze his hand, I did not cuss, I did not sweat! The pain was bad, too bad for me to talk, all I could do is grunt, and I only grunted when he stopped rubbing my back. He had the nerve to stop a few times. Don't sit here and tell me your hand hurts worse than my back! All I needed was silence....and a back rub. And for the most part, that's what I got.

Chris did not speak to me while I was in labor.

Mom did not speak to me while I was in labor.

The Nurse never came in, so she didn't speak to me.

It's exactly what I needed. I don't remember thinking. I was not scared. I wasn't thinking of the baby, or his prematurity or the prospect of giving birth, all I was thinking was "Keep rubbing my back or I will murder you very slowly and...crap, that contraction JUST ended and now it's starting up again?"

At 7pm, 32 hours into labor, I got tired and...cranky. I thought I was still probably 2 centimeters and unable to get an epidural. The ONLY reason I wanted one was due to my fatigue. I was so tired. I'd not slept since Thursday night, it was now Saturday night. How would I have the energy to push out a child if I was that exhausted? What if I had another 32 hours of this ahead of me? I hadn't eaten or had a thing to drink since Thursday, and I feared the pain would worsen. To that point, the pain was as bad as the worst menstrual cramps I'd ever had (thank you very much! To all you ninnies who said labor wasn't like a period, you're so wrong! LOL). But what if the pain got worse? I didn't want to suffer another 24+ hours like that, and since they were to keep me pregnant as long as possible, it could easily be another 24 hours. So I asked for the epidural.

With my scoliosis I was uncertain the epidural would even take, but, it did! It wasn't bad at all. I feared the side effects, epidural migraines, back pain, or it not working, or, working and then wearing off in time for labor. None of that happened. I got the epidural, it kicked in nicely. The nurse examined me to find I was 6.5 centimeters! I'd gone that long with no drugs! I was impressed with myself. LOL.

I then fell asleep, for what seemed like a minute. Then I hear this voice, of a nurse I'd never met, saying, "Wake up, it's time to push." I guess she checked me while I was still sleeping. I said "No, I'm tired! What time is it?" It's 9pm! Only 2 hours, I went from 6.5 to 10 centimeters. I felt NOTHING, nada, dead-numb. My Dr was delivering a baby next door so we were in no hurry. They took their time getting the bed ready and lifting my legs, since they were so numb I couldn't move them.

I was not scared. I thought I'd be terrified at this point but I wasn't. I wasn't thinking about forceps or pushing for three hours, or possible pain, or the premature baby, all I could think about was McDonalds as sad as that sounds. I just knew, in my heart, that William would be okay. I'm not sure how I knew, but I knew. There were several Drs in the room, and nurses, waiting for William. Mom was on the couch and Chris was up next to the Dr who arrived in the room around 9:05PM.

So, I had no one holding my hand, no one nearby. Chris was next to the Dr for some reason and I was totally numb but I'd seen enough tv shows to know 'how' to push, so I tried my best to push the right way. Apparently the right way was my way, the first push was a success. Having asthma means holding my breath and pushing with all my might is not something normally advisable. I began to almost black out three pushes in, I remember telling the Dr to 'give me a second' and she looked at me again like I was crazy. They gave me an oxygen mask and I took a 10 second break, then I pushed. She said "One more" and I said "The head is out?" She said "Oh yeah, it's been out."

Okay! LOL! I pushed and...she lied! LOL! She said "Oh, well, one more..." so I gave her one more...next thing I know she's holding this tiny baby in her arms....a tiny, bloodless, non-icky, full head of hair baby PEEING on her! Yeah, that's my first sight at my son....him peeing on the Dr. I said "He's so tiny." It was 9:11PM on Saturday, March 27, 2010.

Not that he was. He was 5 lb 6 oz and 19 inches long, HUGE for his age, but let's face it, most babies are 8+ lbs these days, he looked tiny to me. He was taken away of course and I just laid there...alone. I heard no cries. He did not cry. He did not breathe. He didn't breathe for four minutes. After four minutes, he 'grunted' a few little high pitched grunts, but never a cry. They wrapped him and handed him to me for an entire 10 seconds. Chris said "he has black eyes!" and I thought about Severus Snape instantly. His eyes were in fact, deep blue. He stared right into my eyes for a few seconds. It was a very powerful moment. It's like he knew me. I smiled for the camera and then he was gone.

For some reason it took four more hours for me to get my McDonalds. I felt great afterwards though. I was starving...and bored!

I pushed for maybe four minutes or less. I pushed less than 10 times, somewhere between 6 and 8, no one is sure. I was fine. Labor was fine. Delivery was fine. In fact, it was simple. Considering I had a God awful pregnancy and two and a half torturous years of trying to conceive AND a very, very medium rare premature baby, my labor and delivery were simple, easy and went off without a hitch. Sure it was 34 hours of labor, 32 of it un-medicated, but it was a piece of cake!

I had no external stitches, never needed a peri bottle or stool softeners, I could walk, I could sit, never needed a donut, all in all my recovery was pretty good, not perfect, but pretty good. Running around a NICU and entertaining out of town guests is not the best thing to do after giving birth, hence the weeks of heavy, heavy, heavy bleeding, but overall, I was fine. I didn't need the C-Section. I gave birth the old fashioned way, and I was great at it! Sure, if he'd been 10 lbs things would probably have been different but he wasn't. I'm thankful that after 7 hellish months, I was able to give birth with relative ease.

Another blog about preemies and NICU's is yet to come. This was about labor and delivery. And if anyone ever asks me, I'll tell them my truth "It's not the most painful thing in the world, it's like a horrible period, and you'll be just fine afterwards." All I have is my own experience to go by of course.

Me...seconds after giving birth.

Open faced Pot-Roast sandwiches with homemade gravy...simple!

So it's only my second pot roast ever but it's already becoming a family tradition here at the Storm house. This is so simple! The prep time is maybe 15 minutes total.

Ingredients

2-3 lb chuck roast

1 medium yellow onion

carrots (I use the little ones in the bag that are already peeled, about 1/2 a cup worth)

5 garlic cloves, whole, skins on

2 cups of beef stock (Again, just eyeball it, use as much as you think you'll want for gravy, remembering the veggies and the meat will add to the liquid as well)

1 loaf of French bread

Salt, pepper, onion and garlic powder to taste

(Optional, 1/4 cup of plain tomato sauce)

Roux

Flour (I eyeball it, about....2 tbsp)

Butter (again, eyeball...around 1/4th a stick)

Preheat oven to 300

To the dutch oven or roasting pan, add the beef stock, garlic, carrots, and the onion (peel and quarter the onion) [Add the optional tomato sauce]

Season the roast with the salt, pepper, onion and garlic powders and seer in canola or olive oil on high heat for about 1 minute per side. Remove to the dutch oven, or roasting pan.

Put the lid on the pan and place in the oven for 1 hour, 40 minutes for about 2 lbs, or 2 hours for 3 lbs. How long you cook is up to you, depending on how well done you want the meat. Use a meat thermometer after 90 minutes.

Remove from the oven and let the meat sit for 20 minutes. Drain the juices and veggies through a calendar that's placed over a large bowl. Discard the veggies if you are me, or eat them if you are normal like everyone else.

For the roux, add the butter to a sauce pan on medium high heat, once it starts to melt, add in the flour and instantly begin to whisk until the mixture is thick and has no lumps. Lower the heat to medium and continue to whisk for about 1 minute. Slowly add the pan drippings into the roux and continue to whisk. Once all the juice is incorporated, raise the heat to medium-high and wait for the gravy to bubble. Once it bubbles, turn off the heat.

Cut the French Bread into 2 inch thick slices and drown the bread in the gravy. Then top with slices of the roast beef, then drown them in gravy. Then enjoy!

The weeks in review, thru Oct 12, 2010

Well let's begin with some fun shall we? He is like a little vampire, with his two new 'fangs'...he chomps everything, chew toys, paci's, stuffed animals, ME! OUCH! Thankfully he's not bitten while nursing since Saturday so that's a HUGE relief!

Look at his face on this picture! He really loves to chomp and bite down. He still has the two bottom teeth but it looks like some uppers are cutting through shortly. The weather is slowly changing, so it's time to get out his 'fall' gear, thankfully The Children's Place had an awesome sale on hats and long sleeved shirts for the wee-one.

Okay, Bama lost royally last weekend but William and I are not fair weather fans, we still Roll with the Tide and watch the Bama games whenever they are televised. He enjoys playing and trying to crawl during the commercials. ;-)

Last week he went to the park to play for the first time. Yeah, he's too young to enjoy, but we put him in the swing and helped him down the slide, may as well while the weather is still warm. We then walked a few miles on the wooded trail and had a nice picnic on the river.

He can't really sit up unassisted yet but he did manage to for about 4-5 seconds the other day, long enough for me to capture a picture. We're not too concerned about his lack of sitting, he just discovered his feet after all.

He plays with his feet now all the time and learned how to use them to move things, like the parrot in his bouncy seat here...

He was taught and learned quickly, to not only remove toys from a basket, but to bang them together to make a cool sound. The therapist showed him once and he caught on and instantly repeated. Now he does it all the time!

The rings still interest him but he can remove them all from the base in about 2 seconds now....He also opens his hands and grabs at EVERYTHING now, my hair (which he won't let go of) Chris's or anyone's glasses really, the dogs!

He likes to play with his new toy laptop but he tends to push it away from himself, which just irritates him more...

It's safe to say his eyes are GREEN now....who knows if they'll remain so.

I LOVE THIS PICTURE! He's soooo happy! He discovered his feet! He loves this new pose, it's great because it strengthens his abdominal muscles, which will aid him in sitting soon. I call it the Cannon-Ball!

He tries soooo hard to crawl. All he does is cry and whine and do the occasional "Inch Worm" crawl. He did do "one" real crawl a few weeks back, but now he mostly inch-worms around....

Ahh...he can pick up this awesome toy from Debbie now. He loves it, always has, but now he can hold it! He likes to play a lot more now, often alone, which is sad, but nice at the same time. We still co-sleep, still breastfeed, no solids yet, and I had to adjust the straps on his car seat this week too.

He also met his 'honorary' great grand mother, Rosie, in from Kentucky last week. Donna and Debbie drove down with her to pay us a little visit...Mema would be pleased. ;-)