It is a show that encourages counting and early math. But the lyrics go
“We are two, na na na na na, Me Plus You, na na na na na…”
and every time I would hear this I would think,
“It’s me plus you, girl. It’s us. What the hell are we going to do with a fourth? And a BOY!?” I still get a lump in my throat when I hear that song.
Anyway, back to the hospital.
I was contracting and thinking and perseverating and all of a sudden, I started to cry.
I cried to my mom, really from the pain. “I can’t go another weekend like this.” I said. And I consider myself to be strong. Emotionally, I may be a basketcase, but pain-wise, I am pretty darn tough. But I just knew, much like the first time around, that it was time for this baby to come out.
At about this time my OBGYN showed up. He confirmed what the residents had said, that my cervix was still closed, but added that it had softened a lot, and said that my contractions were really strong and regular on the monitor, inevitably putting stress on my uterus.
“We’re having a birthday party today.” he said.
And then I cried some more.
Out of relief, out of fear, and out of, pardon my french again, the “What the fuck?!” feeling of having planned everything, every last detail, and having it all turned upside down by a sideways (literally) baby.
And I still hadn’t called my husband!
At that point the doctor offered me an epidural for the pain, but I declined. If i couldn’t experience a natural birth, my dream, I’d at least experience natural labor. And that I did. I am no masochist, but it made me feel like I could, at least, have some control over my body.
And so we called my mama friend. She would watch my daughter, and host a playdate with her son, whom my girl refers to as her “prince charming”. And then we called my husband. He was in a big meeting. He was told to rush out. He asked for permission to go home and change out of his suit. He was told no, there was no time.
I was forced to take off my all of my clothes, including my lucky socks. And so when my husband arrived, handsome and dapper in his suit, I had him put on my lucky socks, in their neon purple glory, under his gray slacks and ultimately under his full scrub attire.
The next bit was a blur; I met with anesthesiologists, got an IV, met my labor nurse…it was really happening. And my nurse, Katherine, held my hand and told me I’d be OK, as I told her how scared I was to go into surgery. How unprepared I felt. How my three and a half year old needed me.  I am very superstitious and her name starting with a K, the same as my Nanny, comforted me. It was a sign, like the signs I had experienced during my first birth. My angels were there. And there were more of them to come.
But then Katherine told me it was time. So my hair was placed in a net and I was placed in a wheelchair and I hugged my mom and husband tightly. It was time. I couldn’t stop shaking. It was time.
Time to meet my son…
(Stay tuned for more…and it involves some more signs from angels and maybe even a little spontaneous singing in the OR)

The post A Birth Story-My Sequel: Part 2 appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

The magic formula,
for contractions.
Once you’ve reached this labor milestone,
The OB’s emergency on-call line is now at your fingertips.

And I was there.
I was so there.

I had been having Braxton-Hicks contractions for weeks and weeks.
My entire tummy would tighten up into a crazy, lopsided knot.
I was actually happy to be having these practice contractions, because I felt like my uterus would be in good, fighting shape for D-Day,
And, at some point, I was sure they would start to help my dilation/effacement process.
Isn’t it amazing the crazy things we can convince ourselves of?
I’ll blame it on the hormones.

And so, by 8am on that Thursday morning, I had been having regular, painful contractions,
Every 5 minutes,
Lasting more than 1 minute each,
For about 10 hours.

I called the OB.
I told him I was in pain.
He told me he was happy to hear that.
“Come on in!” He told me.
“This better not be a false alarm. I refuse to be one of those false alarm people!” I told my husband.
“You’re so in labor,” husband told me.
“I can’t wait to meet you!” I told baby.

I put some blush on my cheeks, wrangled the pups, grabbed our hospital bag (read: pointed to the bag and told my husband to carry it. It was heavy!) and headed to my parents’ house to drop off the dogs and pick up my mom.
My husband and I had made the mutual decision to have my mom with us in the delivery room. We both wanted to be able to hold her hand, if need be, and I knew she would be able to be strong, even if it got scary. She had been through it, twice, and could be the motivation I needed to stick with my “au natural” labor plan.
Plus, my husband sometimes gets a little queasy. If he went down, I needed a back-up.

And off we went.
I felt pretty good, walking into the hospital and scurrying (read: waddling; stopping every few minutes during contractions) up to Labor and Delivery.
This was actually my second trip to L&D, the first being at 34 weeks when I had to be monitored for extreme dizziness. I was having pretty regular contractions at that point, but they weren’t doing anything to put me into labor, so the doctors decided to keep me on bed-rest for the duration of my pregnancy.
By the time we arrived in Labor and Delivery for the real deal, it was all old hat for me. I knew where to check in, had met some of the nurses and could almost figure out the crazy, impossible buttons of the hospital gown.

When the resident came in to examine me, before my OB arrived, we were all surprised to learn that I hadn’t progressed at all from my check-up earlier in the week. However, my contractions were strong, long, and regular, so the doctor told me that this was just early labor, and that I’d be in full-blown labor in no time.
She told me she had a good feeling.
So, we waited.
And waited.
And 3 hours later, my contractions only intensified.

My OB came in to visit me.
I was in pain, and felt tears stinging my eyes.
The OB took one look and me and said, “You’re not in real labor. I can tell by looking at your face.”
I was in shock.
Shock, and rage.
What do you mean not real labor? Aren’t you seeing my contractions on the monitor? Don’t you see these tears?
But, as the nurse told me, in real labor, I wouldn’t be able to walk and talk. When that time came, I’d just know.
And, just as he predicted, my exam revealed that I had not progressed at all in those 3 hours.
I was 1 centimeter dilated and 50 % effaced.
But, the OB told me not to worry.
He would see me in 24-48 hours for the real deal.
They sent me home.
Let me tell you, when you’re 40 weeks pregnant, have been on bed rest for 6 weeks, are swollen, miserable and desperately impatient, having to waddle out of the hospital without a baby in your arms is not a fun thing.
Plus, I was a little embarrassed.
Yes, all signs had pointed to labor,
And yes, the doctor himself had told me to come in,
And yes, the doctors who examined me in Labor and Delivery were sure that I was in labor,
But still…
I went home to my parents’ house, with my tail between my legs, and decided that I would walk this baby out.
Now, up until this point, I had been on bed-rest for a month and a half. Plus, I had a full-term baby in my belly, and a uterus that was contracting at regular, close-together intervals. I could barely put one foot in front of the other.
But, that April afternoon, my husband took me on five,
Yes, five,
Walks around the neighborhood.
As I walked, I used my hypnosis to picture my cervix opening.
I was sure I’d be back in the delivery room by the end of the night.
So much for these feelings of mine.

The next morning came and went.
I bounced on my big, silver gym ball.
I pressed all of the acupressure points I knew how to find, and then some.
I ate approximately 9 pineapples.
I did every trick in the book.
I could still walk and could still talk, and I told myself that I would not be going back into Labor and Delivery until it was really, truly, beyond a shadow of a doubt,
Time to give birth.
I would hold out as long as possible,
So that by the time I arrived,
All I’d have to do was push.

But, at the time, I was in agony.
Not only had I not slept in two nights,
But I was having strong contractions every few minutes,
And I was in a horrible state of unknown.
To give me a positive distraction,
My mom took me out to lunch at Neiman Marcus with my Mommom and Aunt.
It was our favorite spot for girls lunches,
And would be the perfect way for me to take my mind off of my “latent labor”.
After we finished eating,
We ended up in the shoe department.
We met a woman there who told us a labor trick of her own.
The day before she gave birth, her mother bought her a pair of shoes.
That’s all we had to hear.
Before I could change positions, my Mommom had picked out a beautiful pair of sandals for me and the saleslady was ringing them up.

There I was, shoes in hand, baby in belly,
And still able to walk.
This wasn’t looking hopeful.

And then, on our drive home from the mall, things started to look up.
My mom gasped, as she pointed to her wrist.
“My bracelet!” she exclaimed.

You see, my mom had been wearing a red string on her wrist since her trip to Cambodia a year and a half earlier. Knowing that being a mother was my greatest dream,
She had made a wish when putting on her sacred, traditional bracelet. According to legend, when the string broke, the wish would come true.
She wished that I would have a baby.
She hadn’t taken the string off, since.
So, that afternoon, when we looked down at her wrist, we saw that the string had unraveled and broken off her of wrist.
“It’s a sign!” My mom was so excited.
We knew it meant something.
It had to.
And so, when I got home from the mall and decided to lie down in bed,
I had a little bit of my hope restored.
And it was that hope that I was clinging to,
As I felt warm water start to spill out from under me…

Stay tuned…You think you know, but you have no idea….

The post A Baby Story, Chapter 2 appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

The post pregnancy brain(less) appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

My dream was to find a non-herbal, non-caffeinated, ice-cold (of course) tea beverage.
And, one glorious March day, the prayers of this very pregnant lady were answered in the form of a case of decaffeinated mint tea from a local distributor.
I couldn’t even wait to get home, and so I ripped open the plastic casing, popped open the bottle, and chugged down half of the glorious, tea-filled bottled.
Only, it wasn’t so glorious.
It tasted a little off.

Not exactly my dream come true, but I’d live.
Or so I thought.
As I studied the bottle in my hand, I noticed that the packaging looked different than what I had seen recently in the stores. The case looked a little…dusty.
Hmmmm, interesting.
I decided to do some research.
I scoured the internet.
To my horror, I found that this flavor had been discontinued. Several years ago.
And that is where that intoxicating mix of pregnancy hormones and sheer craziness led me to contact the heads of the company.
Imagine how that poor woman at the tea company felt.
5pm on a warm spring Friday.
Finishing up her long day after a long week.
She innocently answers her last call of the day, expecting some sweet, adoring natural tea drinker to speak her ear off about all of the merits of their lovely tea company. Probably expecting said fan to order a lifetime supply of tea, paid for, in advance, in full, with a  little tip.
But, no.
She got an anxiety ridden, shaky, 37 week pregnant woman, begging to know if the approximately 7.5 ounces of 2 year old tea could possibly harm her or her almost-born child.
So, I bet you’re thinking that this executive laughed with me, managed to calm my fears, offered to send me a free sample of their new flavor and I laughed at myself as I shook my head at the silliness of the whole situation.
Um, not quite.
As she tried to hide her obvious panic, this executive instructed me to look for carbonation or floating pieces in the bottle. Just what I wanted to hear.
So I examined. Under the light, In every different light in the house.
Yes, I said. There were some little bubbles.
Carbonation? Not sure.
Something floating? Well, there’s some tea residue. But isn’t that normal? No, definitely not normal.
At that point, friendly, talkative, happy-to-explain-details-to-me Executive clammed up.
Pregnancy panic mode.
OK, time to call my OBGYN.
However, it was 5:30pm on a Friday.
The only way to contact him was to use the special, only-for-emergencies message service, so that they could track him down at home.
I mean, if this wasn’t a dire emergency, what was?
When the OB finally called me back, he sounded cheery. He thought I was calling to say that my water had broken and that baby was on her way.
Um, not quite.
After explaining the entire situation to him, from the internet research, to the scared tone in the Tea Exec’s voice, my own voice cracking in fear, he said to me the two magic words that he had uttered so many millions of times to me throughout the course of my pregnancy.
“You’re fine”.
That’s it? I’m fine? How does he know. I’m fine. Shouldn’t he bring me in to check me? Should I make myself throw up?
Should they pump m stomach?
FINE?

And so he instructed me to drink an extra glass of water and he’d see me next week, hopefully to delivery baby.

And that was it.
But, it didn’t mean I didn’t chug my body weight in water to “flush” my system.

And so, I never did get my sample of free tea from the Exec.

And when my OB came into his office on Monday morning and his office manager and nurse asked him frantically if I was OK, if I had, in fact, been poisoned,
(they had obviously listened to the message I’d left on the emergency answering service)
it gave him a good laugh.

A case of 2 year expired iced tea from local beverage distributor: $15.97
Giving a popular OBGYN something he actually hasn’t seen before: Priceless

The post tea, honestly. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.