Truth or Dare...Birth Stories
For a challenge by megthelegend - who added me out of the blue a few months ago, and I'm ever so glad she did... :) I know this was due the week after you issued it, but it rapidly got out of hand and threatened to become novel-sized. I'm sorry it took me so long...
Meg sez...
senoritafish wants a non-(fiction)writer DARE.
I would love to hear about the birth of your kids. ::g:: I'm a sucker for a kiddie story, especially when it involves something that traumatic and amazing!!! Don't mention the actual labours if you don't want to, but I would love to hear, please, about the buildup and anticipation, about how the household adjusted each time.
OK, you asked for it. Actually I was planning to eventually post about this at some point. I'll try not to get too graphic, but there may be some TMI, and/or bodily fluids.
#1 - Nematode's Story
John and I had been married for about three years. We'd discussed kids before. Frankly, I'd always been somewhat ambivalent - not only were we constantly short of money (although not as short as we are now), we were not the best housekeepers in the world. We lived my father (still do) and wondered about space. I made some comment on how we needed to get our own chaos under control before we added a child's to it. However, we finally decided that if we didn't do it in the next couple of years, it wasn't going to happen. If you wait for the right time, it never comes. I was already in my mid-thirties and my job, at least, was as stable as it was likely to get.
I went off birth control in January. We didn't do anything out of the ordinary. About August, we went to a beach party on a Sunday and the next day, it seemed like I was running to the restroom every 30 minutes. My friend Mary complained of the same thing, and we both laughed and thought it was because we had eaten too much salty barbecued food the day before. Later that evening, I turned over in bed, and went "OW! Damn, my boobs hurt!"
John looked at me and said "You're pregnant."
I immediately jumped into that world's longest river and started swimming for life (as I knew it, anyway).
"Pshaw. Am not."
John just gave me a knowing nod. "What the hell does he know!" I thought peevishly; however, on my next trip to Sav-On Drugs, I bought a pregnancy test. I waited till no one was around, went in the bathroom, and did the requisite peeing on the little stick. Sure enough, there was the little pink line.
(Did you know that on some of these things they made them so you can remove the strip, seal it, and put it in the kid's baby book? Yech! You peed on it!)
I called my medical group and, while they told me these things are 99% accurate, they did their own test as well, confirmed the results, and told me to make an appointment with the ob/gyn office. While I waited for the appointment, it still hadn't sank in that this was real. I didn't really feel any different, other than slightly bloated, and of course, the sensitive chest area. So at my first appointment I sat there in my paper dress and sheet, feeling pretty out of place. The nurse did the routine weight, temperature and blood pressure, measured my tummy. Then they put that cold gel on my abdomen and applied the microphone. With that small thumping noise the nurse finally found after much searching, it finally registered that our lives were going to change forever. Some women burst into tears; I think with me it was more like a cold sweat.
We waited for a little while before we told people. John's mother was ecstatic, most of my friends were quite happy for us, and my 96-year-old grandmother hoped for a girl. My father, however....
This is the way it went.
Us (poking our heads in the den, where he was watching a war movie): Um, Dad? We have something to tell you.
Dad (very distracted and still trying to pay attention to movie): Mmmph! What?
Us: Well, we just wanted to tell you you're going to you're going to be a grandpa!
Dad: What?!
Us: You heard us.
Dad (glaring at me): I thought you said you didn't want to have kids!
Me: I was a teenager then, Dad. That was a long time ago.
Dad: Well, (snort) I'm not babysitting! And don't expect me to change diapers! (goes back to John Wayne)
Honestly! You'd've thought we were leaving it on his doorstep and vamoosing ourselves. John thinks dads hate hearing their daughters are having children, because if forces the reality that they are getting older and their daughters are no longer pristine virgins. However, I heard him say later that he was quite proud of the fact that he had never changed a diaper in his life and he planned on keeping it that way. However, I can't believe my mother, the woman who had us doing our own laundry as soon as we could reach the knobs on the washing machine, would have let him get away with that - I still think he's fibbing.
While she was happy to have grandkids arrive, John's mother bemoaned the fact that she didn't want to be called "Grandma" - she was too young. John countered with "Ok, mom, how 'bout we just teach him to say 'Hey, old lady, gimmee a cookie!" We didn't hear much after that.
So, time went on. I was spared most of the early pregnancy woes, although I did get massively tired and I still had to pee every fifteen minutes. I only got sick once. I was at my desk at work and I had thought I was hungry, so I ate a banana, but it just didn't sit right. Mary said she saw me charging down the hall to the restroom and I was absolutely green.
No sudden food dislikes other than coffee stopped tasting/smelling good. I remember lying on the living room floor because my back hurt, and not being attracted by the thought of a cuppa at all. John was pouring himself a cup and said, "Aww, that's just the nematode, telling you, "No thanks, not into that stuff just yet." We called the baby Nematode from then on. I think we got the idea from a coworker of mine who said that he had nicknamed his brother and sister-in-law's kid-to-be, Rotifer.
One of the last shark tagging cruises I went on was shortly after I found out, but hadn't told anyone. Luckily, I wasn't the biologist-in-charge, so I left getting the 50-lb boxes of frozen mackerel bait up the steps from the deck below to someone else. It's not really hard work, unless you need to deal with the business end of a mako (which is not very often). I took along some shorts of John's since my own jeans were getting hard to zip up. As we unloaded the boat when we returned, I jokingly confided in the female National Marine Fisheries Service biologist that I was going to have to buy some clothes that fit, but they didn't make maternity foul weather gear. She gave me a strange look, then said, "Wow, they let you come?" Apparently on the NMFS vessels, they don't let you set foot on board if you're pregnant.
Everything seemed to progress fairly normally. I continued with the monthly doctor visits to Drs. Smith and Rakhshani. I always preferred visits to Dr. Rakhshani; she was cheerful, seemed glad to see her patients and didn't mind a little chit-chat. Her son was very into shark and marine biology, and she often asked me questions on how much fish she should let her patients eat. Dr. Smith on the other hand...well, I was never very comfortable with male doctors - more about him here.
I came to dread having to pee in that cup every time. Not only would I forget and go before my appointment, resulting in an empty cup and much frustration, but when I could, my aim was totally off. Things swell all over your body, especially those parts, and I never knew where it was going to wind up. I usually wind up having to wash my hands very thoroughly. And then I hand my cleaned-off, sealed cup to the nurse, who is wearing gloves. Why don't I get a glove?
I started reading pregnancy books voraciously - What to Expect When You're Expecting, The Pregnancy Book, The Girlfriends Guide to Pregnancy. John read The New Father's Panic Book, which I think he might have taken a little bit too much to heart.
When it came time for the ultrasound and amniocentesis (since I would be over 35 when the baby was born), we discussed whether we wanted to know the baby's gender or not. I wanted it to be a surprise, but John can't stand them, so we made the compromise that the technician would tell John, and he would keep it a secret from me and everyone else. He was ok with the technician, but when we were counseled by the geneticist, he got all pissed off because she was only addressing me, and never making eye contact with him. He felt belittled by the attitude that "it's her body, and she ultimately will decide what happens," and very nearly made a scene. I did try to reassure him that if something happened, we would be discuss it together first, but there were ruffled feathers for quite some time afterwards. John is quite a big advocate of father's rights - we've had several heated discussions over it. He was somewhat assuaged by the fact that he had a big secret to keep, though. Jeez, he wasn't the one having a six inch needle stuck in his stomach.
My crotch ached, and it hurt to walk, as the joint on the front of my pelvis loosened. I remember it taking three heaves to turn from one side to the other in bed at night, and having to get up two, sometimes three times, to pee, especially when Nematode decided to deliberately kick me in the bladder. In the morning, it felt like my hipbones were about to wear through my skin. I would be sitting at my computer at work, and Nematode would stretch until my lungs felt cramped, and not be able to move until the baby relaxed again.
My co-workers gave me a wonderful baby shower. They even dragged quite a few of the guys to it. Traci, who is quite a quilter, made even made a beautiful baby quilt in a fish pattern. She said she had al these scraps of wild fabric that she hadn't known how she was going to use, and they turned out to be perfect for this project. It was so lovely, I wanted to hang it on the wall, but she insisted it was meant to be used (and it was).
We had planned to go to a labor class starting the month before my due date, but Nematode apparently had other ideas. On a rainy evening, just as an El Niño storm began blowing in, I was on the phone with a friend in New Hampshire. I felt like I had to go to the bathroom, and when I sat on the toilet, I seemed to have sprung a slow leak. "This isn't right.." I thought, and phoned the hospital. They told me to come in so they could check me out. John was at work, so I had my dad take me to the hospital. They tested me to see whether it was amniotic fluid or not; it was.
After the nurses had been bustling around for about an hour, and my dad was sitting there getting antsy, he finally asked, "So how long is she going to be here?"
"Oh, until she has the baby," replied the nurse.
OK, nice they told me! I had thought they were just going to check me out and send me home. I wasn't in labor, and Nematode wasn't due for another month!
Dad told me he was going to head home, then. I had already called John, who left work immediately, but he was working at a store up in Compton and it would take him at least an hour to get there, probably more because I wasn't expecting to stay, and hadn't brought anything with me. I turned on the television. The Winter Olympics were on, and the Russian hockey team was playing another eastern European team.
John finally got there and I had him sneak me some water. I had been really thirsty when I arrived, and of course they only let you have ice chips the whole time you're there. The doctor arrived; I hadn't met him before. My two doctors were part of a team of five that took turns being on call. At about 2 am, I still wasn't in labor, so they decided to induce it with pitocin. Since I didn't really know what to expect, other than what I read in books, I opted for painkillers. I've always been somewhat squeamish as far as cramps anyway. I used to get bad enough cramps I could barely move and had to come home from school. They put something in my IV; I can't remember the name, and it didn't really kill the pain so much as it made you forget it in between pains. I had read about listening to soothing music while in labor, so John tried putting headphones one; I immediately ripped them off - they were far too irritating.
After that, things kind of got blurry. The nice nurse's shift ended, and she was replaced by a woman who seemed to have the attitude that husbands and other males were merely in the way. John did not see eye to eye with her. They moved me into the delivery room and shortly after that my best friend Beth arrived. I was asked if I wanted an epidural - which I did, but then being asked to curl into a ball and not move while the guy did it - both nearly impossible feats. Apparently, the nurse asked John to leave while it was being done, and he refused to. Reality receded down to John's hand on one side of me, and Beth on the other, encouragements reaching my ears - but not necessarily who they came from, and my vision compressing down to a knot in the grain of wooden bed rail. Arms helping me sit up when I finally got to push.
I had hoped to avoid an episiotomy; but it was done before I could object. A few more hard shoves, and it was done. We had a little boy, a surprise to me, anyway. Five pounds six ounces - he was probably big enough to be full term. It was 10 am. The doctor handed John the scissors to cut the umbilical, they cleaned him off, did their natal tests, and we got to cuddle for ten minutes or so. Then John went off to the nursery with him, because they were afraid he'd get too cold. I was suddenly overtaken with the shivers myself, so they nurses wrapped me up in warmed blankets until they receded, and then asked if I could get up to go the bathroom. I tried, but from the hips down I was still dead weight. So I got a catheter - whee. I was wheeled to a room, and John returned from the nursery, and told me he was going to go home and take a nap. I was encouraged to do the same.
Beth and my mother-in-law (who'd arrived shortly after the birth and joined us in the delivery room), left and went to Target to get us some more baby things, while I napped. When they returned, I woke up. By this time, I thought "Jeez, shouldn't they have brought the baby here by now? He'll be hungry by now, won't he?" Most of the epidural had worn off, but I still felt pretty unstable, so Beth procured a wheelchair and we went down to the nursery. They had him in an incubator, and the nurse explained they hadn't brought him because he seemed to be having trouble breathing. Watching him, he was laboring to breathe; his chest needing extra effort to expand. I wanted to hold him, but the nurse said trying to nurse would be too stressful for him. Soon he was moved to the NICU, where they put him under a little plastic oxygen tent in an incubator. It turned out he had a conditions where his lungs weren't quite developed enough - the surfactants that were supposed to be there hadn't begun being produced yet. While I was still at the hospital, John went home and feverishly researched the condition. He found that barely 20 years ago most infants born with this condition didn't survive, and it affects boys more than girls.
I have to say he was a lot more stressed about this than I was. Maybe it's just part of my temperament; maybe I stress more about little every day things, but the big things, I kind feel like, what will be will be. Then again, I'm probably going to contradict myself in a minute.
I went home after three days. I took advantage of the full time they allowed me, so I could stay closer to him. We still hadn't decided on a name, although we knew part of it was going to be Angus. So many people had given us a hard time about "Angus" we had decided on it for a middle name. When the Social Services lady poked her head for the third time in as many hours, we borrowed another name book from the nurses station, agonized for a bit, and finally decided on MacKenzie for his first name. It means "Son of the Wise Leader" although we didn't specify which one of us fit that title. We actually tried to call him that for a month, but it was such a mouthful; we finally decided we would call him by his middle name, and to heck with anybody's bitching.
In any case, Angus spent a week in NICU, with the doctors telling us these cases often got worse before they got better, and generally trying to keep us from being too hopeful that he would be coming home anytime soon. However, whenever we went to visit him, I was struck by how many babies were in so much worse shape than him. There was a tiny girl in the isolette next to him who was already 2 mos. old, and still so tiny she would have fit in two hands. Her name was Heaven. I hope things turned out ok for her.
I went home and practiced using a breast pump. I tried nursing when I went in to see him, but by that time I think he was just too used to a bottle. I never could get him to latch on properly. John took off more time from work than they liked, because of Angus's situation. The grocery store he worked at was notorious for such responses as "So?" when telling them you were having an emergency or family illness. I'm so glad he doesn't work there anymore.
They told us when he could regulate his temperature on his own, he would be ready to go home. After a week, he'd made a lot of improvement, to the doctor's surprise, I think. About time, too, his poor little heels were bruised and sore from all the times they had to poke him to test his blood. We got a lesson in infant CPR before we could take him home, and John spent hours, it seemed, adjusting the car seat just so. When he was finally allowed to come home, I sat in the back seat with him while John drove. He was new dad panicky; every 30 seconds, he would demand, "Is he still breathing?!" despite my assurances that a 10-minute car ride was unlikely to cause asphyxia. I was nervous too - in 10 minutes, we would reach home and be completely responsible for this tiny creature. How were we going to do it?
I thought nursing would be easy. It's a natural function right? After two weeks of reading, calling lactation consultants, talking to some of my mom's friends who had done it, I was ready to throw myself off a cliff. He was totally not interested in using the tap (me). Maybe I had a mild case of post-partum depression at the same time, but I was so unhappy I couldn't get this to work. Slowly, I finally came to the conclusion that what was important was what he was eating, and not the method of delivery, and got to know a breast pump really well. That worked for a year.
My sister-in-law had come down from Oregon to help for the first couple of weeks - I don't know what we would have done without her. One evening, when I was feeling especially frustrated, John told the both of us to get out of the house for a couple of hours. We decided to go to the Cheap Movie place in Seal Beach. It's been torn down now, but it was a great place to see movies that were a few months old for $2. Mardie and I decided to see a James Bond movie we'd both missed. It was a great break, but when we got home, we found John even more frustrated and closer to tears than I had been when I left.
"I'm so glad you're back," he burst out, wild-eyed. "He wouldn't stop crying!"
Angus had had one of those famous exploding diapers we parents all become quite familiar with, which necessitated an entire change of clothes. One of the items I'd been given at a baby shower was a baby gowns with elastic at the bottom so you can change diapers easily. John had tried to put one of them on after cleaning the baby up, and apparently every time he tried to put the thing on, the sleeves wound up in the wrong place and he was unable to put Angus's arms in. The baby was screaming- of course, at that age they hate having their clothes taken off - and John completely lost his temper. He finally took it off, made sure Angus was covered up and secure, then ripped that unfortunate article of clothing to shreds and threw it in the trash.
I was able to take six months off from work, since I had a lot of vacation saved up. I'm so glad we were able to have that time to be able to get to know each other, but it went by way too quickly. For that first month with a newborn, it's like being in a time warp - in my fog of exhaustion, I would have trouble remembering what day it was. All too soon, it was time to go back to work. In my first few days back, I was staring at my computer screen, and the next thing I know, I'm being jarred awake by a flash of bright light; JU from the next cubicle had snuck in and snapped a picture of me dozing. That's going to show up in my retirement slide show, I just know it.
We managed to find a daycare lady who worked out of her home and charged a reasonable price. I would drop Angus off in the morning and whichever of us was off first would go and pick him up. She seemed nice enough, but I always wondered if she was actually giving him the pumped breast milk I dropped off with him. By this time, he was also having formula, which we had to supply, and she always went through a large can week anyhow. Finally, after he had been going there for six months, John dropped by unannounced one day, and found that the woman running the place had stepped out to the bank and left her helper in charge. She was in the nursery with the other kids, and Angus had been left to sleep in a hammock in the backyard. He couldn't have fallen out of it, but he was quite a awake and all alone when John asked to see where he was.
That was enough for John. Since he made less money than I did, he decided to quit work and be a stay-at-home dad. It means we don't have much extra, but he's since told me it's the best job he's ever had.
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This one probably one won't be nearly as long. I'm a bit less clear on the details...
#2 - Tardigrade's Story
Probably the May following Angus's first birthday, John told me I was expecting again. Damn him anyway, he knew every time before I did, and gloated over it, too. We were planning more than one, but not really so soon - I was pretty upset when I first found out Anyway, we knew more what to expect this time. We nicknamed this one Tardigrade (another microscopic critter, also called a water bear), told Angus he was going to have a little brother or sister. John decided he wanted to be surprised this time, so I knew first, after the ultrasound.
Tardigrade also got to go on a research cruise before he was born. We were doing a study comparing different kinds of prawn traps during my first trimester. I hadn't told anyone yet - I barely knew myself. However, I was complain that my boots were getting too tight and Mary remarked to me "Ha! You're pregnant again." I just gave her a look, but she seems to be pretty perceptive, too.
We actually got to take a childbirth class this time, although I think the other parents-to-be thought it was a little strange because we already had one kid. I just wanted to be certain I was doing everything right. We were also the oldest couple in the class; there were several that were still teenagers. I also took a nursing class, and was surprised to find that the teacher found it very admirable that I had continued using a pump with Angus instead of just stopping completely. She actually bowed to me! I was shocked - I thought you must have been considered a failure if you couldn't do it properly.
I worked up until the day before Tardigrade arrived. I was in a training class on a Friday, but had to leave early to go to a doctor appointment, which I thought I would be back from before the end of the day. However, that day the Dr. decided to do a check on the baby by hooking me up to the same machine that measures your contractions while you're in labor. It measures the baby's heartbeat and any contractions you might be having (during Angus's arrival, John referred to it as "the machine that goes PING" - if you remember where that came from, I'll give a Krispy Kreme donut!). She had me lie quietly in one of the exam rooms for about fifteen minutes. I thought I had what I thought was a Braxton-Hicks contraction - one of those "practice" ones your body does before you're actually in labor. When she came back and checked the print-out, I heard, "What happened there?" and then she told me she was somewhat concerned because Tardigrade's heart-rate had slowed way down. She wanted me to go and have another test in the hospital the next day.
And so I did, however, every thing seemed to be fine.
It turned out, I came back that evening. I think I sprang a leak again. We had John's mother come over to pick up Angus, and as he went out the door with her, he looked back at me, and thought, "This is the last time I'll see him as my only little baby," and very nearly burst into tears.
No inducement was needed this time; everything started on its own. I had another epidural and episiotomy. I was lucky enough to actually have Dr. Rakhshani as my delivery doctor. When I came back to my senses, it turned out that Angus and his brother had been born in the very same room! It was about 2 am on Halloween morning, although they had a hard time deciding the time; every clock in the hospital was being adjusted because of daylight savings time. I remember cuddling him while thinking those clicking clock hands were very distracting.
Beth came by very early in the morning - she hadn't been able to come for the birth, though she wanted to. She was still tired, and we wound up all three of us taking a nap. The baby stayed in the room with us so we could practice nursing for real this time.
John finally went home to take a shower, and that's when that insistent woman with the Social Security forms popped her head in and asked if we had decided on a name. We had discussed Gareth, as that had been one of my favorite characters in Arthurian legends, and means "gentle" and also that his middle name would be Robert, for John's late uncle, so I put that on the form. When John came back, he was a bit put out, because he hadn't thought we'd finished deciding. I do know we didn't want Robert as his first name, because it's not only my father's name, but also my cat's. Three Bobs in one household would have been just too confusing.
All of my work friends came by and trooped through my room in groups. Mary had even dragged the guys along - I could tell they weren't very comfortable, but anything to get away from the office, I suppose. Now that I think of it, one of them is about to be a dad any time now, heh, heh (edit - just found out today, he's a dad, now! Must go out and get baby presents!). Later, John and his mom brought Angus by to meet his new baby brother. Angus's first reaction was to try to smack him in the head - not out of any malice but more "what the heck is up there, in that little transparent bed?"
I was only able to take eight weeks off this time. John confessed to me that he was scared to death of the day when I went back to work and he would have to deal with an infant and a toddler, too. It was exhausting for both of us, but we muddled through. At least we got off to the right start in the nursing department.
Gareth was only six weeks old when my uncle passed away from a heart attack. He had been suffering from Parkinson's Disease for several years, and forbade his doctor from telling anyone he had a heart condition. We brought him along to the funeral while Angus stayed with Grandma, and made the 7 hour drive from Huntington Beach to Napa. That's probably the easiest trip we've ever made with him; he slept most of the way. I'm sorry he never got to meet his great uncle though.
It was probably during his infancy that I rediscovered anime. He slept with us, and when I woke up to feed him in the middle of the night, I would switch on the TV. I would often pause on Cartoon Network because I always liked animation, and they were short, so I wouldn't get too involved in something. I think I flipped past this one Japanese series several times, because it seemed like nothing but fighting and men screaming at each other. However, one time as I was about to flip past, I noticed that all the characters in this episode had halos. "What?" I thought. "Are they supposed to be dead?" I was intrigued and stayed to try to figure out what was happening. Then I found the main character was actually an alien who had once had a tail and was able to transform himself into new higher powered forms, and a female character who was a scientist. Plus, this series didn't seem to have the typical anime huge eyes, which had always bothered me before, the drawing style was somewhat different. Then we got a computer, I got access to the internet, and found out more about it (and access to fanfiction too, which was much more in depth than the actual series). Villains that showed up would often redeem themselves and become good guys; one of the worst villains actually has a child with aforementioned female character, not to mention that all the characters seemed to be named after food or underwear - it was just too weird and amazing to me. "You'd never see this kind of stuff happening in an American cartoon," I thought. I was hooked, and subsequently my kids were too, because we watched it together. Angus and Gareth could say Vegeta and Goku before their own names, except it came out Fajita (like the Mexican dish) and Koo Koo. I'm such a bad mom. But I'm probably the only DBZ fan who got addicted to it while breast-feeding.
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This was the most recent- You'd think I could remember more. Then again, maybe you wish I remembered less! ;p
#3 - Copepod's Story
There's something about that month right after you stop nursing. It was shortly after Gareth's first birthday. The combination of suddenly becoming hyper-fertile, my partner's propensity for skinny-dipping (until too late this time), and my own total inability to stick to a daily medication schedule* was our downfall. Well, before that there was this rather erotic Dragon Ball Z fanfic as well, (we can't decide if it was Shackles and Chains, or It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas.... ) that kind of made us lose control of ourselves. I don't know if I should tell my daughter that she is quite probably the result of finding lemons in bed...
To tell the truth, I felt rather guilty. Not too long before, a guy I worked with asked if we were planning to have any more children. I had launched into this big spiel about, no, we'd done our procreating, I don't want to put any more pressure on the earth, American children use 3 times as many resources as kids in other countries, blah, blah, blah. He nodded and looked approving. Later, his girlfriend, who also worked there (he by then moved to another job) told me he had been shocked to find out I was expecting again. I just kind of laughed and said "Best laid plans, huh? Oops. Surprise to us, too."
We briefly (very briefly) considered letting Dave and Mardie, my brother and sister-in-law, adopt - they have been trying to have kids for about 10 years. However, I felt this child was our responsibility, and honestly, I was feeling rather outnumbered with the gender balance in my home. Even all of our cats were male. When we did find out it was a girl, I was relieved. Not only for myself, but my grandmother recently fallen and broken her hip and we had been forced to place her in a nursing facility. She had really wanted a great granddaughter, and I was hoping this would give her something to look forward to. When I had an ultrasound, the doctor examining me shook his head and told me elderly people seldom recover from something that serious.
I told Mary she had cursed me. Before it even happened, I complained of some sort of physical annoyance, and she raised her eyebrow and said "Are you pregnant again?" Darn her anyway - I was starting to get a reputation. She denied everything, of course, laughed at me, and wished me good luck finding maternity clothes.
Other people were less approving to start with. I overheard my father talking on the phone with my brother Doug- the gist of the conversation was, why on earth are they having another one, how are they going to afford it, doesn't John have asthma, can't that be passed on? etc. My dear father is about as quiet on the phone as bull elk, and about as tactful. I stuck my head in the door of his den and told him maybe he ought to lower his voice when he's on the phone, and then went my room and bawled. When I next saw my brother, when we went to visit my grandmother next, he apologized and gave me a nice card - he was just very concerned, and of course he loved us and knew we were doing the right thing. I don't know if we were, but we were going to try and make the best of it. My grandmother was thrilled, especially when I gave her a sonogram of the baby.
Since her brothers had been microscopic invertebrates, we dubbed her Copepod, one of my favorite little plankton residents. I was a little disappointed she didn't get to go on a research cruise before being born, like her brothers had. One good thing about being pregnant was getting out of mixing up formalin solution for the squid samples - I wish we could get rid of that stuff.
One thing I could not get rid of was Connie. This woman was coming by my cubicle almost on a daily basis and beginning to drive me nuts. She would ask me the same questions day after day after day. Is it a boy or a girl, when is it due, how far along are you now, do you have a name picked out? I finally made up a sign and posted it outside my office:
Copepod's FAQ:
I was going through one of those giant bottles of Tums about every month. Every afternoon I would get awful heartburn. I should've bought stock in the company, but at least I knew the baby and I were getting plenty of calcium. I joined a pregnancy thread on the now defunct ChickClick.com; it was actually started by my friend vwsrmylife- it was really comforting bitching about all of our aches and pains with other people in the same condition. Quite a few people on my present friends list, I originally knew from that thread.
By the way, another weird thing about being pregnant. John said it was one of the ways he knew. Your body odor changes. It wasn't unpleasant, but it always reminded me of food for some reason. John also said I smelled different with Avalon than with the boys.
We decided to take care of preventing any more oopses before Copepod actually arrived. John was quite gallant and took care of it on his end, but wow. This man is a baby when he has a cold. If I'd known I would have had it done myself, even though the procedure is more invasive. Sheesh.
With Angus, quite a few people didn't even know I was pregnant. With Copepod, though, there was no disguising it. I was massive, a whale. When I looked at myself sideways in the restroom mirror, I was amazed I could get through the door.
I worked up until my due date, and a little past it. I was a bit worried I was going to go into labor at work, but I didn't want to take off work and then use up a large part of my maternity leave just waiting. My coworkers joked that they could just throw me on the metal table in the wetlab. Ha, ha. As it turned out, I drove home on a Friday afternoon, and had to sit down because of painful crampy feelings. I reasoned that they couldn't be labor pains because none of them lasted the same length of time, and they were very sporadic; there was sometimes a gap of an hour or more between them, and sometimes I'd get one after fifteen minutes. I was sitting in a chair in my bedroom, and Gareth, although he wasn't talking very much, patted my tummy and said emphatically, "Ball."
"No, that's your little sister."
"No, ball."
Later that evening, we'd gotten the kids to bed and gone to bed ourselves. I woke up about 1 AM, and found that suddenly the pains had sorted themselves out and were now fairly regular. They were about five minutes apart.
I woke up John and told him I thought we'd better get to the hospital. We woke Dad and told him we were going, then called John's mom to come pick up the boys in the morning. We had to go to a different hospital this time because my medical group had moved, but luckily it was actually closer. Since it was after hours, we had to go in the by way of the emergency room. As I was filling out the form, I grimaced, and the nurse asked me "Are you actually in labor?" I nodded and they brought a wheelchair for me almost immediately.
Angus took about 8 hours. Gareth, about 3.5. This time, we were still filling out forms in the delivery room, when John asked a question, I don't recall exactly what (I was a bit distracted - oooh), but the nurse replied, "Honey, we'll be lucky if we get her checked in before she has the baby." Soon after, my water broke and it was as if someone dropped a giant water balloon where I was sitting. It was a lucky thing no one was standing right in front of me; they would have gotten soaked. They had called the doctor and the anesthesiologist already, however, by the time the latter doctor arrived, I was told, "Sorry, it's too late!"
After I picked my jaw back up off the floor, the nurses reassured me they'd help me through the whole thing. Wow. I still can't believe it. Natural childbirth, whether I wanted it or not. The doctor, again somebody I'd never met before, arrived. He didn't have to be there very long. At one point, I started panting and the nurses told me to slow down or I was going to pass out. Ow, ow, ow. But it wasn't unbearable, I suppose. One good thing is that I was able to actually get up and hobble to the bathroom afterward (they're pretty insistent about that - I guess they want to make sure all the plumbing still works right), whereas the previous two times my legs had just been immovable slabs of flesh for several hours.
This time it was over quickly. She was born 45 minutes after we got the hospital. Another reason for not having another is that I would wind up having it delivered by a policeman at the side of the road - I'd never make it to the hospital.
John had picked her name out this time. He liked Avalon Marie, but that's also my middle name. She was already going to have my last name, so we decided on Avalon Lee, Lee being my mother's middle name as well. So we were ready for the Social Security form lady this time, ha-ha.
At this hospital, John was allowed to stay as long as he wanted, so he actually spent the night in the other bed a couple of times. The boys were with his mother, so there was really no rush for him to go home. Avalon was so sleepy for most of that first day, it was difficult to wake her up to try and eat - even the lactation specialist was a bit frustrated with her. However, we eventually got off on the right foot.
The next six weeks went by in that aforementioned haze. One evening I got a call from my grandmother's nursing home, saying she was probably going to go soon. I was horrified to think we hadn't been to show her new great granddaughter, and went to see her the next day. By this time, she was unable to talk or move much on her own. I sat there at her bedside, and talked to her while feeding Avalon. When Avalon was done, I brought her to the bedside, and set her down near her great-grandmother's shoulder. Grandma had been vacantly staring off into space for most of this time, but when Avalon started rooting around near her shoulder, it caught her attention. She looked down by her side with a look of amazement on her face, then looked at me and smiled as much as she was able. She had turned 100 the previous April. She passed away three weeks later - Avalon came along with us to her funeral.
So far, almost every phase I go through with Avalon brings its own bittersweet feeling. Enjoy this, because it's the last time you're going through it. The ending of her sleeping in bed with us, when she lost interest in nursing, and when she started becoming her own little independent person - more of herself and less a part of me, which are all as it should be, but touched with a little sadness nevertheless (more about that here). When she stops crawling in bed with us at 3 am, part of me will be glad to have my own bed to myself so my shoulder isn't cramping up from giving her space, but I'll miss cuddling with her too. For all my initial misgivings, I'm wouldn't have missed out on her for all the solar system (and who wants that anyway - where would you put it? I don't have enough cupboard space for my junk as it is!). Or her brothers, either, of course.
I won't miss diapers though - only one more to go!
Angus has graduated from my little Michelin Man, so round he had creases on his arms and legs, into a skinny, sarcastic 5-year-old, about halfway through kindergarten. Gareth, my gentle one, is outgoing and talkative, he's been dubbed "Mr. Chatty" by one of my friends at work, and he's quite fond of starting wrestling matches with his siblings. He and Angus are best buds and they both think sister is icky. Gareth especially has a few jealousy issues; whenever we hear Avalon suddenly start crying, often it's because he shoved her, and covers it by saying, "She fell down and hurt herself." Avalon does her best to torture her brothers in as many ways as possible. She can say "Bebop" (as in "Cowboy..."), but not her brother's names yet, and has the manipulative cute act down pat. She is empathetic toward them though; if one of them gets hurt, she is always the first to give them a "feel better" pat or hug. Grandpa has adjusted to being a grandpa, and he has changed a diaper or two, but only under extreme duress; he still hides out in the den most evenings, but often one of his grandchildren is sitting in his lap, watching something about dinosaurs with him. Grandma has adapted to being called Grandma, and often takes Angus camping or spending the night at her house (Gareth is welcome to, but just doesn't want to stay there for the night).
And so we go on. The adjusting never stops. Once we get used to something it changes and we have to adjust again. But, except for the poopy diapers, and the vomiting and the fish stick that got dropped behind the couch and not found until several months later, it's fun for the most part.
Oh, let's not forget kindergarten teachers. Another fun thing. I'm sure you'll be hearing more about that in the future.
Children are an inconvenience. But what a wonderful inconvenience.
- Dr. William Sears
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*I've since concluded that if I contract any sort of condition that requires me to take daily meds, I'm resigned to just dying. I simply can't remember.
Meg sez...
senoritafish wants a non-(fiction)writer DARE.
I would love to hear about the birth of your kids. ::g:: I'm a sucker for a kiddie story, especially when it involves something that traumatic and amazing!!! Don't mention the actual labours if you don't want to, but I would love to hear, please, about the buildup and anticipation, about how the household adjusted each time.
OK, you asked for it. Actually I was planning to eventually post about this at some point. I'll try not to get too graphic, but there may be some TMI, and/or bodily fluids.
#1 - Nematode's Story
John and I had been married for about three years. We'd discussed kids before. Frankly, I'd always been somewhat ambivalent - not only were we constantly short of money (although not as short as we are now), we were not the best housekeepers in the world. We lived my father (still do) and wondered about space. I made some comment on how we needed to get our own chaos under control before we added a child's to it. However, we finally decided that if we didn't do it in the next couple of years, it wasn't going to happen. If you wait for the right time, it never comes. I was already in my mid-thirties and my job, at least, was as stable as it was likely to get.
I went off birth control in January. We didn't do anything out of the ordinary. About August, we went to a beach party on a Sunday and the next day, it seemed like I was running to the restroom every 30 minutes. My friend Mary complained of the same thing, and we both laughed and thought it was because we had eaten too much salty barbecued food the day before. Later that evening, I turned over in bed, and went "OW! Damn, my boobs hurt!"
John looked at me and said "You're pregnant."
I immediately jumped into that world's longest river and started swimming for life (as I knew it, anyway).
"Pshaw. Am not."
John just gave me a knowing nod. "What the hell does he know!" I thought peevishly; however, on my next trip to Sav-On Drugs, I bought a pregnancy test. I waited till no one was around, went in the bathroom, and did the requisite peeing on the little stick. Sure enough, there was the little pink line.
(Did you know that on some of these things they made them so you can remove the strip, seal it, and put it in the kid's baby book? Yech! You peed on it!)
I called my medical group and, while they told me these things are 99% accurate, they did their own test as well, confirmed the results, and told me to make an appointment with the ob/gyn office. While I waited for the appointment, it still hadn't sank in that this was real. I didn't really feel any different, other than slightly bloated, and of course, the sensitive chest area. So at my first appointment I sat there in my paper dress and sheet, feeling pretty out of place. The nurse did the routine weight, temperature and blood pressure, measured my tummy. Then they put that cold gel on my abdomen and applied the microphone. With that small thumping noise the nurse finally found after much searching, it finally registered that our lives were going to change forever. Some women burst into tears; I think with me it was more like a cold sweat.
We waited for a little while before we told people. John's mother was ecstatic, most of my friends were quite happy for us, and my 96-year-old grandmother hoped for a girl. My father, however....
This is the way it went.
Us (poking our heads in the den, where he was watching a war movie): Um, Dad? We have something to tell you.
Dad (very distracted and still trying to pay attention to movie): Mmmph! What?
Us: Well, we just wanted to tell you you're going to you're going to be a grandpa!
Dad: What?!
Us: You heard us.
Dad (glaring at me): I thought you said you didn't want to have kids!
Me: I was a teenager then, Dad. That was a long time ago.
Dad: Well, (snort) I'm not babysitting! And don't expect me to change diapers! (goes back to John Wayne)
Honestly! You'd've thought we were leaving it on his doorstep and vamoosing ourselves. John thinks dads hate hearing their daughters are having children, because if forces the reality that they are getting older and their daughters are no longer pristine virgins. However, I heard him say later that he was quite proud of the fact that he had never changed a diaper in his life and he planned on keeping it that way. However, I can't believe my mother, the woman who had us doing our own laundry as soon as we could reach the knobs on the washing machine, would have let him get away with that - I still think he's fibbing.
While she was happy to have grandkids arrive, John's mother bemoaned the fact that she didn't want to be called "Grandma" - she was too young. John countered with "Ok, mom, how 'bout we just teach him to say 'Hey, old lady, gimmee a cookie!" We didn't hear much after that.
So, time went on. I was spared most of the early pregnancy woes, although I did get massively tired and I still had to pee every fifteen minutes. I only got sick once. I was at my desk at work and I had thought I was hungry, so I ate a banana, but it just didn't sit right. Mary said she saw me charging down the hall to the restroom and I was absolutely green.
No sudden food dislikes other than coffee stopped tasting/smelling good. I remember lying on the living room floor because my back hurt, and not being attracted by the thought of a cuppa at all. John was pouring himself a cup and said, "Aww, that's just the nematode, telling you, "No thanks, not into that stuff just yet." We called the baby Nematode from then on. I think we got the idea from a coworker of mine who said that he had nicknamed his brother and sister-in-law's kid-to-be, Rotifer.
One of the last shark tagging cruises I went on was shortly after I found out, but hadn't told anyone. Luckily, I wasn't the biologist-in-charge, so I left getting the 50-lb boxes of frozen mackerel bait up the steps from the deck below to someone else. It's not really hard work, unless you need to deal with the business end of a mako (which is not very often). I took along some shorts of John's since my own jeans were getting hard to zip up. As we unloaded the boat when we returned, I jokingly confided in the female National Marine Fisheries Service biologist that I was going to have to buy some clothes that fit, but they didn't make maternity foul weather gear. She gave me a strange look, then said, "Wow, they let you come?" Apparently on the NMFS vessels, they don't let you set foot on board if you're pregnant.
Everything seemed to progress fairly normally. I continued with the monthly doctor visits to Drs. Smith and Rakhshani. I always preferred visits to Dr. Rakhshani; she was cheerful, seemed glad to see her patients and didn't mind a little chit-chat. Her son was very into shark and marine biology, and she often asked me questions on how much fish she should let her patients eat. Dr. Smith on the other hand...well, I was never very comfortable with male doctors - more about him here.
I came to dread having to pee in that cup every time. Not only would I forget and go before my appointment, resulting in an empty cup and much frustration, but when I could, my aim was totally off. Things swell all over your body, especially those parts, and I never knew where it was going to wind up. I usually wind up having to wash my hands very thoroughly. And then I hand my cleaned-off, sealed cup to the nurse, who is wearing gloves. Why don't I get a glove?
I started reading pregnancy books voraciously - What to Expect When You're Expecting, The Pregnancy Book, The Girlfriends Guide to Pregnancy. John read The New Father's Panic Book, which I think he might have taken a little bit too much to heart.
When it came time for the ultrasound and amniocentesis (since I would be over 35 when the baby was born), we discussed whether we wanted to know the baby's gender or not. I wanted it to be a surprise, but John can't stand them, so we made the compromise that the technician would tell John, and he would keep it a secret from me and everyone else. He was ok with the technician, but when we were counseled by the geneticist, he got all pissed off because she was only addressing me, and never making eye contact with him. He felt belittled by the attitude that "it's her body, and she ultimately will decide what happens," and very nearly made a scene. I did try to reassure him that if something happened, we would be discuss it together first, but there were ruffled feathers for quite some time afterwards. John is quite a big advocate of father's rights - we've had several heated discussions over it. He was somewhat assuaged by the fact that he had a big secret to keep, though. Jeez, he wasn't the one having a six inch needle stuck in his stomach.
My crotch ached, and it hurt to walk, as the joint on the front of my pelvis loosened. I remember it taking three heaves to turn from one side to the other in bed at night, and having to get up two, sometimes three times, to pee, especially when Nematode decided to deliberately kick me in the bladder. In the morning, it felt like my hipbones were about to wear through my skin. I would be sitting at my computer at work, and Nematode would stretch until my lungs felt cramped, and not be able to move until the baby relaxed again.
My co-workers gave me a wonderful baby shower. They even dragged quite a few of the guys to it. Traci, who is quite a quilter, made even made a beautiful baby quilt in a fish pattern. She said she had al these scraps of wild fabric that she hadn't known how she was going to use, and they turned out to be perfect for this project. It was so lovely, I wanted to hang it on the wall, but she insisted it was meant to be used (and it was).
We had planned to go to a labor class starting the month before my due date, but Nematode apparently had other ideas. On a rainy evening, just as an El Niño storm began blowing in, I was on the phone with a friend in New Hampshire. I felt like I had to go to the bathroom, and when I sat on the toilet, I seemed to have sprung a slow leak. "This isn't right.." I thought, and phoned the hospital. They told me to come in so they could check me out. John was at work, so I had my dad take me to the hospital. They tested me to see whether it was amniotic fluid or not; it was.
After the nurses had been bustling around for about an hour, and my dad was sitting there getting antsy, he finally asked, "So how long is she going to be here?"
"Oh, until she has the baby," replied the nurse.
OK, nice they told me! I had thought they were just going to check me out and send me home. I wasn't in labor, and Nematode wasn't due for another month!
Dad told me he was going to head home, then. I had already called John, who left work immediately, but he was working at a store up in Compton and it would take him at least an hour to get there, probably more because I wasn't expecting to stay, and hadn't brought anything with me. I turned on the television. The Winter Olympics were on, and the Russian hockey team was playing another eastern European team.
John finally got there and I had him sneak me some water. I had been really thirsty when I arrived, and of course they only let you have ice chips the whole time you're there. The doctor arrived; I hadn't met him before. My two doctors were part of a team of five that took turns being on call. At about 2 am, I still wasn't in labor, so they decided to induce it with pitocin. Since I didn't really know what to expect, other than what I read in books, I opted for painkillers. I've always been somewhat squeamish as far as cramps anyway. I used to get bad enough cramps I could barely move and had to come home from school. They put something in my IV; I can't remember the name, and it didn't really kill the pain so much as it made you forget it in between pains. I had read about listening to soothing music while in labor, so John tried putting headphones one; I immediately ripped them off - they were far too irritating.
After that, things kind of got blurry. The nice nurse's shift ended, and she was replaced by a woman who seemed to have the attitude that husbands and other males were merely in the way. John did not see eye to eye with her. They moved me into the delivery room and shortly after that my best friend Beth arrived. I was asked if I wanted an epidural - which I did, but then being asked to curl into a ball and not move while the guy did it - both nearly impossible feats. Apparently, the nurse asked John to leave while it was being done, and he refused to. Reality receded down to John's hand on one side of me, and Beth on the other, encouragements reaching my ears - but not necessarily who they came from, and my vision compressing down to a knot in the grain of wooden bed rail. Arms helping me sit up when I finally got to push.
I had hoped to avoid an episiotomy; but it was done before I could object. A few more hard shoves, and it was done. We had a little boy, a surprise to me, anyway. Five pounds six ounces - he was probably big enough to be full term. It was 10 am. The doctor handed John the scissors to cut the umbilical, they cleaned him off, did their natal tests, and we got to cuddle for ten minutes or so. Then John went off to the nursery with him, because they were afraid he'd get too cold. I was suddenly overtaken with the shivers myself, so they nurses wrapped me up in warmed blankets until they receded, and then asked if I could get up to go the bathroom. I tried, but from the hips down I was still dead weight. So I got a catheter - whee. I was wheeled to a room, and John returned from the nursery, and told me he was going to go home and take a nap. I was encouraged to do the same.
Beth and my mother-in-law (who'd arrived shortly after the birth and joined us in the delivery room), left and went to Target to get us some more baby things, while I napped. When they returned, I woke up. By this time, I thought "Jeez, shouldn't they have brought the baby here by now? He'll be hungry by now, won't he?" Most of the epidural had worn off, but I still felt pretty unstable, so Beth procured a wheelchair and we went down to the nursery. They had him in an incubator, and the nurse explained they hadn't brought him because he seemed to be having trouble breathing. Watching him, he was laboring to breathe; his chest needing extra effort to expand. I wanted to hold him, but the nurse said trying to nurse would be too stressful for him. Soon he was moved to the NICU, where they put him under a little plastic oxygen tent in an incubator. It turned out he had a conditions where his lungs weren't quite developed enough - the surfactants that were supposed to be there hadn't begun being produced yet. While I was still at the hospital, John went home and feverishly researched the condition. He found that barely 20 years ago most infants born with this condition didn't survive, and it affects boys more than girls.
I have to say he was a lot more stressed about this than I was. Maybe it's just part of my temperament; maybe I stress more about little every day things, but the big things, I kind feel like, what will be will be. Then again, I'm probably going to contradict myself in a minute.
I went home after three days. I took advantage of the full time they allowed me, so I could stay closer to him. We still hadn't decided on a name, although we knew part of it was going to be Angus. So many people had given us a hard time about "Angus" we had decided on it for a middle name. When the Social Services lady poked her head for the third time in as many hours, we borrowed another name book from the nurses station, agonized for a bit, and finally decided on MacKenzie for his first name. It means "Son of the Wise Leader" although we didn't specify which one of us fit that title. We actually tried to call him that for a month, but it was such a mouthful; we finally decided we would call him by his middle name, and to heck with anybody's bitching.
In any case, Angus spent a week in NICU, with the doctors telling us these cases often got worse before they got better, and generally trying to keep us from being too hopeful that he would be coming home anytime soon. However, whenever we went to visit him, I was struck by how many babies were in so much worse shape than him. There was a tiny girl in the isolette next to him who was already 2 mos. old, and still so tiny she would have fit in two hands. Her name was Heaven. I hope things turned out ok for her.
I went home and practiced using a breast pump. I tried nursing when I went in to see him, but by that time I think he was just too used to a bottle. I never could get him to latch on properly. John took off more time from work than they liked, because of Angus's situation. The grocery store he worked at was notorious for such responses as "So?" when telling them you were having an emergency or family illness. I'm so glad he doesn't work there anymore.
They told us when he could regulate his temperature on his own, he would be ready to go home. After a week, he'd made a lot of improvement, to the doctor's surprise, I think. About time, too, his poor little heels were bruised and sore from all the times they had to poke him to test his blood. We got a lesson in infant CPR before we could take him home, and John spent hours, it seemed, adjusting the car seat just so. When he was finally allowed to come home, I sat in the back seat with him while John drove. He was new dad panicky; every 30 seconds, he would demand, "Is he still breathing?!" despite my assurances that a 10-minute car ride was unlikely to cause asphyxia. I was nervous too - in 10 minutes, we would reach home and be completely responsible for this tiny creature. How were we going to do it?
I thought nursing would be easy. It's a natural function right? After two weeks of reading, calling lactation consultants, talking to some of my mom's friends who had done it, I was ready to throw myself off a cliff. He was totally not interested in using the tap (me). Maybe I had a mild case of post-partum depression at the same time, but I was so unhappy I couldn't get this to work. Slowly, I finally came to the conclusion that what was important was what he was eating, and not the method of delivery, and got to know a breast pump really well. That worked for a year.
My sister-in-law had come down from Oregon to help for the first couple of weeks - I don't know what we would have done without her. One evening, when I was feeling especially frustrated, John told the both of us to get out of the house for a couple of hours. We decided to go to the Cheap Movie place in Seal Beach. It's been torn down now, but it was a great place to see movies that were a few months old for $2. Mardie and I decided to see a James Bond movie we'd both missed. It was a great break, but when we got home, we found John even more frustrated and closer to tears than I had been when I left.
"I'm so glad you're back," he burst out, wild-eyed. "He wouldn't stop crying!"
Angus had had one of those famous exploding diapers we parents all become quite familiar with, which necessitated an entire change of clothes. One of the items I'd been given at a baby shower was a baby gowns with elastic at the bottom so you can change diapers easily. John had tried to put one of them on after cleaning the baby up, and apparently every time he tried to put the thing on, the sleeves wound up in the wrong place and he was unable to put Angus's arms in. The baby was screaming- of course, at that age they hate having their clothes taken off - and John completely lost his temper. He finally took it off, made sure Angus was covered up and secure, then ripped that unfortunate article of clothing to shreds and threw it in the trash.
I was able to take six months off from work, since I had a lot of vacation saved up. I'm so glad we were able to have that time to be able to get to know each other, but it went by way too quickly. For that first month with a newborn, it's like being in a time warp - in my fog of exhaustion, I would have trouble remembering what day it was. All too soon, it was time to go back to work. In my first few days back, I was staring at my computer screen, and the next thing I know, I'm being jarred awake by a flash of bright light; JU from the next cubicle had snuck in and snapped a picture of me dozing. That's going to show up in my retirement slide show, I just know it.
We managed to find a daycare lady who worked out of her home and charged a reasonable price. I would drop Angus off in the morning and whichever of us was off first would go and pick him up. She seemed nice enough, but I always wondered if she was actually giving him the pumped breast milk I dropped off with him. By this time, he was also having formula, which we had to supply, and she always went through a large can week anyhow. Finally, after he had been going there for six months, John dropped by unannounced one day, and found that the woman running the place had stepped out to the bank and left her helper in charge. She was in the nursery with the other kids, and Angus had been left to sleep in a hammock in the backyard. He couldn't have fallen out of it, but he was quite a awake and all alone when John asked to see where he was.
That was enough for John. Since he made less money than I did, he decided to quit work and be a stay-at-home dad. It means we don't have much extra, but he's since told me it's the best job he's ever had.
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This one probably one won't be nearly as long. I'm a bit less clear on the details...
#2 - Tardigrade's Story
Probably the May following Angus's first birthday, John told me I was expecting again. Damn him anyway, he knew every time before I did, and gloated over it, too. We were planning more than one, but not really so soon - I was pretty upset when I first found out Anyway, we knew more what to expect this time. We nicknamed this one Tardigrade (another microscopic critter, also called a water bear), told Angus he was going to have a little brother or sister. John decided he wanted to be surprised this time, so I knew first, after the ultrasound.
Tardigrade also got to go on a research cruise before he was born. We were doing a study comparing different kinds of prawn traps during my first trimester. I hadn't told anyone yet - I barely knew myself. However, I was complain that my boots were getting too tight and Mary remarked to me "Ha! You're pregnant again." I just gave her a look, but she seems to be pretty perceptive, too.
We actually got to take a childbirth class this time, although I think the other parents-to-be thought it was a little strange because we already had one kid. I just wanted to be certain I was doing everything right. We were also the oldest couple in the class; there were several that were still teenagers. I also took a nursing class, and was surprised to find that the teacher found it very admirable that I had continued using a pump with Angus instead of just stopping completely. She actually bowed to me! I was shocked - I thought you must have been considered a failure if you couldn't do it properly.
I worked up until the day before Tardigrade arrived. I was in a training class on a Friday, but had to leave early to go to a doctor appointment, which I thought I would be back from before the end of the day. However, that day the Dr. decided to do a check on the baby by hooking me up to the same machine that measures your contractions while you're in labor. It measures the baby's heartbeat and any contractions you might be having (during Angus's arrival, John referred to it as "the machine that goes PING" - if you remember where that came from, I'll give a Krispy Kreme donut!). She had me lie quietly in one of the exam rooms for about fifteen minutes. I thought I had what I thought was a Braxton-Hicks contraction - one of those "practice" ones your body does before you're actually in labor. When she came back and checked the print-out, I heard, "What happened there?" and then she told me she was somewhat concerned because Tardigrade's heart-rate had slowed way down. She wanted me to go and have another test in the hospital the next day.
And so I did, however, every thing seemed to be fine.
It turned out, I came back that evening. I think I sprang a leak again. We had John's mother come over to pick up Angus, and as he went out the door with her, he looked back at me, and thought, "This is the last time I'll see him as my only little baby," and very nearly burst into tears.
No inducement was needed this time; everything started on its own. I had another epidural and episiotomy. I was lucky enough to actually have Dr. Rakhshani as my delivery doctor. When I came back to my senses, it turned out that Angus and his brother had been born in the very same room! It was about 2 am on Halloween morning, although they had a hard time deciding the time; every clock in the hospital was being adjusted because of daylight savings time. I remember cuddling him while thinking those clicking clock hands were very distracting.
Beth came by very early in the morning - she hadn't been able to come for the birth, though she wanted to. She was still tired, and we wound up all three of us taking a nap. The baby stayed in the room with us so we could practice nursing for real this time.
John finally went home to take a shower, and that's when that insistent woman with the Social Security forms popped her head in and asked if we had decided on a name. We had discussed Gareth, as that had been one of my favorite characters in Arthurian legends, and means "gentle" and also that his middle name would be Robert, for John's late uncle, so I put that on the form. When John came back, he was a bit put out, because he hadn't thought we'd finished deciding. I do know we didn't want Robert as his first name, because it's not only my father's name, but also my cat's. Three Bobs in one household would have been just too confusing.
All of my work friends came by and trooped through my room in groups. Mary had even dragged the guys along - I could tell they weren't very comfortable, but anything to get away from the office, I suppose. Now that I think of it, one of them is about to be a dad any time now, heh, heh (edit - just found out today, he's a dad, now! Must go out and get baby presents!). Later, John and his mom brought Angus by to meet his new baby brother. Angus's first reaction was to try to smack him in the head - not out of any malice but more "what the heck is up there, in that little transparent bed?"
I was only able to take eight weeks off this time. John confessed to me that he was scared to death of the day when I went back to work and he would have to deal with an infant and a toddler, too. It was exhausting for both of us, but we muddled through. At least we got off to the right start in the nursing department.
Gareth was only six weeks old when my uncle passed away from a heart attack. He had been suffering from Parkinson's Disease for several years, and forbade his doctor from telling anyone he had a heart condition. We brought him along to the funeral while Angus stayed with Grandma, and made the 7 hour drive from Huntington Beach to Napa. That's probably the easiest trip we've ever made with him; he slept most of the way. I'm sorry he never got to meet his great uncle though.
It was probably during his infancy that I rediscovered anime. He slept with us, and when I woke up to feed him in the middle of the night, I would switch on the TV. I would often pause on Cartoon Network because I always liked animation, and they were short, so I wouldn't get too involved in something. I think I flipped past this one Japanese series several times, because it seemed like nothing but fighting and men screaming at each other. However, one time as I was about to flip past, I noticed that all the characters in this episode had halos. "What?" I thought. "Are they supposed to be dead?" I was intrigued and stayed to try to figure out what was happening. Then I found the main character was actually an alien who had once had a tail and was able to transform himself into new higher powered forms, and a female character who was a scientist. Plus, this series didn't seem to have the typical anime huge eyes, which had always bothered me before, the drawing style was somewhat different. Then we got a computer, I got access to the internet, and found out more about it (and access to fanfiction too, which was much more in depth than the actual series). Villains that showed up would often redeem themselves and become good guys; one of the worst villains actually has a child with aforementioned female character, not to mention that all the characters seemed to be named after food or underwear - it was just too weird and amazing to me. "You'd never see this kind of stuff happening in an American cartoon," I thought. I was hooked, and subsequently my kids were too, because we watched it together. Angus and Gareth could say Vegeta and Goku before their own names, except it came out Fajita (like the Mexican dish) and Koo Koo. I'm such a bad mom. But I'm probably the only DBZ fan who got addicted to it while breast-feeding.
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This was the most recent- You'd think I could remember more. Then again, maybe you wish I remembered less! ;p
#3 - Copepod's Story
There's something about that month right after you stop nursing. It was shortly after Gareth's first birthday. The combination of suddenly becoming hyper-fertile, my partner's propensity for skinny-dipping (until too late this time), and my own total inability to stick to a daily medication schedule* was our downfall. Well, before that there was this rather erotic Dragon Ball Z fanfic as well, (we can't decide if it was Shackles and Chains, or It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas.... ) that kind of made us lose control of ourselves. I don't know if I should tell my daughter that she is quite probably the result of finding lemons in bed...
To tell the truth, I felt rather guilty. Not too long before, a guy I worked with asked if we were planning to have any more children. I had launched into this big spiel about, no, we'd done our procreating, I don't want to put any more pressure on the earth, American children use 3 times as many resources as kids in other countries, blah, blah, blah. He nodded and looked approving. Later, his girlfriend, who also worked there (he by then moved to another job) told me he had been shocked to find out I was expecting again. I just kind of laughed and said "Best laid plans, huh? Oops. Surprise to us, too."
We briefly (very briefly) considered letting Dave and Mardie, my brother and sister-in-law, adopt - they have been trying to have kids for about 10 years. However, I felt this child was our responsibility, and honestly, I was feeling rather outnumbered with the gender balance in my home. Even all of our cats were male. When we did find out it was a girl, I was relieved. Not only for myself, but my grandmother recently fallen and broken her hip and we had been forced to place her in a nursing facility. She had really wanted a great granddaughter, and I was hoping this would give her something to look forward to. When I had an ultrasound, the doctor examining me shook his head and told me elderly people seldom recover from something that serious.
I told Mary she had cursed me. Before it even happened, I complained of some sort of physical annoyance, and she raised her eyebrow and said "Are you pregnant again?" Darn her anyway - I was starting to get a reputation. She denied everything, of course, laughed at me, and wished me good luck finding maternity clothes.
Other people were less approving to start with. I overheard my father talking on the phone with my brother Doug- the gist of the conversation was, why on earth are they having another one, how are they going to afford it, doesn't John have asthma, can't that be passed on? etc. My dear father is about as quiet on the phone as bull elk, and about as tactful. I stuck my head in the door of his den and told him maybe he ought to lower his voice when he's on the phone, and then went my room and bawled. When I next saw my brother, when we went to visit my grandmother next, he apologized and gave me a nice card - he was just very concerned, and of course he loved us and knew we were doing the right thing. I don't know if we were, but we were going to try and make the best of it. My grandmother was thrilled, especially when I gave her a sonogram of the baby.
Since her brothers had been microscopic invertebrates, we dubbed her Copepod, one of my favorite little plankton residents. I was a little disappointed she didn't get to go on a research cruise before being born, like her brothers had. One good thing about being pregnant was getting out of mixing up formalin solution for the squid samples - I wish we could get rid of that stuff.
One thing I could not get rid of was Connie. This woman was coming by my cubicle almost on a daily basis and beginning to drive me nuts. She would ask me the same questions day after day after day. Is it a boy or a girl, when is it due, how far along are you now, do you have a name picked out? I finally made up a sign and posted it outside my office:
Copepod's FAQ:
- I am a girl.
- I am due August 15.
- I don't have a name yet - you can call me Copepod.
- Please be patient with Mom; she's irritable and most likely has heartburn.
I was going through one of those giant bottles of Tums about every month. Every afternoon I would get awful heartburn. I should've bought stock in the company, but at least I knew the baby and I were getting plenty of calcium. I joined a pregnancy thread on the now defunct ChickClick.com; it was actually started by my friend vwsrmylife- it was really comforting bitching about all of our aches and pains with other people in the same condition. Quite a few people on my present friends list, I originally knew from that thread.
By the way, another weird thing about being pregnant. John said it was one of the ways he knew. Your body odor changes. It wasn't unpleasant, but it always reminded me of food for some reason. John also said I smelled different with Avalon than with the boys.
We decided to take care of preventing any more oopses before Copepod actually arrived. John was quite gallant and took care of it on his end, but wow. This man is a baby when he has a cold. If I'd known I would have had it done myself, even though the procedure is more invasive. Sheesh.
With Angus, quite a few people didn't even know I was pregnant. With Copepod, though, there was no disguising it. I was massive, a whale. When I looked at myself sideways in the restroom mirror, I was amazed I could get through the door.
I worked up until my due date, and a little past it. I was a bit worried I was going to go into labor at work, but I didn't want to take off work and then use up a large part of my maternity leave just waiting. My coworkers joked that they could just throw me on the metal table in the wetlab. Ha, ha. As it turned out, I drove home on a Friday afternoon, and had to sit down because of painful crampy feelings. I reasoned that they couldn't be labor pains because none of them lasted the same length of time, and they were very sporadic; there was sometimes a gap of an hour or more between them, and sometimes I'd get one after fifteen minutes. I was sitting in a chair in my bedroom, and Gareth, although he wasn't talking very much, patted my tummy and said emphatically, "Ball."
"No, that's your little sister."
"No, ball."
Later that evening, we'd gotten the kids to bed and gone to bed ourselves. I woke up about 1 AM, and found that suddenly the pains had sorted themselves out and were now fairly regular. They were about five minutes apart.
I woke up John and told him I thought we'd better get to the hospital. We woke Dad and told him we were going, then called John's mom to come pick up the boys in the morning. We had to go to a different hospital this time because my medical group had moved, but luckily it was actually closer. Since it was after hours, we had to go in the by way of the emergency room. As I was filling out the form, I grimaced, and the nurse asked me "Are you actually in labor?" I nodded and they brought a wheelchair for me almost immediately.
Angus took about 8 hours. Gareth, about 3.5. This time, we were still filling out forms in the delivery room, when John asked a question, I don't recall exactly what (I was a bit distracted - oooh), but the nurse replied, "Honey, we'll be lucky if we get her checked in before she has the baby." Soon after, my water broke and it was as if someone dropped a giant water balloon where I was sitting. It was a lucky thing no one was standing right in front of me; they would have gotten soaked. They had called the doctor and the anesthesiologist already, however, by the time the latter doctor arrived, I was told, "Sorry, it's too late!"
After I picked my jaw back up off the floor, the nurses reassured me they'd help me through the whole thing. Wow. I still can't believe it. Natural childbirth, whether I wanted it or not. The doctor, again somebody I'd never met before, arrived. He didn't have to be there very long. At one point, I started panting and the nurses told me to slow down or I was going to pass out. Ow, ow, ow. But it wasn't unbearable, I suppose. One good thing is that I was able to actually get up and hobble to the bathroom afterward (they're pretty insistent about that - I guess they want to make sure all the plumbing still works right), whereas the previous two times my legs had just been immovable slabs of flesh for several hours.
This time it was over quickly. She was born 45 minutes after we got the hospital. Another reason for not having another is that I would wind up having it delivered by a policeman at the side of the road - I'd never make it to the hospital.
John had picked her name out this time. He liked Avalon Marie, but that's also my middle name. She was already going to have my last name, so we decided on Avalon Lee, Lee being my mother's middle name as well. So we were ready for the Social Security form lady this time, ha-ha.
At this hospital, John was allowed to stay as long as he wanted, so he actually spent the night in the other bed a couple of times. The boys were with his mother, so there was really no rush for him to go home. Avalon was so sleepy for most of that first day, it was difficult to wake her up to try and eat - even the lactation specialist was a bit frustrated with her. However, we eventually got off on the right foot.
The next six weeks went by in that aforementioned haze. One evening I got a call from my grandmother's nursing home, saying she was probably going to go soon. I was horrified to think we hadn't been to show her new great granddaughter, and went to see her the next day. By this time, she was unable to talk or move much on her own. I sat there at her bedside, and talked to her while feeding Avalon. When Avalon was done, I brought her to the bedside, and set her down near her great-grandmother's shoulder. Grandma had been vacantly staring off into space for most of this time, but when Avalon started rooting around near her shoulder, it caught her attention. She looked down by her side with a look of amazement on her face, then looked at me and smiled as much as she was able. She had turned 100 the previous April. She passed away three weeks later - Avalon came along with us to her funeral.
So far, almost every phase I go through with Avalon brings its own bittersweet feeling. Enjoy this, because it's the last time you're going through it. The ending of her sleeping in bed with us, when she lost interest in nursing, and when she started becoming her own little independent person - more of herself and less a part of me, which are all as it should be, but touched with a little sadness nevertheless (more about that here). When she stops crawling in bed with us at 3 am, part of me will be glad to have my own bed to myself so my shoulder isn't cramping up from giving her space, but I'll miss cuddling with her too. For all my initial misgivings, I'm wouldn't have missed out on her for all the solar system (and who wants that anyway - where would you put it? I don't have enough cupboard space for my junk as it is!). Or her brothers, either, of course.
I won't miss diapers though - only one more to go!
Angus has graduated from my little Michelin Man, so round he had creases on his arms and legs, into a skinny, sarcastic 5-year-old, about halfway through kindergarten. Gareth, my gentle one, is outgoing and talkative, he's been dubbed "Mr. Chatty" by one of my friends at work, and he's quite fond of starting wrestling matches with his siblings. He and Angus are best buds and they both think sister is icky. Gareth especially has a few jealousy issues; whenever we hear Avalon suddenly start crying, often it's because he shoved her, and covers it by saying, "She fell down and hurt herself." Avalon does her best to torture her brothers in as many ways as possible. She can say "Bebop" (as in "Cowboy..."), but not her brother's names yet, and has the manipulative cute act down pat. She is empathetic toward them though; if one of them gets hurt, she is always the first to give them a "feel better" pat or hug. Grandpa has adjusted to being a grandpa, and he has changed a diaper or two, but only under extreme duress; he still hides out in the den most evenings, but often one of his grandchildren is sitting in his lap, watching something about dinosaurs with him. Grandma has adapted to being called Grandma, and often takes Angus camping or spending the night at her house (Gareth is welcome to, but just doesn't want to stay there for the night).
And so we go on. The adjusting never stops. Once we get used to something it changes and we have to adjust again. But, except for the poopy diapers, and the vomiting and the fish stick that got dropped behind the couch and not found until several months later, it's fun for the most part.
Oh, let's not forget kindergarten teachers. Another fun thing. I'm sure you'll be hearing more about that in the future.
Children are an inconvenience. But what a wonderful inconvenience.
- Dr. William Sears
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*I've since concluded that if I contract any sort of condition that requires me to take daily meds, I'm resigned to just dying. I simply can't remember.