He thinks he's pretty good-looking too.

Two weeks into this whole parenting gig and I’m just now starting to feel like maybe I’ve got a handle on taking care of myself and the baby.  I say this fully aware, however, that Aidan could decide to change everything on me and leave me in the dust.

It’s true what they say about newborns: every day really is different.  For example, on Tuesday Aidan decided to boycott sleeping during the day.  He just wouldn’t do it.  His eyelids were heavy, and he was fussy, but just when he was starting to drift off he’d snap his eyes back open and start wailing.

I freaked out, thinking that he wasn’t getting enough sleep and that I’d never get any sleep again ever if he continued to do that during the night, when he snapped himself out of it.  That night he slept great, waking up every three hours like clockwork to eat and then fall back asleep, and the next day he took great naps.

For another example, he changes his preferences for being soothed back to sleep.  One night he’ll be wild about laying upright against my chest under all the covers after he eats, but the next night he’ll fuss like crazy if I try to do that and I’ll have to find another way to get him to sleep.

In every way, however, he is a gem of a baby.  He’s so alert when he’s awake, big bright eyes just looking around and soaking everything in.  He has a million facial expressions, and flashes through his inventory within seconds.  He’s fascinating to watch, if only so you can catch a fleeting little gas smile.

I love watching him eat, because he stares up at me while he nurses and throws me little smiles or an occasional scrunched up nose.  If he’s unswaddled, he’ll hold my hand for ages.  He has the longest fingers, and he’s so strong!  He can already hold his head up and swivel his neck around, and if he hold his hands he can pull himself up if he gets mad enough.

He loves being sung to and danced with, hates diaper changes, loves looking at the red Mario mushroom above his changing table, and hates being hungry.  He’s a huge fan of everyone he meets, and will let anyone hold him.  He’s completely amazing in every way, really, and no, I’m not just saying that because I’m his mom.

So yes.  Newborns.  Crazy ton of work, but dang it if seeing that sweet little face smiling at me in the middle of the night doesn’t always have the ability to make me smile back.

What the statistics fail to relay, however, is that there is a productivity black hole that comes gratis with each newborn.  Time, which seems to limp by when you’re pregnant, suddenly becomes fluid.  An hour will slip by completely unnoticed by you while you’re trying to nap, but then you’ll glare at the clock for saying a mere five minutes have passed when you’re trying to get your baby back to sleep at 4 in the morning.

For example, my birth story.  It was long, but I type fast and those two posts would ordinarily have taken me maybe an hour tops to write and edit.  With a baby, however, they took me almost a week.  I would just sit down to work on them when Aidan would decide he’d had enough of napping/looking around/listening to music.

We have a doctor appointment for the little guy in just a few minutes, but I just wanted to pop by and say that life is slowly starting to resemble normalcy.  As much normalcy as a life revolving around boobs and diapers can contain, that is.  I’m optimistic that I’ll post again soon, but for now I’ll leave you with one little gem from new motherhood:

Did you know that a newborn boy can pee one foot into the air no problem?  Like geysers, they are!

I walked into the birth center and, before I could even greet one of my midwives at the front desk a contraction started and I just gripped the front desk and said “OW” until it passed.  I remember feeling slightly self-conscious doing so, like I was a great big faker.  I don’t know why.

This is the room my son was born in!

We shuffled quickly back to the birthing suite I picked out a few weeks ago, where an internal exam revealed I was 3 cm dilated and 95% effaced.  This was at 9 AM.  My midwives assured me I was doing great, and just starting active labor, and to call if I needed anything.

This was one thing I loved about giving birth at the birth center: they didn’t hover.  A watched pot never boils and all that.

My mother in law arrived at 9:30 AM, bearing bagel sandwiches and good cheer, and we all settled in for what we were sure was going to be a long day and night.  I was able to eat about half my bagel sandwich between contractions, and tried a few positions before I realized pacing in between contractions and then leaning over and bracing my hands on something during was the only way to get through them.

My contractions at this point were intense, and had very little warm-up time, and if I were lying down or sitting when one hit I was unable to assume a comfortable pose before it was on in force.  This ruled out lying down or sitting in between contractions (I was scared of the contractions only when I couldn’t get into a position to handle them, you see) so I paced.

My midwife checked in on me at around 10 AM (I think.  There was a clock in the room but I turned it around because I didn’t want to know what time it was) and I asked her when it would be ok to go in the birthing tub.  She told me to hold off until I felt like I couldn’t handle the pain without it.  She also suggested I start squatting during contractions to widen my pelvis, which I did.

I would hold onto the post of the bed in a deep squat, and rock back and forth to Radiohead’s “Hail to the Thief” while Wes applied counterpressure on my back.  Heaven help him if he was on the other side of the room when a contraction hit!

Half an hour later, I announced, “I need to get in the tub”.  My contractions were now two minutes apart, lasting a minute each, and they’d grown fangs.  There was no question, no uncertainty.  I needed the tub.

I slipped in and instantly knew that every person who touted it as a “liquid epidural” was full of crap.  The warm water felt lovely in between contractions, and made it easier to relax without pacing and burning off energy, but did nothing to make the contractions themselves less painful.

I went through the entirety of active labor and transition in that tub in about an hour and a half.  There came a point where the contractions hurt so deeply, and exquisitely, that I started saying “No no no I can’t” during them.  Wes recalls this being the case for two contractions.  By far, these hurt the most.  Saying “No” to them, fighting them, made them hurt more.

I decided to try saying “Yes” instead, and that was the turning point in my labor.  I welcomed each contraction with a loud “YES” and “LET’S GO AIDAN” and turned each one into an opportunity for me to be a cheerleader for my body and my baby.  Sounds ridiculous, but this is the approach that got me through natural childbirth.  I was so loud I had no voice for two days afterward.

Eventually I could no longer bear to have Wes touching my back during contractions and I felt really nauseous.  In the back of my mind, I knew this meant I was likely in transition (going from 8-10 cm dilated) but in my state of mind at the time words like “transition” and “dilation” meant less than nothing.

After who knows how many contractions, I started feeling a ton of downward pressure with each contraction, almost like I was pushing involuntarily.  My midwife decided to check me, and while she was still checking my cervix another contraction came barreling toward me.  I yelled, “F***, get out!” and scrambled back into an on-all-fours position.

Once the contraction subsided, she told me she thought I was complete (meaning fully dilated) and ready to start pushing.  There were two student midwives in the room, as well as my very experienced midwife.  All of them sitting patiently at the side of the tub.

I found it most comfortable to drape myself over the side of the tub between contractions, resting my head and arms over the side while catching brief bits of sleep until another contraction would wake me up.  Wes had a bowl full of ice water and a washcloth, which he would use to cool my forehead and I remember this feeling incredible.

My midwives gave me the go-ahead to start pushing, and this felt incredible as well.  The pushing contractions confused the heck out of me, though.  They were different than the other contractions.  Some of them had multiple peaks, others had just one, and I remember finding it hard to figure out when to push because I was unsure of where the peak of the contraction was.

There was so much pressure, you see, that it was nigh impossible to discern what was pressure from Aidan’s head and what was pressure from a contraction.  My midwife handed Wes a mirror, to see if he could see the head descending, but I was moving too much to make this feasible.

I ended up pushing for 45 minutes, but I had absolutely no understanding of time.  I said a few choice phrases, such as, “Are you sure he’ll fit?” and “This will be our only child!”

My midwife started announcing numbers, like 4 cm and then 7 cm.  Wes later informed me that this was the circumference of his head that she could see, but I thought at the time that these numbers indicated how far down he still had to go and I remember being furious that the numbers kept getting bigger.

I stalled out on progress at one point, and when I reached down to feel his head I told them it felt pokey.  My midwife checked and discovered there was a little bit of amniotic sac slowing things down, so she popped it and things went quickly after that.

I started feeling the burn.  The undeniable, there’s-a-head-stretching-me-out burn, and I knew I was close.  I was terrified of that stretch, but I was determined to meet this baby.  They checked his heartbeat and it was slow.  I asked my midwife if he was doing ok and she said he needed to come out soon.

I marshaled every ounce of strength, determination, and stubbornness I could and really got to work.  If I was pushing before, now I was pushing, and within two pushes his head was out.  I could barely catch my breath with his head out before another almighty contraction came and before I knew it the rest of him came tumbling out.

I reached down and picked up my son, noting first his head full of black hair and noting second his beautiful face.  I felt amazing, I was high as a kite on endorphins and my son was out and blinking at me with the most serene expression on his face.

Unfortunately for me, this moment lasted very briefly because I was bleeding profusely and my midwives needed to attend to that.  I handed Aidan to Wes, then got fixed up.  We later found out that Aidan came out with his hand up by his face, thus making his head far too large to pass through without a lot of damage.

My skilled midwives got my bleeding under control, and then I got to try feeding Aidan for the first time.  I’m blessed with a son who loves to eat and has a perfect natural latch, so this experience went well.

I loved every minute of natural childbirth.  For sure it hurt, but it was such a constructive pain that it was good in a way.  I swore and said the F*** word a lot, but I spent far more time cheering my son into the world.  My midwives said it was a really fun birth, and continue to be amused by the things I said.

I’ll never judge anyone for choosing to birth their child differently, but bringing Aidan into the world without drugs was absolutely the best decision we could have made.  Here’s hoping our next child leaves his/her hands down on the way out though!

He thinks it's funny that it's taken me this long to write his birth story.

My son is one week old today, and in honor of this milestone I thought I’d jot down my recollections of the day he entered the world.  This account is a complication of things I remember and things I’ve since been told happened but that I could not directly recall.  You’ve been forewarned: This is going to be a long tale.

If you’ll remember, I went in for acupuncture two days before my due date (Monday).  The day after my acupuncture appointment, I’d had contractions off and on all day but they were nothing remarkable.  Wes brought home Chinese food Tuesday night, and while we were eating it I started having contractions every 10 minutes or so, lasting about  a minute each.

I kept them to myself, because they weren’t increasing in intensity, and by the time we went to bed they’d stopped.  I went to sleep consigned to the fact that I’d be going to my prenatal appointment the next day.

At 3:30 or so Wednesday morning (my exact due date) I was woken up by a contraction.  Nothing too painful per se, but enough to get my attention.  Contractions continued about eight minutes apart for the next hour, and I laid in bed and tried not to get too excited.  The contractions hurt, but not enough to make me think I might be in labor and I certainly didn’t want to wake Wes up for nothing.

Then, at 4:45 AM, the party got started.  And I do mean started.  Two very painful contractions, one right after another, about five minutes apart.  After the second one hit, I got a little scared and decided that, false labor or not, I needed Wes to support me.

I woke him up and he was great, rubbing my back and telling me I was doing well.  I commanded him not to get too excited, and assured him it was probably false labor, and he nodded and agreed while mentally getting a list together of all the stuff that needed to happen before we went to the birth center.

We moved our little labor party down to the family room at about 5 AM, because laying down in bed during contractions just didn’t feel quite right.  Wes put on the mix of soothing classical music he’d picked out for me, I lit some candles, and I just sat there and breathed through contractions for the next hour while Wes timed them.

Now, here’s the weird thing.  My contractions started off exactly three minutes apart (that’s three minutes from start to start) and lasted 45 seconds to one minute long, right from the beginning.  This is indicative of active labor more than early labor, and Wes started getting antsy when my contractions kept increasing in intensity and weren’t slowing down.

He called my midwife at 6 AM, and she assured him everything sounded great but not to come into the birth center until I felt like I could no longer manage my pain on my own.

At this point, I was still not convinced I was in labor.  My contractions felt like surges, and I used a visualization of boogie boarding to imagine myself rising up with each contraction and then relaxing as it subsided.  It must be noted here that at this point Wes was not allowed to be further than one foot away from me, and I refused to turn on any lights in the house.

About an hour later (time really does cease to exist when you’re in labor, as you’ll soon see), sitting down during contractions no longer felt right so I started pacing.  This is where labor went from manageable with breathing to demanding all my focus and concentration.

As each contraction warmed up, I felt immense downward pressure on my cervix and I would need to bend over and hold onto something (the arm of the couch, a stair railing post, the edge of the bed, etc.) and move my hips while the contraction raced through me.  They were speeding up, and getting more painful, and it was at this point I started vocalizing during each contraction.

I believe my ever-eloquent choice of words during each contraction was a forcefully uttered “OW“.

My water broke at around 7:30 AM (for all you pregnant ladies afraid if you won’t know when your water breaks…trust me, you’ll know), and Wes called the midwife to let her know that everything looked fine and there was no meconium in the fluid.  She said my contractions would probably pick up and to keep her in the loop.

My denial finally broken, I started giving Wes projects to do while I paced and focused during my contractions.  I really liked labor at the point, because while the contractions hurt, I loved feeling their intensity, knowing that each one was doing its job and bringing me closer to my baby.

At 8:15 AM, I told Wes we needed to get going to the birth center, that the contractions were too strong for me to handle in the car and that if they got any stronger I would, and I quote, “Tear the car apart like a rabid mongoose.”

We alerted my midwife, called family members to inform them that the baby was definitely on his way, and spent 20 minutes trying to get everything into the car.  We listened to Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” in the car, but it wasn’t doing anything for me so Wes put in Radiohead’s “Hail to the Thief” and that hit the spot.

I suffered through five contractions in the car, and then, finally, we were at the birth center.

To be continued…

Life is going very well over here, but man sakes alive they’re not kidding (’they’ being the faceless multitudes of the women who have come before me) when they say that caring for a newborn is hard.  You survive childbirth, which is in and of itself the kind of thing you’d like to rest from for a week, and then you rush headlong into meeting the needs of a tiny, inscrutible little person.

Your body is sore, if you’re unlucky (like me) you have stitches in unmentionable places that hurt like a son-of-a-gun, your boobs are going haywire, you’re covered in fluids, and to top it all off you sleep in hour-long stretches if you’re lucky.  Your schedule is annihilated, your house is probably a mess, and then hormones kick in and suddenly you’re weeping because your husband brought you a glass of juice.

Seriously, does this not sound like all kinds of fun?

The reason I’m writing all of this is so I remember.  Everyone always says it’s hard, but I never really knew what that meant and I want to remember what this felt like.

I also want to remember the first time my milk came in, and how proud I felt of myself and my body when I saw him get full and content.  I want to remember how incredible it felt to give birth, how amazed I was the first time I saw my son, and how when we got home and put him in the bassinet for the first time I sat there thinking, “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do next.”

I will fully admit to struggling a lot with new motherhood.  It’s exhausting anyway, but I’m also dealing with painful stitches that make everything more difficult.

The only thing that keeps me going is the support of Wes and our family.  Wes has kept the house running, tirelessly doing the dishes, greeting visitors,  bringing me food, changing the baby.  Wes’ mother, who should be a candidate for sainthood, has done everything for us under the sun.

She comes over every day, encouraging and supporting me.  She answers my questions, brings over supplies, makes us meals, changes diapers, draws me baths, and is generally just the epitome of the perfect helper.  It would be impossible to overstate how absolutely crucial she has been to getting us through this time.

So yes, my birth story is coming, as are posts about how awesome motherhood is, but for now I’m just going to be honest about my life as it stands.  Where it’s got tough spots, funny spots, bewildering spots, and falling-asleep-in-the-bathtub spots.

I must confess I crave your indulgence, dear readers, for committing that most egregious of mommy blog sins: I went into labor and had a baby and didn’t even have the decency to tell you about it!  In my defense, I did update Twitter and Facebook, but that would only have done you good if you follow me there.

Dudes.  I seriously cannot believe the past few days.  I will definitely post a detailed birth story soon, but the short story to wet your whistle is that I went into labor shortly before 5 AM on Wednesday, arrived to the birth center at 9 AM, and was pushing at noon.  A very fast labor, so I hope you’ll understand why I didn’t have time to update my blog!

I actually thought about writing a quick post before we left for the birth center, but with strong contractions every three minutes it was fairly impossible.  But enough about me…How about this precious baby?

Oh, you guys, if I had any idea how cute he was I would have been even more impatient!  He is the very definition of a handsome boy, and he gives me the most adorable gas smiles in the wee hours of the morning that completely excuse me having to be awake.

His name is Aidan (his middle name is a family name, but due to the highly public nature of this here blog I’m keeping that name to myself for identity theft reasons) and he was born on Wednesday.  He weighed 7 lbs. 3 oz. and was not so very tall at all (though he does have a very long torso!).

Such beautiful dark brown hair!  Such dark blue eyes!  The most puckered up precious little mouth!  I’m completely in love, and Wes can barely bring himself to put him down either.  Aidan’s a very alert boy, and he’s a champion nurser with the strongest suck this side of a black hole.  My goodness, this boy was born to eat!

So, please welcome our little Aidan to the world.  I think you’ll agree his preciousness was entirely too consuming to afford me time to write until now.  I have faith that as soon as I can master the stairs again (hi, stitches!) I’ll be writing ad nauseum about the minutiae of life with a newborn.  Until then, the most precious picture ever, brought to you by the hour of midnight.

She recommended the following:

• Sex.  She actually said “Sex, twice a day” and then waited patiently while I laughed myself into an asthma attack.
• Evening primrose oil (Softens the cervix)
• Acupuncture (An informal observation of patients has shown that it shortens labor time and makes early labor go quicker)

I took diligent mental notes and resolved to make these things happen, as much as is possible anyway.  A quick trip to a local natural foods market yielded a bottle of evening primose oil caplets, and yesterday was my very first experience with acupuncture.

If I’m being entirely honest, I was skeptical when my midwife recommended acupuncture.  I grew up surrounded by Eastern medicine and philosophies (my Mom’s a big believer) but had little direct experience with the stuff.  I relegated the suggestion to the back of my mind as a last resort.

Yesterday, after a furious bout of nesting cleaning frenzy, I figured acupuncture was worth a shot.  If mopping the floor, dusting, sweeping, and vacuuming hadn’t sent me into labor, then why not give tiny little needles a try?

The acupuncturist was a teeny tiny little Italian man who’s been practicing acupuncture for 22 years.  He very quickly and with great panache inserted maybe a dozen or so tiny needles into my feet, lower back, and right hand, then left me to relax for twenty minutes.

It actually wasn’t as scary as I thought it was going to be.  The needles pinched a tad when they went in, but after they were in I didn’t even notice them.  After my twenty minutes was up, the needles were out and off I went.

I had two excellent contractions in the car, and the rest of the evening was spent reveling in some strong, though irregular, contractions which petered out by bedtime.  I was honestly surprised that the acupuncture yielded such strong contractions so quickly.  They were different from the other contractions I’ve felt, and even though it was false labor and nothing to get excited about, it was still pretty cool.

My research on the subject indicates that it usually takes two treatments to really get labor going, so if I’m not on the road to baby by Thursday I’ll probably go back in for a follow up treatment.  I always think it’s cool when you try something that you’re not sure about and it surprises you by working.  My horizons, they have been expanded.

An interesting side note: After all my sweeping, vacuuming, and mopping, my back was killing me.  The acupuncturist told me that a peripheral benefit of the treatment he was doing to induce labor was that it would help with back pain.  Wouldn’t you know it, but my back felt great afterward?

We’ll see if any of the methods recommended to me by my midwife will result in Squishy’s arrival soon, but I feel very confident knowing that I’ve done everything I can to be ready.  I have an appointment with my midwife tomorrow, we’ll see if she has any other ideas then!

I go to bed every night wondering if this will be the night I wake up with contractions, and wake up disappointed every morning when I feel great and non-contracting and full of energy.  Squishy is oblivious, naturally.  He’s still wiggling and stretching and getting hiccups and generally not worrying a bit about coming out.  We tried enticing him with cookies.  It didn’t work.

The only silver lining has been the weather, which, seeing as how it’s been sunny and mild all week, has made getting outside for walks easier.  I just wish I felt like the walks were accomplishing something.  Other than getting me exercise and fresh air, that is.

Can’t you just feel the anxiety in this post, nigh smell the angst?  It’s a really strange day when you sit there thinking, “Man, I would just really love a huge contraction right about now.”  I almost don’t even want to post this, because it really is nothing but whining and being boring and blah.

But, post it I will, because I literally have nothing else to talk about and wouldn’t want people getting the wrong idea and thinking we’re having a baby soon or anything.  Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go eat some pineapple sprinkled with basil and oregano, shortly followed by bouncing on an exercise ball while pressing on acupressure points and slamming shots of blue and black cohosh.

The above sentence was all lies.  I’m not planning to do any of these things.  These are just some of the natural induction methods I’ve read about recently.

Physically, I’m doing great.  I have more energy now that it’s my job to rest (go figure) and I’m taking at least one walk a day in an effort to get labor started.  It’s working more or less, I suppose.  I’ve had a whole bunch of contractions this week, though with no pattern or discernible increase in intensity.

The baby’s head is still exceedingly low, and I’m starting to really feel this in the bones of my pelvis.  I’ve become inured to the pressure on the soft tissues of my pelvis, but my bones starting aching this week from what I can only assume is the constant pressure of a giant baby skull.

My midwife checked me out this week and she still says everything looks great.  I’m dilated to 1 cm, but that really doesn’t mean much because some people walk around for weeks dilated to 3 cm and still nothing happens.  My blood pressure is completely normal, I still have no swelling anywhere, and the baby sounds hearty and healthy.

We’re in all-systems-go, any-day-now territory, and we’re all just being held subject to the whims of a 7 lb (give or take a few ounces) baby boy.

Wes finalized the music for the birth this week, and that was a huge accomplishment.  He’s made three CD’s of pretty and serene classical music for me to listen to during early labor, when the contractions aren’t too intense and the most important thing for me to do is relax.

He also made two CD’s featuring my favorite repetitive and rhythmic song selections from a variety of different rock musicians.  These CD’s will be for active labor, when my brain will be consumed with dealing with the contractions but I’ll need a good strong rhythm to get me through them.

We’ll see if I end up liking the music we’ve picked out.  I’ve never been in labor before, so I’m unsure what I’ll want.  Still, it’ll be nice to have these around in case I do need them.

The one exciting thing that happened this week, but it turned out to be not very exciting at all, is that I thought my water broke.  But it didn’t.  Truly the last weeks of pregnancy are nonstop mystery, friends.  With strange aches, sensations, pains, and fluids, I think that if you’re not confused at least half the time when you’re in the final weeks, you probably aren’t paying attention.

Had a lovely visit with my midwife yesterday, wherein she did not tell me what I wanted to hear.  I know it was completely foolish to walk in there expecting her to take one look at me and proclaim that the baby would surely be here within 24 hours.  But still, that was what I wanted her to say.

Instead, she said what I always hear at these appointments, which is, “Everything looks great.  I’ll see you next week if not sooner!”

*sigh* Pregnancy is super special awesome fun and all, but wouldn’t a baby be even more fun?  That’s what I keep telling the baby.  I describe all the wonderful things we have for him out here, like hugs and fuzzy blankets and FOOD, but he’s comfy all hanging upside down in there like a bat, and there’s nothing I can say to persuade him to leave before he’s good and ready.

So I guess I’ll take my healthy full-term baby with his chubby cheeks and mature lungs and stop whining about it, shall I?

Despite appearances to the contrary, I’m actually really enjoying my maternity leave.  I had wondered if I’d succumb to boredom and regret my decision to stay home for a week before my due date, but it’s actually been a great decision.  My ability to sleep at night is deteriorating more every night, which makes afternoon naps imperative and sometimes evening naps too.

Additionally, I’ve had the chance to catch up on projects that have nothing to do with the baby but that need attention regardless.  There’s also this lovely thing called the sun that’s been shining outside lately, and I’ve gotten out to take walks around the neighborhood at least once every day this week.

I’m able to cook dinners for Wes (my man loves coming home to a cooked dinner!), keep the house clean, and get the laundry folded in a timely manner.  So far, being home has been awesome.  I’ve also noticed that I’m eating less at home than I made a habit of doing while working full time.  I wonder if this will make losing the baby weight easier…

Other than how much I’m enjoying being home (I can just see all you working people out there furrowing your brows and shaking your fists at me) I have little to say.  When you’re hanging out at home waiting for your baby to come, your world kind of shrinks a little.

I’m sure I’ll look back on this time and remember it going by in a blur.  I’ll remember with longing the afternoon naps and leisurely walks.  For now, though, living the memory as it were, time is inching by.  It’s the most pleasant kind of inertia.