Now that we actually have Wombat in our arms, I think it's important to address something people may think: our loss is forgotten because we have a baby. In fact, after losing Moose, I was told to "just have another baby," to "get over it."
Did that happen?
NO
Of course having a baby doesn't make up for our loss. A piece of my heart died. I can still feel that hole right where it's always been and will always be.
In fact, I miss Moose every day, but now I know what I missed with Moose. Before, it was unknown. I didn't know what being a mother was like and how it'd make me feel. It was losing our child, which filled me with a rage I cannot even explain, but I didn't understand being a mom. Now that I do, it's, well, it's still beyond my words.
I sometimes daydream of holding Moose. Wondering even more if Moose was a boy or girl. What Moose would've grown up to be. All those things moms wonder about their kids, I wonder about with Moose. I never did that before. I just wanted our baby.
I know I'll never "get over" Moose. Moose isn't some ex-boyfriend; Moose is my child and will always be my child. All I can do is live, love Moose and Wombat, know that sometimes people say really stupid things, and be the best mother (to both my kids) I can possibly be.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Monday, November 7, 2011
Reusable What?
I'm about to share something that makes most people think I'm insane. Honestly, I thought it was overboard when I first saw them on Etsy. Then, I read. It used things I already had in the house, so it'd be free. I mean, there'd be the initial time to make it, but, after that, free. How could I not try it?
So I tried it...and I LOVE it.
So I had my husband try it and he LOVES it.
What is this magical discovery?...reusable wipes.
Yes, we reuse wipes in my house. Now, I know what you're thinking: GROSS, you use those to clean pooey, baby butts!
Yes, they clean pooey, baby butts, but seriously, they're awesome.
As for how to apply the solution to the wipe, there's different ways of doing that too. Some people put the solution and wipes in an old disposal wipe box or some other box and pull them out like regular wipes. We use the squirter and my husband and I squirt the wipe differently too. I go for a little all over; he squirts a lot in the middle with the edges for drying.
The wipes we use are old flannel sheets that didn't fit any beds. To make them, I folded the sheet in two, measured 8" from the edge and pinned at the 8" mark all across the sheet, and cut under the pins.
Once I had a really long 8" piece of flannel, I measured 8" from the side and pinned, again cutting after the pins.
You're going to end up with 8" squares of flannel that's double-sided.
Now, you sew. I used this time to practice my sewing and use the different settings on my sewing machine. Remember, they don't have to be pretty; they're cleaning poo. Mine are dark blue, striped flannel with hot pink thread. I didn't flip the seem inside, so there was a lot of threads for a while when we did laundry. I made some more with the seem on the inside, but I don't like them as much. However, I like them more than disposable wipes.
As for cleaning, they clean the messiest poos with one wipe. Since we started using them 2 months ago, I can count on one hand the times I've used two wipes. Really, I can only think of one time. It's so nice not fighting with the wipe box when I trying to get Wombat clean.
The other benefits pretty much speak for themselves: less or no chemicals, no running out of wipes, cost savings, and ease of washing them. You can read up about chemicals in wipes. Honestly, I didn't even think about it when deciding to do reusable wipes. I did it for the cost savings, which I read is about $440 a year. Washing them is so simple. They're never so dirty that we have to rinse them out. We just throw them into the wash and they come out perfectly clean.
Oh, and if you're wondering about how we pack them in the diaper bag, it's super easy. We have a diaper pad that has a pockets. I fold each wipe into fours so I can pull out one wipe at a time. Our diaper bag also has a bottle holder which I use to hold the squirt bottle. Simple.
If you have any questions, post them in the comments.
So I tried it...and I LOVE it.
So I had my husband try it and he LOVES it.
What is this magical discovery?...reusable wipes.
Yes, we reuse wipes in my house. Now, I know what you're thinking: GROSS, you use those to clean pooey, baby butts!
Yes, they clean pooey, baby butts, but seriously, they're awesome.
- The solution uses things most parents already have: baby wash, baby oil, water, and a spray bottle (you know, your best friend if you had a vaginal birth?)
- The wipes are two pieces of 8" flannel sewn together or you can buy them
- They clean even the biggest pooey messes with one wipe
- Less or no chemicals depending on what you use
- No running out of wipes
- Cost savings
- If you're already using cloth diapers, why not wash wipes? However, you could do wipes even using disposables. It's very easy.
As for how to apply the solution to the wipe, there's different ways of doing that too. Some people put the solution and wipes in an old disposal wipe box or some other box and pull them out like regular wipes. We use the squirter and my husband and I squirt the wipe differently too. I go for a little all over; he squirts a lot in the middle with the edges for drying.
The wipes we use are old flannel sheets that didn't fit any beds. To make them, I folded the sheet in two, measured 8" from the edge and pinned at the 8" mark all across the sheet, and cut under the pins.
Imagine this is a decent picture of a sheet, folded in half, and the red marks are stick pins.
Once I had a really long 8" piece of flannel, I measured 8" from the side and pinned, again cutting after the pins.
You're going to end up with 8" squares of flannel that's double-sided.
Now, you sew. I used this time to practice my sewing and use the different settings on my sewing machine. Remember, they don't have to be pretty; they're cleaning poo. Mine are dark blue, striped flannel with hot pink thread. I didn't flip the seem inside, so there was a lot of threads for a while when we did laundry. I made some more with the seem on the inside, but I don't like them as much. However, I like them more than disposable wipes.
As for cleaning, they clean the messiest poos with one wipe. Since we started using them 2 months ago, I can count on one hand the times I've used two wipes. Really, I can only think of one time. It's so nice not fighting with the wipe box when I trying to get Wombat clean.
The other benefits pretty much speak for themselves: less or no chemicals, no running out of wipes, cost savings, and ease of washing them. You can read up about chemicals in wipes. Honestly, I didn't even think about it when deciding to do reusable wipes. I did it for the cost savings, which I read is about $440 a year. Washing them is so simple. They're never so dirty that we have to rinse them out. We just throw them into the wash and they come out perfectly clean.
Oh, and if you're wondering about how we pack them in the diaper bag, it's super easy. We have a diaper pad that has a pockets. I fold each wipe into fours so I can pull out one wipe at a time. Our diaper bag also has a bottle holder which I use to hold the squirt bottle. Simple.
If you have any questions, post them in the comments.
Friday, November 4, 2011
First Words
When I was pregnant with Wombat, I often thought about what my first words to my new baby would be. I wanted them to be special, something written by one of those famous, dead poets. Shakespeare, Wordsworth, you know, those magical word smiths.
Those first words to my child would go on to stand the test of time so that Wombat could always think back to those words for strength. Yeah, it was that important to me. Maybe it was one of those times that the English Major in me really spoke out; maybe every mother does this; I don't know. What I do know is I spent a lot of time thinking about it. Think, think,
From here
Those first words to my child would go on to stand the test of time so that Wombat could always think back to those words for strength. Yeah, it was that important to me. Maybe it was one of those times that the English Major in me really spoke out; maybe every mother does this; I don't know. What I do know is I spent a lot of time thinking about it. Think, think,
From here
Well, one would think I would've learned my lesson from the wedding vows fiasco (I never wrote them and ended up improvising with "I promise to clean more. I promise to fold laundry even at bedtime.") Nope!
When Wombat was born, I never finalized anything. Granted, I don't think I would've remembered it anyway. So what came out?
"You will never doubt that I love you."
Better than my wedding vows. It's a truth that will stand the test of time. Words Wombat can use for strength. And most importantly, words that I think about every day because I must live up to them.
What were your first words to your child? Did you agonize over what you'd say?
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Why the Break?
I want to let you know why there's a long break in my blog posts, especially in that I started this to be open about my pregnancy.
Well, for as it got closer to the time in Wombat's pregnancy when I lost Moose, I distanced myself from the fact I was pregnant. This doesn't mean that I was doing things that a pregnant woman shouldn't do; it just means that I didn't talk about it. I tried not to think about the baby I was carrying and I certainly couldn't write about it. My desire to meet this baby was so great that the only way for me to deal with pregnancy was to not recognize my need to have a living baby. Not to acknowledge how much my heart was hurting. Add on top of that the agony of a pregnancy for any pregnant woman (we all get emotional and cry pretty easy or is that just me?)
Every week, I went in for my ultrasound and twice a week I went for a non-stress test or electronic fetal monitoring. Wombat consistently measured perfectly at every appointment, but it didn't help. I was scared.
Then, something my husband and I didn't see coming happened. It was week 34 in Wombat's pregnancy. We had birth class that night, but I wasn't feeling well and neither was my husband, so I called in sick. When I got home, my husband was feeling even worse, so I cooked dinner. At first, I thought it was an allergic reaction to the prescription meds to help with his poison ivy because aspirin wasn't helping. When he said he wanted to go to the hospital, I thought he was overreacting, yet we went anyway.
He checked in. Told the clerk he was having chest pains. We went back within 10 minutes of getting there. I was more concerned with getting my pregnant self food than him.
Yes, you read that right. I wasn't worried about him simply because he's always healthy. He wasn't.
Blood was drawn, blood pressure taken, the nines. The doctor came in, relaxed and calm. He said that there were five and a half things which he was worried about; the half being the least likely. If it wasn't one of those, we'd go home and meet with a cardiologist another day. They rolled in an EKG, then a giant machine, which we turned down because my husband thought it was overboard. It wasn't.
Well, it was that half thing. The least likely thing. My thirty-something husband had a heart attack. Nitro pills, admission to the hospital, my husband getting pain meds, and "oh, this is the least likely thing to happen, but just in case..." Every time they said least likely, it's what happened. We were transferred to a larger hospital.
My husband in an ambulance, me following behind. We didn't have a big goodbye when they put him in the ambulance. I thought I'd see him at the next hospital before they cathed his heart, but I didn't. My husband demanded I eat before I came to the hospital.
I waited. I called his family. My dearest friend brought me food.
I waited.
waited
waited...tried not to look at the clock.
Told an hour, maybe two.
It was two and half hours later. I began to think something was seriously wrong when a doctor came rushing in. He started explaining things. He drew me a picture that looked like a heart a five-year-old would draw. I don't know what he said really. There was a sound at the door.
there was my husband.
Thinking about it, I can't describe it. It's too much for words. Not even a year into our marriage, I almost lost my husband, the love of my life.
We spent a couple days in the hospital. Him so grumpy that I laugh about it now. The nurses took care of us both, bringing me the most comfortable bed they could find and extra pillows.
So there you go. I needed a break from everything. I needed to wait for our positive, which we got when our beautiful daughter was born at the end of July. With her birth, she brought us a happiness that we needed on so many levels.
Well, for as it got closer to the time in Wombat's pregnancy when I lost Moose, I distanced myself from the fact I was pregnant. This doesn't mean that I was doing things that a pregnant woman shouldn't do; it just means that I didn't talk about it. I tried not to think about the baby I was carrying and I certainly couldn't write about it. My desire to meet this baby was so great that the only way for me to deal with pregnancy was to not recognize my need to have a living baby. Not to acknowledge how much my heart was hurting. Add on top of that the agony of a pregnancy for any pregnant woman (we all get emotional and cry pretty easy or is that just me?)
Every week, I went in for my ultrasound and twice a week I went for a non-stress test or electronic fetal monitoring. Wombat consistently measured perfectly at every appointment, but it didn't help. I was scared.
Then, something my husband and I didn't see coming happened. It was week 34 in Wombat's pregnancy. We had birth class that night, but I wasn't feeling well and neither was my husband, so I called in sick. When I got home, my husband was feeling even worse, so I cooked dinner. At first, I thought it was an allergic reaction to the prescription meds to help with his poison ivy because aspirin wasn't helping. When he said he wanted to go to the hospital, I thought he was overreacting, yet we went anyway.
He checked in. Told the clerk he was having chest pains. We went back within 10 minutes of getting there. I was more concerned with getting my pregnant self food than him.
Yes, you read that right. I wasn't worried about him simply because he's always healthy. He wasn't.
Blood was drawn, blood pressure taken, the nines. The doctor came in, relaxed and calm. He said that there were five and a half things which he was worried about; the half being the least likely. If it wasn't one of those, we'd go home and meet with a cardiologist another day. They rolled in an EKG, then a giant machine, which we turned down because my husband thought it was overboard. It wasn't.
Well, it was that half thing. The least likely thing. My thirty-something husband had a heart attack. Nitro pills, admission to the hospital, my husband getting pain meds, and "oh, this is the least likely thing to happen, but just in case..." Every time they said least likely, it's what happened. We were transferred to a larger hospital.
My husband in an ambulance, me following behind. We didn't have a big goodbye when they put him in the ambulance. I thought I'd see him at the next hospital before they cathed his heart, but I didn't. My husband demanded I eat before I came to the hospital.
I waited. I called his family. My dearest friend brought me food.
I waited.
waited
waited...tried not to look at the clock.
Told an hour, maybe two.
It was two and half hours later. I began to think something was seriously wrong when a doctor came rushing in. He started explaining things. He drew me a picture that looked like a heart a five-year-old would draw. I don't know what he said really. There was a sound at the door.
there was my husband.
Thinking about it, I can't describe it. It's too much for words. Not even a year into our marriage, I almost lost my husband, the love of my life.
We spent a couple days in the hospital. Him so grumpy that I laugh about it now. The nurses took care of us both, bringing me the most comfortable bed they could find and extra pillows.
So there you go. I needed a break from everything. I needed to wait for our positive, which we got when our beautiful daughter was born at the end of July. With her birth, she brought us a happiness that we needed on so many levels.
Eagle Ton
Yes, I know what you're thinking: what is an eagle ton? It's okay. I'm going to tell you, but first, some background. My sister, Pickles, recently moved to Vancouver; we're also super close sisters who talk about everything and just understand each other in that sister kind of way. Obviously, that means I miss her more passionately than just "I miss you, Pickles." I miss her so much that my missing her must be conveyed with emphasis, emphasis only conveyed with
Picture from here.
Yes, conveyed with adult language.
But I'm a mom now and I can't always use that language. Yes, it's going to slip out, but I need to watch my language in order to keep my daughter from running around saying "G-- D---- Mother F---er" like I may have done. Thanks Dad.
Anyway, back to my sister. In Skyping with her while holding Wombat, I can't just come out and say "I miss you a (insert adult word here) ton," so I've decided to just use the word "eagle" for all adult words. Therefor, I miss my sister an eagle ton. If I bang my toe, it's "mother eagle!" When I inevitably get milk in my tubes while pumping, it's "eagle it!"
Picture from here
So there you go. My new favorite word, besides Wombat, is eagle. Monday, October 31, 2011
Halloween
Halloween is my favorite holiday. I think that's important to know because I planned Moose's Halloween costume the summer before Moose was even due (Moose was due in January 2010 and it was summer 2009). Only after I figured out that did I think about my pregnant Halloween costume. I ended up being a kangaroo because I had a joey in my pocket. Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures of it, but I wore it with pride even though we went no where.
So after having Wombat, I wanted her to have the costume that Moose was to wear. The problem was that I needed to sew to make it. So I learned to sew.
That's right. YouTube videos and my sheer desire to make an amazing costume for my little Wombat taught me to kind of sorta sew. While not perfect, let me just tell you that I love this costume.
That's right. She's Slimey the Worm, Oscar the Grouch's pet worm and best friend. Slimey was my favorite Seasame Street character, so it only makes sense that I pay tribute to my love of this worm with an awesome Halloween costume. The hubs and I, of course, dressed up too. He's Oscar and I'm Grungetta. Yes, Grungetta is a Seasame Street character. She's Oscar's girlfriend, so there. Once I get a picture of the three of us, I'll share it. And yes, that picture is the only reason I spent hours working on her costume.
So after having Wombat, I wanted her to have the costume that Moose was to wear. The problem was that I needed to sew to make it. So I learned to sew.
That's right. YouTube videos and my sheer desire to make an amazing costume for my little Wombat taught me to kind of sorta sew. While not perfect, let me just tell you that I love this costume.
That's right. She's Slimey the Worm, Oscar the Grouch's pet worm and best friend. Slimey was my favorite Seasame Street character, so it only makes sense that I pay tribute to my love of this worm with an awesome Halloween costume. The hubs and I, of course, dressed up too. He's Oscar and I'm Grungetta. Yes, Grungetta is a Seasame Street character. She's Oscar's girlfriend, so there. Once I get a picture of the three of us, I'll share it. And yes, that picture is the only reason I spent hours working on her costume.
Wombat's Birth Story
Sorry this took so long. I started writing it the week we got out of the hospital.
It was a dark and stormy night…No, I lied. Actually, it was a beautiful Friday morning. At least that’s what I think. I woke up and starting having contractions right after breakfast, so I did as I’d been trained: lie down and relax, drink water, and walk around if they continued. They continued, but I didn’t want to walk. Instead, we brought out my phone because there’s an app for counting contractions. My husband timed while I dealt with the contractions, which really weren’t awful, just annoying at this point. Everything pointed to Wombat arriving some time Friday or early Saturday.
Since it was Friday, I had to go in for a Non-Stress Test (NST) any way, so my sister and I went to the Birth Place with my husband staying behind so he could work around the house a little more (he nested more than I did). Once at the hospital, I showed the RN my contraction app, which she loved, while she hooked me up. They monitored me for about an hour, it’s only supposed to be 20 minutes, then let me go as my contractions weren’t timing out perfectly. When I was walking out the door, she told me to go home and enjoy my husband…wink wink.
Once home, the contractions really backed off, so we; my sister, husband, and I; finished cleaning the house then went to see Cowboys vs. Aliens because who doesn’t love cowboys fighting aliens AND seeing Daniel Craig? Yummy! Evidently, Wombat enjoys watching Daniel Craig too because I started having more regular contractions during the movie, so we went home and watched Casino Royale, the one with Daniel Craig. The contractions kept getting stronger and closer together. We all thought we were going to the hospital any minute. My husband took a nap; my sister and I stayed up to count the contractions in hopes that we’d go to the hospital soon. We shouldn’t have watched a cheese-tastic, bad romantic comedy because the contractions fell off. I called the night.
The next morning the contractions started again with the same possible false hope of getting stronger and closer together. I was not amused. I wanted to sleep and eat and relax because there’s no way that this was the real thing. I’d had Braxton-Hicks contractions for weeks, everything was false excitement, yet this time it was not a drill. Finally, at 7ish, we were off like a herd of turtles to the hospital.
Contractions and riding in a car do not go together. They, in fact, are mortal enemies.
After a brutal ride on back country roads and a non-bumpy interstate, we arrived at the hospital, changed into our Team Wombat bright green t-shirts, and walked into the hospital. They put us into a triage room, the one I frequented the most during my NSTs, to hook me up to the NST machine (also known as electronic fetal monitoring). It was all familiar to me. However, my husband seemed a little nervous when I think back on it.
Our RN came in to introduce herself, which pleased both my husband and sister as they weren’t happy with the first RN to come in as she immediately started talking about me getting an epidural. Anyway, our RN read our birth plan, took a copy with her, and followed it without question (I love her!)
After being in the triage room for three hours, I was admitted. My RN guided us to our room, which turned out to be the room I wanted. It overlooked a horse field. Once all our stuff was moved to our room, I quickly got in the Jacuzzi tub. Unfortunately, I would not allow anyone to turn on the jets. There, I stayed for a while and yelled at anyone who tried to splash me with water. Once I got out, my husband wanted me to try the birthing ball, but it pretty flat, so I just got into bed. During this whole time, my husband and sister were using an acupressure point on my lower back to ease the pain; my husband easily pushed really hard with one hand while my sister, using her entire body weight, really didn’t push hard enough and I may have yelled at her. Between the two of them pushing on my back, I actually got a bruise which stayed around for several weeks. They laughed about it silently behind my back just as they did when I yelled at one of them. It was their way of getting through this extremely long labor.
So there I laid in bed for several more hours with the contractions getting stronger until they just fell off. Our doctor said that he’d normally administer pitocin at this point, so my husband should use one of our natural stimulation methods, which thus far had done nothing to induce labor; however, it worked once I was in labor and I was back to having contractions shortly going into transition.
Transition is where things get tough and most women ask for meds; I was no different and started begging my husband for meds. He told me that I would have to ask for them myself while my sister would tell me every time I said I was done that I was “done with that contraction.” Honestly, they were really getting on my nerves and I may have yelled at them several (many) times during the next two hours. Oh, the meds they offered where either an epidural or nubane. Nubane was given to me when I delivered Moose; it does jack, so I don’t recommend it and recommend, instead, just staying the course of no meds.
Finally, I started pushing, but didn’t put a lot of effort into pushing because I didn’t realize that I was pushing Wombat. Yeah, that doesn’t make sense, but I’d been in labor for a really long time at this point. Anyway, I pushed for two hours according to my husband. At first, I barely pushed, then I screamed more than I pushed until my RN told me that I was wasting my energy, so I got angry and pushed with anger. Wombat really started moving then with our doctor actually commenting several times on how strong I was to my husband.
Since my husband was catching, our doctor got him down there and my RN stepped into his place holding my leg. Our doctor gave him this quick lesson on how to help me not tear, work the shoulder out, and some other stuff. During this time, I was only allowed little pushes, kind of hard to do when my body wanted Wombat out. Finally, I was told to push, so I did. Then I head the magic words “one more big push and the head will be out,” so I gave a big push…and Wombat’s head popped out along with the rest of Wombat.
Yeah, I pushed so hard I pushed out a whole baby.
My husband caught Wombat before Wombat fell off the bed, put Wombat on me to nurse just like he’d been trained, and I laid eyes on our Wombat. Our beautiful Wombat. We were covered with a blanket as I asked my husband “what did we have?” He forgot to look in the excitement, so he lifted the blankets and said “it’s a girl I think,” to which my sister replied “yes, that’s a girl.” While all this was happening, my sister said “the head doesn’t look funny at all,” because most babies have funny shaped heads, especially when the mom pushed for so long.
My husband came around to look at Wombat and I, so I asked him “honey, how did we do this? How did we do this?” His reply: “I think we learned about it in Sex Ed.”
So in conclusion, it was a great, but really long birth with a Coach and Assistant Coach who were amazing (our doctor, who is a man, said that “if I ever have to give birth, I want you two as my coaches.”), and Daniel Craig induces labor, but cheesy romantic comedies do not.
Edited to add: Forgot, my water never broke. Our doctor, when I stalled, actually broke my water. I'd been taught that this was a bad thing to do as it won't start labor, but I was already in labor, so it did help to restart everything along with my husband doing natural induction stimulation. Our doctor commented about my bag of waters being very tough because it'd gone through some thing or some thing like that.
And as a reward for reading all that, here's a picture of Miss Wombat herself:
It was a dark and stormy night…No, I lied. Actually, it was a beautiful Friday morning. At least that’s what I think. I woke up and starting having contractions right after breakfast, so I did as I’d been trained: lie down and relax, drink water, and walk around if they continued. They continued, but I didn’t want to walk. Instead, we brought out my phone because there’s an app for counting contractions. My husband timed while I dealt with the contractions, which really weren’t awful, just annoying at this point. Everything pointed to Wombat arriving some time Friday or early Saturday.
Since it was Friday, I had to go in for a Non-Stress Test (NST) any way, so my sister and I went to the Birth Place with my husband staying behind so he could work around the house a little more (he nested more than I did). Once at the hospital, I showed the RN my contraction app, which she loved, while she hooked me up. They monitored me for about an hour, it’s only supposed to be 20 minutes, then let me go as my contractions weren’t timing out perfectly. When I was walking out the door, she told me to go home and enjoy my husband…wink wink.
Once home, the contractions really backed off, so we; my sister, husband, and I; finished cleaning the house then went to see Cowboys vs. Aliens because who doesn’t love cowboys fighting aliens AND seeing Daniel Craig? Yummy! Evidently, Wombat enjoys watching Daniel Craig too because I started having more regular contractions during the movie, so we went home and watched Casino Royale, the one with Daniel Craig. The contractions kept getting stronger and closer together. We all thought we were going to the hospital any minute. My husband took a nap; my sister and I stayed up to count the contractions in hopes that we’d go to the hospital soon. We shouldn’t have watched a cheese-tastic, bad romantic comedy because the contractions fell off. I called the night.
The next morning the contractions started again with the same possible false hope of getting stronger and closer together. I was not amused. I wanted to sleep and eat and relax because there’s no way that this was the real thing. I’d had Braxton-Hicks contractions for weeks, everything was false excitement, yet this time it was not a drill. Finally, at 7ish, we were off like a herd of turtles to the hospital.
Contractions and riding in a car do not go together. They, in fact, are mortal enemies.
After a brutal ride on back country roads and a non-bumpy interstate, we arrived at the hospital, changed into our Team Wombat bright green t-shirts, and walked into the hospital. They put us into a triage room, the one I frequented the most during my NSTs, to hook me up to the NST machine (also known as electronic fetal monitoring). It was all familiar to me. However, my husband seemed a little nervous when I think back on it.
Our RN came in to introduce herself, which pleased both my husband and sister as they weren’t happy with the first RN to come in as she immediately started talking about me getting an epidural. Anyway, our RN read our birth plan, took a copy with her, and followed it without question (I love her!)
After being in the triage room for three hours, I was admitted. My RN guided us to our room, which turned out to be the room I wanted. It overlooked a horse field. Once all our stuff was moved to our room, I quickly got in the Jacuzzi tub. Unfortunately, I would not allow anyone to turn on the jets. There, I stayed for a while and yelled at anyone who tried to splash me with water. Once I got out, my husband wanted me to try the birthing ball, but it pretty flat, so I just got into bed. During this whole time, my husband and sister were using an acupressure point on my lower back to ease the pain; my husband easily pushed really hard with one hand while my sister, using her entire body weight, really didn’t push hard enough and I may have yelled at her. Between the two of them pushing on my back, I actually got a bruise which stayed around for several weeks. They laughed about it silently behind my back just as they did when I yelled at one of them. It was their way of getting through this extremely long labor.
So there I laid in bed for several more hours with the contractions getting stronger until they just fell off. Our doctor said that he’d normally administer pitocin at this point, so my husband should use one of our natural stimulation methods, which thus far had done nothing to induce labor; however, it worked once I was in labor and I was back to having contractions shortly going into transition.
Transition is where things get tough and most women ask for meds; I was no different and started begging my husband for meds. He told me that I would have to ask for them myself while my sister would tell me every time I said I was done that I was “done with that contraction.” Honestly, they were really getting on my nerves and I may have yelled at them several (many) times during the next two hours. Oh, the meds they offered where either an epidural or nubane. Nubane was given to me when I delivered Moose; it does jack, so I don’t recommend it and recommend, instead, just staying the course of no meds.
Finally, I started pushing, but didn’t put a lot of effort into pushing because I didn’t realize that I was pushing Wombat. Yeah, that doesn’t make sense, but I’d been in labor for a really long time at this point. Anyway, I pushed for two hours according to my husband. At first, I barely pushed, then I screamed more than I pushed until my RN told me that I was wasting my energy, so I got angry and pushed with anger. Wombat really started moving then with our doctor actually commenting several times on how strong I was to my husband.
Since my husband was catching, our doctor got him down there and my RN stepped into his place holding my leg. Our doctor gave him this quick lesson on how to help me not tear, work the shoulder out, and some other stuff. During this time, I was only allowed little pushes, kind of hard to do when my body wanted Wombat out. Finally, I was told to push, so I did. Then I head the magic words “one more big push and the head will be out,” so I gave a big push…and Wombat’s head popped out along with the rest of Wombat.
Yeah, I pushed so hard I pushed out a whole baby.
My husband caught Wombat before Wombat fell off the bed, put Wombat on me to nurse just like he’d been trained, and I laid eyes on our Wombat. Our beautiful Wombat. We were covered with a blanket as I asked my husband “what did we have?” He forgot to look in the excitement, so he lifted the blankets and said “it’s a girl I think,” to which my sister replied “yes, that’s a girl.” While all this was happening, my sister said “the head doesn’t look funny at all,” because most babies have funny shaped heads, especially when the mom pushed for so long.
My husband came around to look at Wombat and I, so I asked him “honey, how did we do this? How did we do this?” His reply: “I think we learned about it in Sex Ed.”
So in conclusion, it was a great, but really long birth with a Coach and Assistant Coach who were amazing (our doctor, who is a man, said that “if I ever have to give birth, I want you two as my coaches.”), and Daniel Craig induces labor, but cheesy romantic comedies do not.
Edited to add: Forgot, my water never broke. Our doctor, when I stalled, actually broke my water. I'd been taught that this was a bad thing to do as it won't start labor, but I was already in labor, so it did help to restart everything along with my husband doing natural induction stimulation. Our doctor commented about my bag of waters being very tough because it'd gone through some thing or some thing like that.
And as a reward for reading all that, here's a picture of Miss Wombat herself:
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