Else what's a heaven for?

A nerve-wracking thing about having had a preemie is that for months, I've been worried I was going into labor - I ended up calling my doctor's office on Christmas Day and things had gotten to the point where Jon was nervous every time I sent him a text. Which is awkward when you're married and have to coordinate things, ya know? OTOH, Jon pointed out that some day, I'd be right.

We'd been talking all weekend about "what if I go into labor", especially since there was a winter storm expected and my teenage stepson was staying with us that night. (Thank goodness!) Jon commented when we got home from the party Sunday night that he was thinking of going to bed a little early. I said, no, we should go to bed as soon as possible, like my bedtime, not his, just in case... We got into bed at 10 and cuddled before falling asleep. Which is good, because at 11:30, I woke up - I'm sure my eyes flew open like a cartoon character - yelled to Jon, "the day has come", and ran to the bathroom. I'm absurdly proud that I didn't get a single drop on the rug, unlike last time, but made it to the toilet. Thanks, Pilates and kegel exercises!

Also unlike last time, ( tmi ), which was awkward because I had to transfer a few things from my work bag, check all my lists of "what to bring to the hospital", and try to shovel in some food while waiting for the doctor to call back and tell me to go to the hospital.

It was snowing as we got in the Lyft and I carefully spread a towel on my seat. There was no traffic - everyone was staying in - and the drive was actually pretty magical. When we got to Labor & Delivery, there were a whole bunch of nurses and staff at the desk - I guess no one was choosing to go into labor at 2:30am in a snowstorm. One of them took me to a bathroom and ( tmi about my muscles ) They sent us back to the hall to wait for a room to be prepped. Jon and I stared at each other in wonder, that we were finally here, on this big adventure that really only involved us two, then started talking and got yelled at by the security guard for laughing too much.

It was SO WEIRD to be immediately shown to a labor suite. A perky physician's assistant named Sheri came by and told us she'd be with us all night, but she was pretty sure I'd have the baby before her shift ended at 7am. The doctor who delivered my first baby came in wearing his parka, looking decidedly grumpy. I later heard it was his fourth night in a row at the hospital, which I expect would make anyone grumpy. I was glad for the physician's assistant and that the nurse who came in was consistently the same nurse. #unlikelasttime

Jon tried to nap on the large couch, but my contractions started. I was trying to manage them like I learned in boymeat's class, with a string of plosives, and I did get Jon to laugh and wtf when I ended them with final notes like "giraffe!" The PA came back at some point to tell me that wasn't the way to do it, that I needed to take long breaths, that I was making too much noise. I tried it her way and it seemed to hurt less, possibly because she was right, possibly because I had progressed to the next stage. My sister had taken all sorts of birthing classes, which my doctor and I agreed probably wouldn't help much, but slightly more preparation and reading this time meant I even knew there is a transition phase.

( pushing is hard )

All through the night, especially during the quiet times between contractions, I was reminded of the mountains, of what it's like to make an alpine start to try to get to a peak at dawn. During the pushing stage, I kept asking what time was it, how long it had been, because the PA's remarks made me think if I could just get through 2 hours, I'd be in the clear. As I write this now, I'm reminded now how often I checked the clock when trudging uphill to a summit, hoping to beat a safety-based turnaround time. I may never climb another mountain, but it seems some things are universal to grand adventures.

( birth is all tmi ) Jon and I peered at him in amazement, trying to figure out who he was, while the doctor pushed on my stomach to get the placenta out. He kept snorting, so I called him Little Snort. A while later, they asked permission to take him to be weighed and did I want him washed. (No.) He was 60% heavier than his brother and 20% longer, with a commensurately larger head ouch. He was born a year and an hour after his grandfather took his last breath.

I'd been feeling pretty low energy for the past two weeks and actually overslept 3 hours on Thurs morning, so when I woke up a little damp and frantically running for the bathroom at 6:45am on Fri morning, I assumed that I'd overslept past my bladder's urges. ( Nope ) The on-call doctor told me to go to the hospital of course, ( where they told me my water broke and I'd be there for weeks, trying to keep the baby in )

The triage area sounded very busy from behind our curtain, but Jon had told me childbirth is lots of time by ourselves, so I figured it was normal to wait a lot, even in not-childbirth. Eventually they took us to the Maternal-Fetal Evaluation unit, where the same ultrasound tech who originally told me about my fibroids measured the amniotic fluid remaining. I had 0.8 units, whereas 0.5 units was the minimum, and everything else looked good, so there was no reason why I couldn't stay like that. She used the analogy of a house: the building was structurally fine, but the door was broken, so they had to deal with that. Waiting outside the MFE, we started chatting with a woman who'd been there for 2 weeks, since her 25th week of pregnancy, and hoped to stay there quite a bit longer. We already had a lot to be grateful for.

They wheeled me back to the triage area, where "just a few minutes while we get your room ready" turned into over an hour, possibly two. ( The anesthesiologist told me I had a high pain tolerance, whereas the delivery nurse wondered what I do for a living, to be that strong )

It was early evening, maybe 6pm, when a doctor asked to check my vagina -- and discovered I was fully dilated. Suddenly we were in labor mode. After a day of crossing my legs and planning for a month in a strange bed, now that I could no longer sit up without pain, now I was supposed to suddenly use all the things I'd learned in 5 months of doula-flavored yoga to bring on the baby. Did I mention that the first time Jon and my sorority sister had offered to lift me higher so I wasn't slumped in my bed, I refused because I was scared of it hurting, let alone trying to sit up myself?

So of course, when they told me the obstetrician had been called and would come in 30 minutes, and would I like an anesthesiologist, the answer was YES YES YES. I would've scaled a 10 foot wall over broken glass to get pain relief. Unfortunately, what I actually had to do was sit still. I remember having to ask them to hold off for a moment, while another pain spasm seized me. I tried to ask for a walking epidural and one of the nurses told me they don't exist. I flinched once while the anesthesiologist was sticking the needle in, but held very still after his exclamation.

When the obstetrician arrived, I said something about when the baby arrives in a few hours and he said, "No, the baby will be here in an hour." Nurse Isbethema held my left leg, Jon held my right, and the doctor explained how I was to push. Alas, not feeling pain meant not feeling anything down there and they repeatedly had to tell me I was flexing my legs, not pushing down there. (Aerial acrobatics and pilates turned out to be great training for this part.) The doctor had his finger where he wanted me to push, and told me to push like I had the most epic poop ever. I even at one point asked the doctor to tap his finger, but still couldn't get it. I asked if they could see the head and Jon commented they could, whenever I pushed, which was great motivation. Eventually the doctor used a vacuum and then there was a loud baby screaming and the nurses who'd been in a catcher's position - not an exaggeration - were hustling and bundling and murmuring. My part was done. With nothing else to do, I looked at the placenta, which was blue, and the doctor took a moment to show it to Jon and I. The nurses handled me a bundle of blankets, the center of which was a large red mouth and a cute nose. Jon took a picture and then we were alone.

For those who insist on numbers, my son was 1.93kg, with a length of 41cm and a head circumference of 31cm, and an Apgar score of 9, when he was born.

Last year I didn't realize how important Halloween is to my family of choice and got caught flat-footed, which meant I was scrambling the day before, which is why I ended up wearing an ao dai and long underwear. Every year, Jon's ex and child hand out candy for a few hours at a friend's house, which is part of a HUGE block of candy giving - this is what happens when you have the US's highest concentration of under-2yos - and then there's a party at another friend's house, where the child is the GOH.

Originally my best ideas for this Halloween were Leda (except I'm not having twins and may smack the next person who suggests it) and Olympias. The latter is a) probably too subtle (most of the other mums at the party last year wore goth wear and/or sexy witch costumes) and b) we're only 95% sure what we're naming the child, although Jon would get to show off his sexy legs in a Zeus costume. Also, it dawned on me that it might be a little obnoxious to the ex and the child? I dunno.

(I'm still traumatized by the Halloween when I was a tween and dressed as Lucy from the Narnia books and won a prize for funniest costume, bc I assume the adult who was awarding prizes had no freakin' clue who I was because this was decades before the movies and some people suck at reading.)

After seeing the top cartoon on this page (h/t: lolitasir) this morning, I'm tempted to get/borrow a smoking jacket and go as a plutocrat or maybe as Rich Uncle Pennybags if I'm really motivated, although drag is likely to scandalize the other parents and cause gossip. Although it is Brooklyn...

What do you, my clever Internet friends, suggest for this opportunity? I'm leaning toward dressing as a famous mother, rather than doing something odd to my stomach (although that basketball player costume is cute).

The problem with this post is it keeps growing and changing the longer I don't write it. I almost didn't write it this morning, bc I'm getting more data later today (well, if I make it to the gym on time) so it might be invalid by this afternoon. Rinse and repeat.

I found a really awesome prenatal yoga class. You have to understand, I hate yoga. I once walked out of a class bc I thought, "I have so much stuff to do. I don't have time for this nonsense." I showed up for this yoga class and while it wasn't really what I'd consider exercise, it was great therapy. I started tearing up every time the instructor said, "Put one hand on your heart and one on your baby." All this talk of my baby made him seem more real. (My obstetrician tells me the baby will seem real when he starts kicking.) I liked it so much, I signed up for a 10-class card that expires in 6 weeks when I went to yoga 2 days later. That class wasn't quite as good - part of what made the other class so great is the instructor is a doula, so she'd give specific instructions about what to do (or not) based on the baby's age - but it still helped open my hips etc. (I don't know if my hips are tight all the time because of the chair I'm using in the new apartment or because my loose ligaments are getting floppier due to pregnancy, but I assume it's a little of both, like everything in life.) This class is one of the only things I have found that is better or cheaper in Brooklyn than Manhattan.

Unfortunately, it's crowded out weightlifting. I was trying to fit at least my 15min, at-home kettlebell workout, but there was a week where I went to yoga Tues and Thurs, kettlebells on Weds, and Fri I completely failed to start my workout. I was at the gym, dressed, lying on the mat, and I could barely do the (essentially) hip thrusts I've been doing for multiple years on the advice of my physical therapist. Even without weight, it took massive willpower to get them done. Apparently in my condition, yoga counts as exercise, even though it's mostly organized stretching. This seems like a total rip-off to me.

Now that I'm in my second trimester, I decided to try running again. Prior attempts at running left me with horrible cramps afterward, but I thought maybe now that I was in the second trimester, it would be different. It was an unusually cool night, so I headed along the greenway to the Brooklyn Bridge, figuring I'd run until I couldn't, then come back. I ran a mile, not particularly fast but not horrific, and found myself thinking, "I should stop," so I did. I turned around and started walking home -- when I suddenly got sharp pains in my left hip (i.e. the one connected to my bad ankle). I limped home, periodically stopping to double over from the pain. I came home and announced to my husband and Twitter that I'd run for the last time in 2014. It felt like the same kind of IT band pain I had when I overtrained for my first trip to Rainier, which my PT told me was too much weight on a frame that couldn't support it, that it's an injury that pregnant women get as their body increases in weight and decreases in stability in a short period of time. I had occasional pain/inflammation near my tailbone several times after the run, including one night where I was miserable and could do nothing but go to bed. Ok, no more running.

Yesterday, Jon and I went to the Great Swamp with my ex-boss and his wife for what was originally billed as a hike and turned out to be a walk along the trail to wildlife viewing locations and then a little walk in the woods near a historic site. Jon tells me the longest distance we walked was 0.8mi -- and it was plenty for me. I was a little stiff when we got home and this morning. Ai yah.

On the plus side, I didn't immediately require ice cream afterward, even though it was hot. I've been finding that when it's hot, walking around to do errands is debilitating and I have to go find air conditioning immediately. We live 15-20mins walk from the subway, so I get some activity that way and that walk is usually okay (although a couple of weeks ago it wasn't).

Anyhow, I'm going to try doing my PT exercises at the hour-away gym where I can do almost all of them and hope that works, and finish reading what Exercising Through Pregnancy has to say about you know, in case they have suggestions besides "be fit when you conceive", bc the alternative seems to be just yoga and hope that's enough. ugh.

So far I still think my obstetrician is the bee's knees, but I see how that could change. This visit, his nurse weighed me and asked for a urine sample. Along with his horror when I said something about trying to buy a donut - the peapod protested and kept me from buying it when I was in the store - I'm concerned that he will engage in weightism. Emily Oster has some funny stories in her book about how her doctor was a martinet about her weight -- even though studies suggest that half of basically healthy, not particularly overweight woman, will gain more than the guidelines and be better for it. ( numbers )

( Fibroids and Kate ) I'm still a little dubious, but there's nothing I can do if my doctor isn't worried, so I should find something else to obsess over.

( annoying pregnancy side effects )

While I was in the hospital for the ultrasound, I was invited to join a study about weight management during pregnancy. Both the doctor and his receptionist had good things to say, so I stopped by for an initial screening visit after my doctor's appointment. ( Kate and the Obesity Study ) I like the idea of a professional nutritionist - I've never worked with one before - or at least the placebo effect of knowing someone will measure me a lot - but the more I think about it, the more I think this study is not for me and that I have too many open loops to do it :(

Edit: My mother thinks I should do the study: "You might learn something." Or I might stab the nutritionist with her scissors. (Thinking about how many times in my life I did something in case something interesting happened when my instincts said don't, this remark creeps me out so much.)

My doctor called to give me some test results (apparently the nuchal translucency test suggests a 1 in 56 chance of Down's syndrome, but that's partly bc it uses my age as a factor and also the more accurate test says there's a 1 in 10,000 chance, so fuck old tests) and agreed that they ask for a lot of information and don't really give it out again. hm. Also, apparently Friday afternoons are when I should wait for the doctor to call with interesting information.