BabyMama & The Birth Story

Every telling of a birth story that I have witnessed has felt like listening to a veteran. Someone who has been through something life changing that not everyone has experienced. Someone who has seen some stuff. Someone who may or may not have a little PTSD from the event. Someone who is a bit of a hero, depending on your definition of the word. 

It's a saga. A telling of joy and potentially trauma. It's the tale as old as time: that of new life. 

I'm not saying that this is any of that, but, with our baby girl coming up on the year mark, I figured it's now or never to tell the tale of her entry. Because sharing these stories is important - hearing these stories before and after my delivery helped me be aware of what to expect and connected me to others. As captain of Team-No-Kids, I hadn't heard many details about pregnancy or labor prior to being pregnant, and I feel like I'd have had a greater appreciation if I had. I'd have been more empathetic, more supportive. Birthing persons are super heroes. 

Disclaimers: 

• Semi graphic labor details to follow (will put the most graphic asterisked in a foot note, skip if you prefer - or if you're like a co-worker who stumbled upon this blog and is thinking "yikes, I don't want to know!"). 
• Note that the exact timestamps are because I had my husband texting updates to our immediates (which was actually nice to have a little log of the day) and had some photos from the day. 
• Every labor and delivery story is unique, this was mine: that of a healthy, white, middleclass,  cisgender woman, with a pretty straightforward pregnancy, a supportive partner, and access to a great hospital (plus the wonderful staff that came with it). 
• Despite my ongoing fear throughout pregnancy that I was going to die in labor, I never once felt in danger during my labor and delivery. I was very lucky to have a labor without massive complications. I won't go so far to say it was a "normal" labor, but it was not out of the ordinary. 

The scene: After our first ultrasound, our original due date was moved up a week. But that due date came and went.  Due to Covid and the strains on the hospital system, "elective" inductions were not allowed. One week post due date an induction is able to be considered "medically necessary" though, so that's when our doc put it on the calendar. At week 38, baby was in position and I was almost 2cm dilated, but it stalled out there and baby girl decided to hang out until the 41 week mark. Then induction day was upon us and it was go-time!

4:30am : Up to start getting ready and have a big breakfast. My doc warned me to eat because I'd be on a liquid diet upon arrival (which, is fair because you could end up having a major surgery - a C-Section - and you wouldn't be eating at the hospital before a major surgery), so I scarfed an eggy sandwich. We were scheduled for 6am but told to call at 5am to confirm availability. If a bunch of others had gone into labor overnight and the unit was full, we'd have to wait. 

5am : We called and got put on hold for the longest ten minutes of my life, but got the all clear! To get to the hospital and parked is about 25 minutes, so shortly after we got the okay, we were out the door.

((Stage 1: Early Labor))

6:02am : Checked in at Labor & Delivery. The Kyle Rittenhouse case was on the news, and the Christmas tree was already up in the empty lobby. 

Shortly after, we were in a room and I changed into my laboring gown. They strapped a bunch of external monitors on my belly and got the IV going. I had been flagged with Group B Strep early on in my pregnancy - something that is just a regular part of my body, that could be harmful for a baby on it's way out - which is very easily treated with antibiotics during labor as a precaution. So I knew coming in that I would have penicillin via an IV. Since I needed to be induced and wanted an epidural, an IV was always in the cards. 

The monitors fed a stream of fetal/contraction data to both a digital screen and an old-school printer which steadily drew a line showing my progress, upon a never-ending stream of paper. It turned out that the back pain I had been feeling in the days leading up had actually been minor contractions, they just didn't feel like "normal contractions" (whatever that means lol) thanks to my anterior placenta (my placenta was always on the front of my belly, which cushions baby movements - so I felt kicks later and less intensely early on). Watching the upticks in the line and matching them in real-time with how my body was feeling, I was able to know when contractions were happening. And I definitely thought, "Okay, this isn't so bad." Because everyone tells you "OH YOU'LL KNOW when they're happening!" but at that time, I would've still just thought I was achy. 

7:10am : They started the Pitocin in my IV. Pitocin is a hormone used to induce labor.*

9:18am : Up and walking about with my IV stand. I told them I wanted to be up and about as much as possible, and they largely left me to my own devices. I couldn't wander the halls or anything with Covid, so just paced about our giant delivery room (it was super swanky). 

10:15am : My "liquid diet" meal arrived. Broth, Jell-O, juice, popsicles. I ordered it asap after the Pitocin started, knowing it'd take awhile to arrive. (My biggest fear is being hungry, and I absolutely was justified about that worry later.) I absolutely made my husband take a photo of me holding my broth cup like Baby Yoda - no regrets. 

Random hospital thing: they measure your pee. The toilet in the room has a cup to catch and measure so they can make sure you're hydrated. As a pregnant woman, I peed every ten minutes basically, so the poor nurses had to deal with that a bunch. 

11am : Shift change for my nurses. I thanked them for all their help and said I hoped I didn't see them again when they came back (12 hours later). 

11:43am : They had been slowing upping the Pitocin, to the point where my contractions were regular but still not super strong. The nurses consulted with my OB/GYN and they planned to "break my bag of waters." There was a different doctor who was coming in to do that procedure. Two good notes with this:

• When they said my labor was not progressing much and they planned to break my water, they had to ask permission to take that step. One key bit I remembered from the online birthing class we watched (thanks Covid again - only virtual options were available) was the BAR approach. If there are decisions to be made, you don't have to know all about them in advance of your labor, you just have to know how to get an understanding to make an informed decision. So you ask: what are the Benefits? the Alternatives? the Risks?
• My OB was not present throughout my entire labor - she popped in to check on me a few times and consulted over the phone with my nurses, but she was not just hanging out all day. I was very grateful to have my specific baby doc for my entire pregnancy and the confidence that she would be the one delivering my baby. That helped me to have someone I really trusted (that woman saw me at my highest highs and lowest lows - I consider her a trusted ally). 

12:13pm : Water broken. Definitely a whoosh of fluid. This started my "I am... in a pool" joke with my husband. Pool of fluid, pool of tears, pool of baby spit: somehow, I'm always in a pool. My exact text describing the process of them "breaking my bag of waters" to my friends moments later: "It's like they tried to crochet a sweater up my snatch, but hopefully that'll get things moving!" Feel free to google "amniotic hook" on your own time. (You can also look up goodies like "bloody show" while you're there, if you're feeling feisty.) 

12:57pm : Up and walking about again. I was very determined to keep walking to help bébé labor down as long as possible. Once you get that epidural, the walking stops, so I was on my feet as much as I could be. The thing I didn't fully understand before being pregnant: contractions basically come in waves, fairly standard waves, and they get closer together and can last longer as you get closer to birth. So for example, they can last about 30 to 70 seconds and come about 5 to 10 minutes apart. So you can feel "fine" and be walking around and then suddenly have to pause and do some deep breathing during the contraction and then as it passes you can carry on. 

2:40pm : No updates, really. Contractions were coming on hard but the nurse seemed to think that it'd still be awhile. No epidural yet. Just up and walking about, listening to my labor playlist and chit chatting with my husband. Everyone told me to bring a book / shows to watch, but we didn't turn the TV on even once, and my book went unopened. I was pretty well focused on the task at hand, and didn't need/want any distractions. Just my approach on it. 

2:57pm : When asked about dilation status: they said 3cm but the last cervical check had been a few hours prior. They try not to do too many cervical checks, because after your water is broken, each check could potentially be introducing bacteria, disrupt labor, and just hurt like a bitch. (Cervical checks leading up to my due date, I equated to Hermione reaching into her magic purse #IYKYK)

With little progress, the nurses kept offering me options for pain management: use the birthing ball, lay down in a certain way, take a bath, take a shower, etc. The birthing suite basically had a swanky spa in the room. While the bath option was out since they'd broken my water, a shower was still an option. I love a good hot shower, but it's a little less nice when you have to roll your IV stand just outside the shower and stick your arm out the curtain. Not quite as relaxing. Did not make me feel less in pain, just made me feel awkwardly wet. 

The awkward arm-out shower stemmed from the DRASTIC mistake I made upon arrival of saying that I was 'not opposed to an epidural' vs making my intentions known that I did plan to have one. So, the nurses thought that by offering other things, they were following my wishes. And my damn midwest-nice attitude made me say "suuuure I'll try these things." But my contractions were coming on strong enough that I'd pretty much have to stop dead and focus up, and I was like "QUIT offering me these woo-woo pansy options and give me the damn needle in my spine!" I knew it'd take a bit for the epidural docs to come and get it all in, so when I knew it was time, I made my demand for it (and more Jell-O).

((Stage 1: Active Labor))

4:28pm : Epidural time and bonus cath LOL see this post for all the shit I didn't know about epidurals before needing one. Fun fact: I didn't realize until later that the doc who put the epidural in my spin was actually like the doc-in-training. THAT would've made me feel super stressed as fuck. But, the whole thing went smoothly. I am not a big fan of needles, but my game face was on, so, I think I did a damn good job. 

They always tell you to rest once you get the epidural in, so I did. Walking around was no longer an option anyways. I told the doc I could still feel my foot a lot though and that I didn't think it was working well enough. He said he could do a test and to let him know what I could feel. I told him I was ready for the test and he was already doing it - it's just an ice cube test. I thought I had feeling but I couldn't feel an ice cube on my foot at all. Epidurals are wild. 

6:16pm : 5.5 centimeters (after twelve hours in the delivery room). Which felt like nothing knowing I had to get to ten, and yet felt like we'd finally made some progress. At this point, I was absolutely starving and exhausted from laboring all day. While walking around had been something I felt so adamant about doing, it had worn me out. In hindsight, I'd have chilled with the walking about to save that energy.

6:50pm : 8 centimeters, 100% effaced. My OB was called in mid-dinner, and it felt like it was go-time. (Spoiler alert: I was about 4.5 hours away from having our little girl in-arm.) 

7pm : They began stopping the Pitocin, hoping I'd be able to get the last 2cm on my own. My OB was there, getting her scrubs on. They told us that if the last 2cm didn't come, they would turn the Pitocin back on for a bit. The hope was that the baby's heart rate would stay in a good place, and there wouldn't be a need for a C-Section.

7:11pm : It happened at different points throughout the day, but this was the time there was photographic documentation of it: the "labor shakes," in which one starts shaking/shivering uncontrollably. I felt cold and yet sweaty, and jittery as hell. The nurses put warm blankets on me and I tried to rest. It is apparently fairly common and basically happens because your body has a big old surge of hormones and freaks the fuck out (that's the medical description for it, obvi).

After further evaluation, my OB told us that while the baby was head down (good), it was in posterior position, aka "sunny side up," aka its nose was towards my abdomen instead of my back. This isn't the preferred position for pushing out a babe, because the baby’s head is more likely to get wedged against the pubic bone, putting pressure on mama's spine/sacrum. This can cause a longer and more painful delivery, a higher chance of needing a C-section, and other complications. Apparently, up to a third of babies are in this position in the first stage of labor - most rotate themselves into the right position before go time! 

Since the ideal position was for bébé to be facing nose-to-back, we talked through options for how to coax her into rotating. With the epidural, I was in jellyfish mode, so the nurses moved me about into various positions (to one side, to the other, etc.) and we waited. 

8:08pm : Next up to try involved them putting a giant peanut shaped ball/balloon between my legs to try and rotate that baby.

((Stage 1: Transition))

8:53pm : This time they sat me up into "throne position" where I rested and waited. 

Keep in mind, when I say "resting," I mean riding the contraction waves - as you transition out of active labor and into the actual birthing, the contractions are strong and close together - so every 3 to 5 minutes, and lasting about 60 to 90 seconds each. Not a very "restful" time. Thank GOODNESS for that epidural. Without it, I'd have been in a massive amount of pain - instead I just felt pressure. Like, I could tell when contractions were coming and happening, but it didn't hurt, it was more just like a wave of exhaustion. (Your body is running a marathon, you just can't feel your legs hitting the pavement.) 

More than any other feeling, for me personally, was that of hunger. I am an angry panda when not fed, and with naught but a liquid brunch eleven hours prior, and scattered Jell-O's thereafter, I was running low on fuel. I asked if I could have another Jell-O or anything before we hit the final stage, and my OB politely explained that they were about to put an oxygen mask on me, and many women throw up during labor - and that I did not want to vomit red Jell-O into that mask, because it would not be pleasant. And I was like.... touché, doc, no Jell-O.

((Stage 2: Baby Birthing Time!))

9:20pm : 10cm, baby is face down, pushing starting imminently. This was it. Game face on, I asked my OB how long women have to push for on average. She warned me that it could be hours, and I was like "challenge accepted" - I wasn't going to do this for hours. I was going to push and breath so well, and give this baby my very best, and we were going to get this thing done asap. 

My plan had been to not have my husband in the room during this stage - I needed to be in the zone, and have all my mental energy focused on the task at hand, not worrying about how he was doing or feeling. I didn't want the distraction. But with Covid, he wouldn't have been allowed to linger out in the waiting room and basically would've had to go wait in the car, and that just seemed stupid, so I asked him to stay out of the action, and back over my shoulder where I couldn't see him. Yes, I basically asked him to go sit in the corner. Comforting and hand holding and whatever else would've just made me lose concentration and probably pissed me off. ((Note: this had been discussed well in advance, and I'm grateful that he was respectful of my wishes, because I basically was asking him to not be in the weeds for the arrival of his child - something plenty of people told me I was being a jerk about, depriving him of this special moment. But, my labor, my rules.))

9:27pm : Pushing began. I have never been more focused on anything in my entire life than I was during those first few pushes. Our nurses were excellent and talked me through the breathing, pushing, etc. and I made AWESOME progress immediately. Everyone was all "wow, this is impressive, just a few more pushes like that and like, we'll be done" - much applause. I was a goddamn champion.

9:50pm : And then I was still pushing. Still doing great they told me. But as time went on, my pushes were not as strong because I was so worn out, and every time it seemed I was making progress, I was losing it. 

**See double asterisk subnote if you want the graphic, nitty-gritty details of this part - please skip if it'll make you uncomfortable. It sure made ME uncomfortable.

10:52pm : Still pushing, getting closer. We switched position/approach slightly. But I basically had two nurses holding my legs (since I couldn't feel them) at any given time. It's fascinating when you try to dig in your heels when you...can't feel your heels. 

At some point, my OB asked if I'd like a mirror to see the baby crowning so I could *see* my progress, to visualize/motivate me, or if I'd like to touch the baby's head: both were a HARD NO from me. Literally zero interest in either of those things. I feel like it would have been the opposite of motivating to see my poor body being destroyed by the exodus of our dear babe.

11:00pm : And there it was, the shift change. My nurse from the morning was back and I was absolutely disappointed to still be laboring.  The nurse who had been with me for the past hour and a half of pushing stayed around but had to go do the shift hand off, and other nurses came in. In the jumble, my OB hailed my husband over: someone needed to hold a leg. So much for me wanting to keep him as far away from the action as possible, but there was nothing for it: that leg needed holding. 

As the staff shift whirled about, I was still just there, waiting for each contraction wave, trying to muster up what was left of my energy to get our baby out into the world. I was so very tired. I wish I could say there was a sudden surge of adrenaline or something that got me through, but it was more just a primal need to be done. If it didn't happen soon, I wouldn't be able to have a vaginal delivery, and I was so scared of a C-section that I knew it needed to happen. 

My main pushing-nurse had been my rock in terms of counting and talking me through the breathing, and in the shuffle there were different people saying different things, my legs weren't being held properly, and everyone just seemed distracted from the task at hand. In my delirium, my project management skills came out and I had to give a wee speech along the lines of "hey, we all need to be on the same page - I need someone to do the counting again, I need my legs to both be held the same way, I need help, I need everyone to focus." And we regrouped, with my OB acting as coxswain for the finale. 

11:15pm : Our little girl was born. Nine pounds. Per my husband, it was like seeing a little inanimate thing flop out, and then just spring to life. 

((Stage 3))

I remember saying I wanted the baby cleaned off before they gave her to me for skin-to-skin, but that's apparently not a thing (babies don't get a bath until 24 hours after birth - the goo is protective for them), so the beautiful slimy creature I had grown was handed over, for me to cling to as my body collapsed under the weight of the effort it had just made. The doc began to "repair" the damage (which I could unfortunately feel most of, as the epidural was being tapered off) while we got to meet our sweet girl. A time later, I remember asking my doc about delivering the placenta (which I knew happened after labor), she kindly said it had already happened (so apparently the epidural was still working enough!). The nurses began kneading my stomach, something they'd come do throughout the time it took my uterus to shrink back to size. They did tests and assessments on our baby in the room, while I began recovery.***

Mom and baby were both safe and healthy, that's what mattered. My OB had informed me before pushing that with most insurances, we would get "two midnights" to stay in the recovery ward for a vaginal birth. Some people who are closer to the midnight mark stop pushing and wait... because America. (Seriously, how fucked up is our healthcare system??) So by the time we were moved out of the labor and delivery ward, we were already well into our "first night" for our recovery stay. 

At that stage in the pandemic, I was allowed one visitor in a 24-hour period, i.e. if I wanted someone other than my husband, it would be just that person for that day and my husband would be kicked out during that time. Needless to say, it was just us three. Just us three to begin this wonderful, chaotic journey. At the point of no return, ready to enter parenthood. We'd done it. We'd ticked a little +1 to humanity. It might have meant sacrificing my body in the process, but, she was finally on the outside, ready to start the big adventure called life. 

Life is rarely a straight line.

* NOTE that Pitocin can also be used in abortions, and with legislation restricting access to reproductive healthcare, this may become something unavailable to women - meaning that I would have had to continue to carry my baby for an undetermined number of days. I could have gone post-term and had to deal with a number of health risks to myself and my child. Getting an induction allowed me to have a safe labor and a healthy child. This is a reminder to please VOTE and understand that restricting reproductive healthcare extends well beyond abortions.

*** At my six-week postpartum appointment with my OB, I still was NOT recovered and had a lot of healing to do. I pushed a nine pound baby out, and she did not go quietly into the night. 

** When in stage two, you are still waiting for contractions. You feel the contraction coming on, like riding up the hill on a roller coaster. When the contraction hits, you push. When it ends, you wait until you go up another hill again. I ended up "pushing" for about two hours. With contractions about 3 to 5 minutes apart, that means I may have pushed about two dozen times. Putting your entire being into pushing a giant object out of a small opening, when you can't feel your body and haven't eaten anything? It's um, not delightful. Rather tiring. While I started with such verve, I got increasingly more fatigued. When I say it felt like I was losing progress, I was literally losing progress. With my initial pushes, the baby's head could be seen, but as things went on, each contraction the baby would push out a bit, and in between contractions/pushing the baby would slide back in. Literally two steps forward and one step back. You can imagine the impact of having a large baby head just there, hanging out in my vagina for two hours, bobbing in and out... it was, not good. 

My OB explained to me that the baby would not be able to fit through as things were, and that they might need to make more room for the baby to exit. I had made it very clear beforehand that I did not want an episiotomy (in which they strategically cut the perineum - the area between your vag and anus - to enlarge the opening for the babe to come through) unless absolutely necessary, and that I preferred to let things "expand" (i.e. rip/tear, sigh) naturally, if needed. Dazed, I tried to reiterate this, asking how bad the tearing might be if we just continued on. And **skip to next paragraph if you want to avoid the most traumatizing thing a doc has ever said to me** my kind, straightforward doc, who I deeply trust, looked at me and told me that things were not looking to rip backwards....they were looking like they would rip upwards if they didn't intervene. If you're a woman reading this, take a second to let that horror sink in. If you're a man, just move along. 

And I finally caved: I started crying. Out of pure frustration and exhaustion. I had thought I'd be this rockstar who would push this baby right out. My mom had told endless tales of how we had basically walked right out of her vagina into the world, so I had thought that my "child bearing hips" would make for an easy go of things. And here we were. I took some deep breathes and told my OB she could proceed. She was already on it. We needed to get the baby out, we'd come too far.  The pushing needed to continue.... Okay, jump back up to the timeline now <3 

BabyMama: Is this the real life?

There is a stranger living in our house. 

We feed her, cloth her, care for her. But we're still learning who she is. We trust that she's a good person, but don't actually know what she's capable of.

One day, we were just two of us, a married couple, living happily in our home, and the next we had a new boarder. A tiny tenant for whom we had to re-arrange our schedules and lifestyle. We accepted this change willing, happily, and without hesitation. 

And it is so, so bizarre. 

Our sweet girl is almost 10 months old now. She has spent more time living outside my body than within. It is something I still marvel at, and even though it is very much a real part of our lives, still seems so foreign somehow. 

When our bebe was around two months old, the first time I was away from her for more than just an hour or so, it felt so strange to not be in her presence. I remember driving back, thinking to myself that if I arrived home to find no baby, and all the child-adjacent items gone - if I looked about and saw our home just as it had been only a few months before - I would think I had made it all up. That it had been just a dream. That we hadn't created a person and brought her into this world. There's no way so much had actually shifted in our lives so rapidly.

But I arrived home and there she was. Waiting with a toothless, drooly grin, presented in Simba-like fashion by her dad at our threshold. A new human, entirely dependent on us for survival, growth, and emotional support. A malleable creature whose future self will root deeply back to these current day-to-day moments. I remember just staring, thinking how strange it was that she was there. Having vividly remembered carrying her to term (and then some) and given birth to her, and hours of time spent physically feeding her with my body, and of us playing with her and cherishing time together - all those memories existed, but when she had no longer been in my physical presence, it seemed so unreal.* But a quick snuggling of her petite frame with my bosomy mom embrace, and it was clear that this really is happening.

We spend our lives in different stages, with some surpassing others as we go along. Sixteen years of my life were spent as a student. Twelve as a worker bee (so far). I've been eight years a partner and three years a wife. All my years I've been a sister, a daughter, a granddaughter (while our moms are just now become grandmothers - a new phase for them). But not yet one year a mother. Eventually, I'll have been married longer than I was unmarried (knock on wood), and will be a mama longer than I'll have been childless. Certain phases will eclipse others, and probably just as our daughter is ready to leave home, I'll have somewhat forgotten what life was like before her. 

I'm not at that point yet though. Right now, my days without her are still so vivid in my mind. New parents often have sentimental posts stating "I can't imagine my life without this little one!" But I can. I spent decades living it. I know exactly how things might look without our bundle of joy having ever been delivered. We chose this adventure though. We decided to embrace this new life (both literally a new life and a new type of life for us). We know what it looks like to be happy sans baby, while equally loving the world we're building. It is so beautiful, and exhausting.** I'm extremely present whilst simultaneously sentimental about every moment (even as it's still happening), because I know this precious time is fleeting. Yet it's still so hard to fathom that this is it. This really is our life. I can see all the steps that we took to get here, and I know we are here. Somehow I'm just dumbfounded and in awe, basking in this strange glow. Maybe it's the months of sleep deprivation finally manifesting. Or maybe I need to let our wee bebe pinch me with her teeny fingers just so I know I'm not dreaming... 

If this is a dream, maybe don't wake me. I want to see how it ends.

* Not like a Schrödinger's cat situation, but like, somehow that's what came to mind? But not in a morbid way? Like... I don't want to be comparing our daughter to a potentially dead cat? IDK, IYKYK.

** Sometimes the days are difficult, and I'm so tired and just wish the little lady would sleep so I can rest. But then when she's asleep, I stare at the monitor, wishing I could hold her and that we could laugh and play. You can appreciate how demanding parenthood is, and how tough it can be to show up the way you want to, while still being super sappy about it. My husband made a comment that sometimes when looking at old pix of our daughter when she's still so small, he wishes he could just reach into the picture and be back in that moment. And oooh boy do comments like that make me weeeeep.

BabyMama & The Who Knews

As the former captain of Team No-Kids, I admittedly was super ignorant around a lot of elements of pregnancy, labor & delivery, postpartum, and just parenting stuffs in general. While the internets / socials are filled with mommy blog intel and opinions galore about the whole process, I had never really dwelled in that space. And even though I had the best of intentions with my child-bearing friends over the years - asking questions while trying to give them space to discuss their major life altering event - I honestly wasn't absorbing a lot of the details. The minutia of the thing was foreign to me. There were just so many pieces of that journey that were outside my realm that I mostly listened without understanding. And especially did not think how those things could apply to me one day.

So by the time I was down the path to parenthood myself, I was doe-eyed and stumbling. 

We've been SO grateful to have a large network of good friends and family who have been supportive, shared wisdom, paved the way, told us the tales, etc. This list is comprised of things that were surprising to me, in one way or another. Some of which I'd been warned of (because you do get all the horrid details as soon as you're already pregnant), and some I knew about, but didn't really comprehend until we were in the thick of it ourselves. (This list is obvi not all encompassing - it's what I happened to think of just now so I'm sure it's missing a lot of things.)

Pregnancy

• Your organs literally rearrange. Sure, I figured your body has to make room for a baby, so other stuff has to move a bit. I mostly thought about how things grow out, not how internal things shuffle. Obviously that's a big part of why pregnant women have to pee so often - a dozen pounds of baby and bodily fluid is now smashing down on your bladder all day. Plus, heartburn is the literal devil.
• Unexpected symptoms during pregnancy. Needing to pump up a baby, your blood really gets flowing, which for me meant bloody noses. I also found myself getting a lot of night sweats?* And, fun fact, you can get carpal tunnel while pregnant - WHO KNEW?!
• I care really deeply about my belly button. My greatest fear in life is having an outie. In the final days, it was completely flat... If it had popped out, I think I'd have just died on the spot.
• Stretch marks. Everywhere. I had mentally prepared for belly stretch marks, but the first random one that showed up in week 15 on the underside of my boob, visible only to me? Nope. Complete fucking mental breakdown. No amount of lotions or oils could save my porcelain skin and that's just life - shit comes down mostly to genetics. Mind over stretchy matter.

Labor & Delivery

• Epidurals were a mystery. I knew it was a giant needle in your spine. But I had always imagined a Pulp Fiction style needle stab: one and done. However, it is NOT one and done. It is actually a tube they put into your spine that stays there and delivers the anesthesia. There's a button where they can toggle it up or down. You lay there, with a tube dangling out your spine. What. The. Actual. Fuck. It completely blew my mind somehow that that's how they work. Oh, and you get a catheter. Momma's first surprise catheter. Which made sense because, you can't really feel a lot of your lower half. But. Um. Gross... Don't get it twisted, I LOVED having an epidural. 10/10 would do again. Still, the whole concept makes me cringe. 
• You aren't supposed to eat while laboring. Before going in for my induction, my OB told me to have a big breakfast, because I'd be on a liquids-only diet (broth, jello, juice) at the hospital. So I knew (slash secretly packed snacks), yet was not mentally prepared for not eating. I love eating. Plus, you burn a lot of energy laboring. I totally get it: there's a chance of a C-Section, which is a major operation, and they definitely make people fast before major operations usually. But still.

Motherhood & Postpartum

• Newborns make weird noises. Like a tiny caged velociraptor or a truffling pig.
• Your Period doesn't come back right away. Well, for some it does. Others it doesn't come back until after you're done breastfeeding, or just randomly later. WHY did I never know that?? (At time of writing this, I haven't had my period for 18 months - that feels insane.)
• You don't have to baby proof for a long time. Newborns are literally not mobile. No newborn is getting anywhere near your electrical outlets unless you put them there - they aren't in control of their limbs enough to poke fingers into tiny holes even if you do. The dexterity, curiosity, and ability to move about all comes so much later. I had always thought that was a must-do thing before giving birth - it's really not urgent though. (Although, you'll probably have more energy to babyproof pre-baby.)
• Nightlights are mostly for adults. So I can creep on my baby while constantly checking to see if she's breathing. (Spoiler alert: she is.) Newborns aren't afraid of the dark - they spent nine months in total darkness, they're cool with it. Fear of the dark is learned later.
• Wake windows & overstimulation. Learning how much babies sleep and how that manifests is fascinating. Overstimulation is a very real thing, which makes sense because it's literally a brand new world for them (adults get overstimulated, too, obvi, we just react differently). I'd never heard the term "wake windows" before in my life, and now they're a guideline for our day-to-day. 
• All the feels / hormones. Go see my other post, I can't recount the ridiculous weepiness again.
• The loneliness. We are lucky enough to have a big support system, with a network of caring loved ones who helped us and reached out during every step of this process. (I know I already said that - but like, seriously, without it this would've felt overwhelmingly isolating.) Many mom friends have told me about that element of loneliness, when you find yourself up in the wee small hours with a petit bebe at your breast/the bottle, listening to the not-so-gentle snores of your husband - but I always found that I was not alone during that time. There was always some other mom online or a message from their feeding an hour prior waiting for me. I was never alone in the night. It was kind of beautiful.
  BUT the thing that did get me, was when my maternity leave ended / daycare began. At the start of the pandemic, I was sent to work from home, and have yet to return to the office. As an extrovert, transitioning to being physically alone all day had its ups and downs. But I adapted. Then we had a baby. I had three wonderful months with her - all day, every day. Newborn snuggles, comforting cries, milk&music jam seshs, hand holds with itty bitty fingers - it was wonderful. I did not feel "touched out" like some moms do - I was exhausted but overjoyed. But then, I was just alone again. All day. It was such a sharp pivot, which instantly brought to the forefront all the subtle PTSD I had from the loneliness of being thrust into WFH in the first place. I missed our little girl. I didn't want to be alone. 

MilkMamahood (ie the Breastfeeding Journey)

Want to preface this: you know that scene in Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory when Gene Wilder takes them on that terrifying, trippy boat ride? THAT is what I mean by "journey." THAT is what the "breastfeeding journey" vibe is. Still, I feel lucky and grateful to have been in the chocolate factory (had a healthy pregnancy/birth) at all, let alone to get on the boat (be able to breastfeed) - so not trying to diminish that bit - but mannnn it's a wild ride. 

• The boob/milk ecosystem. The lactation consultant warned me that my milk coming in would make me feel like "a busty Renaissance woman" - truer words were never spoken. While pregnant, I was alarmed at how rapidly my ta-tas were gaining size, but that paled in comparison to the early weeks postpartum. I learned a lot about how milk ducts work - and how they're basically rock hard bunches of grapes in your tits.** It's delightfully insane how human bodies work and how weird it is to keep another human life alive using my body.
• The maintenance. The volume of boob pads I've gone through (I wash reusable ones), and the amount of clothing that will just forever smell of slightly stale milk - it's unfathomable. Also, lanolin is greasy. Getting grease out of things sucks. The pump parts, the milk storage (I love our chest freezer), the endless wash. It is a fulltime job. 
• The tether. Oh, the baby is at daycare? You can just live your life same as pre-baby, right? Wrong. Time to pump! Oh, you want to run some errands or see a friend? Okay, cool, um, as long as you're only gone for a few hours because you need to get those titties back to feed the baby. Oh, the baby is sleeping through the night? Now you can finally sleep through the night? Lolz. Your boobs are leaking everywhere - grab that haakaa!
  I knew that by choosing to breastfeed, I'd be committing to the TIME it'd take to do the feeding itself, but the logistics involved and timing of it I hadn't fully understood. Your time is already not your own with a baby, but when you're their primary food source, you're absolutely on their schedule. You are fully tethered to them.*** Especially during a damn formula shortage.

There will probably never be a point where something new and surprising doesn't emerge. Where I don't learn about a new piece of this puzzle and go "Oh, wait, what?" My attempts to overshare are my way of helping someone else be less shocked while going down this road. Though I guess the eye-opening moments are all part of the experience? Wouldn't trade these WTFs for anything else. 

Figuring out this new life, together.

* There has been a running joke with my husband where I just flatly say "I am in a pool." Originally that was because I was in a pool of sweat upon waking while pregnant. Then during my delivery, when they "broke my bag of waters." Then later, in the breastfeeding era when my boobs would randomly spring a leak. Glammmmoroussss AF.

** Another ongoing laugh - me grabbing my boobs when they're too full and it's time for feeding and repeating that dumb tiktok audio of "Hollllly shit, look at these rocks!" (No idea the origin of the audio - but it's all over on videos like this and then I consumed it via the Gram, because like a true millennial I'm not on the tik nor toks).

*** Note: I did do a solo trip for 5 days to Scotland, back in April. That adventure involved me scrambling to pump in a myriad of locations in between a fully packed wedding weekend schedule. I pumped on planes and trains, in a castle, in sketchy bar bathrooms, and everywhere in between. What I did not do though was try to keep that milk and deal with the logistics of that - it was already overwhelming to manage my time around my milk - transiting it would've broken my brain completely. Even though it broke my soul to waste it. 

BabyMama: Weight For It

Note that this post was “written” via very slow typing in a notepad on my phone during late night feedings back in January and February. I’m truly terrible with touch screen keyboards, so the effort to type up even a text message is appalling. So just know that this post took WEEKS, for this old woman to smash out. And then has sat on the backburner waiting for me to find time to edit the ridiculously autocorrected 2am garbles... I’m trying here!

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In America, pregnancy is one of the only times when weight gain is exalted.* Every pound packed on is an addition towards a noble cause. Gone are the billowing tents of yesteryear, used to hide one's now-curvy figure. While everyday-pooches are to be strategically hidden, bumps are to be flaunted. They are badges of honor. Bodycon for bumps is a THING.

As long as you're pregnant, it's fine. But once that baby is out, those extra pounds go back to being judged. ‘Bouncing back’ is a dreaded expectation. You were granted nine months where society allowed you to be larger, but they won’t abide by much more than that. Sure, you have a new human that you’ve grown, and have gone through a massive physical (and emotional) trauma bringing them into this world, and are now trying to figure out how to care for them outside the bump, but, you OBVIOUSLY need to find time to work out and prep/eat healthy meals, too. Else, you’re failing as a mother. And as a wife. And as a woman. And just like, overall. 

And it's a bunch of bullshit. 

Okay, so. Before I dig in, disclaimer:

I am ALL about new moms taking time to care for themselves. They need and deserve that time. And for some, that absolutely is time for yoga, or a run, or to get veggies at the farmer’s market. And if getting back into a certain physical condition more swiftly helps a mom mentally/emotionally, as well as physically, then YAS queen, do as you will. This is more a rage about a societal expectation put on new moms, and how unrealistic and harmful it can be. And how we need to continue to normalize changes to our bodies as we grow as people (whether or not that involves birthing a baby) and embrace feeling healthy and beautiful over a number on a scale.

So let's go down the full weight journey rabbit hole of the last few years: like most women, I gained weight as I progressed into my thirties. Not a substantial amount, but there was a point where I suddenly realized I was in a different decade on the scale (the 140s) and literally my brain thought it was the one I’d “always” been in as an adult (the 130s). Because brains are funny that way. 

When we got engaged in 2018, set to marry in fall of 2019, I thought “this is it - if this won’t motivate me to workout and eat better and 'get skinny' and hit my 'goal weight,' nothing will!” ... And then I spent a year not being motivated. (I was too busy doing wedding prep and other stuff.) Sure, I did more toning, and walks, and made a point to eat/drink out less, and tried a bit harder in random bursts, but overall I didn’t go nuts about it. I also jotted down my weight every single day, just for awareness, without stressing too much over the number. But, with all that minimal effort, when done over the course of a year, I did lose about a dozen pounds before the wedding.

I continued my daily weight tracking, and in the months following the wedding slowly bopped back to my "normal" weight again. Then, 2020 came, and I watched with morbid fascination as the pandemic hit all of our waistlines. And with no where to go, no happy hour calories to be had, and endless at home time to focus on myself, I thought “this is it - I don’t have being busy as an excuse- if this won’t motivate me to workout and eat better, nothing will!” ... And then I realized motivation is often lacking when in deep states of depression and overwhelm. But, for the first several months of Covid, I had an irrational fear that we would run out of food / not have access to groceries. That, plus stress, caused me to lose about six pounds. But don’t worry, I hit my baking and stress-eating stride just like everyone else and rolling into early 2021 I was back up again to that pre-pani weight, plus a couple pounds. But we all were about there. The memes were endless, but so were the ads for online exercise classes and Peletons.

Then I got pregnant. And knowing that the nutrients I was putting in and how I was treating my body would directly impact our precious child, I thought, “this is it - if this won’t motivate me to workout and eat better and focus on my health, nothing will!” Andddd spoiler alert... that motivation just didn't come. I was good about avoiding some bad eats and not always overindulging, but overall I did not massively change for the better. I got more steps in, and did more stretching, and ate my veggies/fruits, but, I was too exhausted to properly dig in on meal prep and things like I thought I should. Shame on me, I know. (But at least I HYDRATED!)

With the weight gain of a new human life came the weight of placenta and fluids and everything else to house and grow that life. And the fun baddies like the almost-outie belly button, horrible back pain, swollen everythings, and just all the discomfort from the additional strain put on my body from rapid weight gain (just as there would be from rapid weight loss). I gained 33.5 pounds while pregnant and hit a number I’ve never seen on the scale. I carried that weight solely in my boobs and belly, which my porcelain skin will never forget. All of which cumulated in me delivering our beautiful (but massive), nine pound bébé, a week past my due date.

And there’s just no fucking way a body springs back quickly from that. Not on any front. Even with breastfeeding - which, people rave about as if it's some miracle weight loss program, but it is NOT. (Don’t get me started about how much I need to consume in order to stay afloat for that life sucking miracle.) The entire process was such a massive shift (to my organs, hormones, and life), that any expectation to return to "normal" in a rapid manner seems just so insane. 

The rare free time I’ve gotten with a newborn is spent scrambling to do laundry, or organizing so my mind feels some semblance of control, or stuffing a pop-tart in my face... it’s not spent at the gym. And maybe there will be a point where that shifts. Maybe when I’m WFH and our baby is at daycare I’ll do lunchtime workouts. Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just embrace the fluff and nap...

UPDATE: it's especially evident in the last paragraph that this post was written prior to my return to work. Having been back at work for a few months now, I can confidently say that working out during lunchtime is NOT a thing, though is not out of the realm of possibility. I also am grateful for having stopped looking in mirrors during the pandemic - it overall means I have the ability to bop out into public and not care at all what I look like, so any additional weight has not bothered my self esteem on a public front. I've embraced the parts of my wardrobe that fit my body as it is, and the fact that my body has a death grip on certain pounds while I continue to breastfeed. After I'm done breastfeeding, will reassess. I'm currently still up about 13 pounds from my "normal" weight (which I used as my baseline for all the gain/loss numbers in this post), so have lost about 20 points since giving birth. Given that it took nine months to gain that weight and I'm now about 7.5 months out from labor and delivery, I feel like I'm doing alright. For now, I'm comfortable where I am (though I miss wearing some of my slimmer fit clothes) - big boobs and all. 

We plan to have our cake and eat it, too.

* Well, that and when celebs are “committing” to a role, à la Batman Bale.

BabyMama & The Hungry, Hungry Hypocrite

“There is no one right way to do any of this. Every baby and mom are unique.”

“Whatever keeps the baby fed and healthy.”

“You’re doing your best and making the best choices for your family based on the resources and information available to you.”

"Sometimes things don't go as you had planned or hoped, but different doesn't necessarily mean bad, it just means different."

All of these are words directly out of my mouth/clumsy fingers and into the ears/eyes of other mamas* and I definitely meant them with every ounce of sincerity. Being a parent is hard enough without adding tons of extra pressure to follow a specific set of "rules" outlined by some mysterious hivemind displayed on the socials. The important thing is to keep one's baby safe and healthy, to be adaptable to the unique needs of your own family dynamic, and to just fill that wee child's life with joy and love while meeting their needs as best you can. 

All of these are good words. I mean them when I say them to others. They are truths that need to be heard.

But obviously I don't apply them to myself. I don't get that same grace. Not I, said the cat.

The pressure I put onto my own self is astronomical. I take all those words, crumple them up into a little word ball, and chuck it an awkwardly short distance away (hashtag no upper body strength). Which really isn't fair, but I find it to be true. 

The biggest example being around feeding our hungry, hungry baby. For nine months in-belly and five months out, she has been literally kept alive by my body. Every single day since she has been born, she has physically latched onto me to get that sweet, sweet boob juice that has helped her grow and thrive. But that wasn't sustainable and I was ALL the waterworks when having to adapt.

This week, I'll be out of country for several days. It'll be the longest and farthest I've ever been away from our sweet girl, and I've spent the past month or so preparing in all ways, especially on the food front. In March, I began my psychotic calculations in earnest and realized that the milk deficit we were operating under (with daycare bottle consumption outpacing amount pumped while at work) would mean that our freezer supply of milk would not be enough. Not by a long shot. So, we hashed out a plan to start supplementing with formula.

And I wepppppt. 

It was by no means a failure, and in fact, the intricate planning in advance has made it possible to supplement milk and not just fully switch to formula - but it somehow felt like I was letting her down. Like I couldn't help her. My boobs and body weren't enough. 

“Whatever keeps the baby fed and healthy.”

Sure. Sure. But I failed. In my mind's eye, I failed.

Cue my sketching out notes for daily proportion of milk to formula, ramping up to be more formula heavy as days went on, tapering off the ratio when I knew there would be enough for my time away. Freezing, thawing, mixing up formulas, plotting out the logistics for my husband while I'm away. Making sure she gets as much of my glorious antibodies as possible during her boob-less days. 

And it'll be fine. It's fine. She took to the formula like a champ (probably didn't even notice since I ramped it up so slowly). She's happy and growing. I've done nothing wrong, but every day I pour formula for her, I feel my heart just ache. Which is absolutely foolish, and really it should be a relief to not have her life so lynch-pinned to one food source. Breastfeeding is such a delicate ecosystem and we've been lucky to have to go well so far, but it could end any time. My supply could drop, her latch could just stop being good,** there could be any number of issues with clogged ducts or mastitis - basically, there are infinite ways my boobs could go out of commission, at any given time. Any feed could be our last. Which sounds dramatic, but is just so damn true. So, I should be grateful for alternatives. 

I'm trying to be grateful. We've had a good run. We're still having a good run. I haven't failed. But at this point, my brain still won't believe any of that. It's a work in progress. Momming is always a work in progress. Why share all this? Just because. Because we all put too much pressure on ourselves, not just moms but everyone. And it's silly. Our inner monologues should match the same kindness we grant to others. We're all just doing our best. Go team. 

Eat when the baby eats?? Is that the saying?

* Okay, not like, mouth into eyes or fingers into ears but like.... written or spoken... or... shit. You get what I mean! 

** I mean, she's VERY interested in the world around her right now so, her latch is basically a bob and weave OR she latches super concrete but then whips about like she's trying to bag a marlin. It is... uncomfortable at best.

Hindsight Is: 2021 Edition

Reading through my previous "Hindsight is" posts (2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020) is always a real trip. Cruising into 2022, I not only didn't get time to write up this post, but also did not review my previous year-end posts. Such is the #newbornlife we currently lead. 

Even without a reread, I can honestly say that I'd have thought 2020 would be the forever black sheep of the bunch, but the joke sure was on me. 2021 turned out to be almost as topsy-turvy, but with the addition of becoming a mom. Sort of like my regular anxiety got a minivan. But for posterity, here is a quick look back at the big ones of 2021: 

• Celebrate Good Times. Ish.
• We ended 2020 with digital holiday celebrations, with just us two in-person. The lack of gatherings with loved ones was unfortunately an ongoing theme in 2021 as well, though this year we were able to share the Christmas season with some family. 
• Was happy to celebrate and support friends and family (mostly digitally / from afar) as they tackled milestones and other moments of growth. It was wonderful to watch as they welcomed new babies into this world or announced pregnancies, started new careers, bought new homes, got engaged and/or finally married, furthered their education, tackled new hobbies, etc. I loved sharing in their moments!
• Oh Baby.
• Obviously a biggie this year was finding out we were pregnant. In the same vein as celebrations above - with everyone newly vaccinated, we were able to share the news with some close family and friends in person. Which felt so exotic at the time, especially since we'd barely seen anyone since the pandemic started. We found out we were pregnant around St. Patrick's Day, told immediate family on Easter and Mother's Day, and had a "we're all vaccinated" garage gathering of friends at the end of May to announce to our MKE crew. 
• In the fall, had a series of virtual baby showers, as the excitement of vaccines gave way to "we're not out of the fucking woods yet, people suck" mode. Even had a tiny "Groovy Baby" themed shower in person. 
• Did a maternity photoshoot, to glamorize the big old bump.
• Took a roadtrip for our Babymoon to St. Louis. Some day we'll get a honeymoon...
• Oh yeah, and like... had a baby. Gave birth. That was a thing.
• Our House, In the Middle of Our Street
• I was all up in the projects. Started doing my Casey Kasem days - throwback episodes of the show play for three hours on Sunday mornings, so I'd take that time to work on things. Got an old Zenith record console that I got partially done tearing apart and converting into a dry bar (then had to hold on since I couldn't use stripper / harsh chemicals to continue my work while knocked up). Found a glorious vintage coffee table that my uncle and I restored. Hijacked a van to get a thrifted dresser for the nursery that I jazzed up. 
• Overall, we settled properly into our house that we bought in November of 2020. You know, once we realized that the pandemic might actually end and people would eventually come visit and would think we looked like squatters. (LOL pandemic ending. Sigh.) We tackled a bunch of projects: setting up my WFH office (with actual art), converted a closet to a mudroom, fully rearranged the upstairs and set up the nursery, got rid of our old couch and opened up a front room to set up my husband's dainty sitting room (yet to be done). Got a ton of new stuff: new couch, proper headboard, new bookshelves, non-retro curtains (so much ironing), new house numbers, a new A/C, etc. There was painting and power outages, and lawn mowing and snow blowing, and it was proper homesteading all around. We even got a chest freezer. Look out, world!
• Hodge Podge
• Watched the political landscape with shock and awe. Kicking it off with the horror of the January 6th insurrection. The inauguration gave some hope. And hope was punched in the face throughout the year by witnessing idiotic party tensions slowly destroy our democracy. It's cool. I'm fine. This is fine. I hate everything.
• Had a mini staycation a few days post insurrection. IE we got takeout to a local boutique hotel and watched Elvis movies - it was actually pretty perfect. 
• My hubby got to revive is running a bit after a bummer 2020 of cancelled race events. He had an 8k and half marathon event, and a whole lot of training. Training that cumulated in his running the Berlin marathon in Germany in the fall - was so proud, even though I was sad about not being able to cheer him on in person because I was super pregnant.
• Sports were a thing. The Bucks won big, Rodgers was a total nutter, and I continued to give zero fucks about baseball. 
• On the family front, my grandma took a few falls and has now settled into a nursing home. She's the matriarch and still has all her wits about her, so I expect she'll be running the place any day. 
• A few miscellaneous attempts at normalcy were also made: attending the digital Van Gogh exhibit, visiting a few restaurants in person, getting back out to my thrift store hopping (and IKEA), some backyard afternoons with friends, a weekday afternoon at Summerfest, and even a movie at an actual theater (Black Widow per my sister's request). 

And of course, one of the top highlights of the year: getting vaccinated. Because while this thing is still not at a tipping point (thanks, anti vaxxers) back to totally normal yet, having that protection for myself and my loved ones (and our baby via me) was a game changer on my mental state. It gave that glimmer of hope that 2020 just didn't seem to have. I hope more of that shines through as we barrel into 2021... I mean, 2022... we just did 2021.... right? Didn't we? Fuck, I don't know. Go team.

Because the death of 2020 meant new life in 2021. Bloom and grow, baby!