Sudden memories

As I was walking home from dropping off Leigh at daycare yesterday, with Ira babbling as he rode on my back, my thoughts wandered back to his birth. About a half block from home, I suddenly realized that it was May 25th, the induction date that was my unwavering focus for about a month last spring. Ira's birthday is tomorrow, Thursday. Actually, technically it's only 15 minutes away from Friday.

By this point, almost a year out, I've constructed a pretty whitewashed story of the birth. The story is compressed in time, and all the hard stuff pales in comparison to the feelings I had right after he was born, of giving and being surrounded by amazing love, and that feeling that if I could do this, I could do absolutely anything.

But a stomach bug worked it's way through our family about a week and a half ago. While I spent an absolutely miserable night laid flat by this thing, other memories came back. I remembered how awful I felt the first trimester and beyond, and viscerally remembered the experience of transition, that I'd apparently been all set to completely forget in the story I've retold myself about the birth. It was like my whole body remembered. My right hip, that was extremely painful during labor, began to throb. I couldn't figure out why my hip would hurt, since I actually had a stomach bug. That hip pain, combined with nausea, and suddenly there was almost a "click," and I felt like I was suddenly back in the worst part of labor. Honestly, I think I would have been fine not ever remembering that.

This isn't meant to be some sort of birth horror story. I stand by my story that Ira's birth was absolutely amazing, against all odds. All the hard stuff, all the good stuff, it was his birth and it still astounds me. But it was disconcerting to suddenly and deeply remember the awful parts. I still have this fantasy that someday maybe I'll get that home birth, that the parts that were hard about Ira's birth might magically disappear if I got another chance. But in bed that night, for the first time since he was born, I actually thought I might not be willing to do it again (well, less my insistence I was never going to do it again right after he was born, but doesn't everyone say that?). (Also, all the caveats apply here. These are much more thoughts about birth than about actual reality of extending our family, which obviously entails way more than just birth.)

It's like one of the ways I concocted to forget the hard parts was to pretend they wouldn't happen again if I got another chance. By leaving that door open, I got to skip those memories. Actually having those memories though, I got a little more to the place where I know his birth was just his birth. Fantasies (or even realities) of "another try" don't actually change the reality of his birth at all. I'm not sure exactly where that leaves me. But this hip is still hurting a couple weeks later. I'm a scientist in my "real life," but I'll freely admit to a bit of a mystical bent. This lingering ache, starting so near Ira's first birthday, feels like it means something more. I haven't quite figured out what it is yet.

Sharing Lactation, Part II

After Ira's birth, I was in rough shape. While Gail and I were admiring our brand new son, our doctor was assessing the damage. After several minutes, she said to me very gently that she was going to need to stitch me up in the operating room, under spinal anesthesia, "It will be about 20 minutes," she said "You enjoy your baby right now." It was actually a total of about 45 minutes before they rolled me out. I snuggled him close, we sang him a song, I was in awe that this whole baby had grown in my body and actually made it out, but he wasn't really interested in nursing.

When Gail picked Ira up before they took me out of the room, I said to her "Hold him. You nurse him if he wants to."

I know separations like that after birth can be really hard for lots of women. As I was laying there in the OR, I remember noticing that I really felt OK. I was so relieved that Ira was with his mom. I knew Gail was snuggling him, and it turned out that as she held him, he perked up, and started to nurse.

Since that first session, I've been nursing Ira. Even though Gail has milk since she has induced lactation, we wanted to make sure that my supply was well established before introducing a new variable, sort of like how you wait a few weeks to introduce a bottle. Now, at 3 1/2 weeks, that time has come, and today or tomorrow, Gail will nurse Ira, starting with one feeding a day.

Those first few days, when nursing was really hard (it went OK, but it was painful, and Ira was sluggish about learning to latch) and I was so exhausted, I sometimes wanted to just hand him over and say "You do it. You already know how." But we knew I needed to stick with it, and now Ira and I have worked things out. We've had some minor problems with over-supply but those are balancing out, too. He's growing wonderfully. I feel so proud that my body made this beautiful baby, and that now I am sustaining him.

On the eve of Gail's nursing debut, I find myself a bit reluctant to share.

There are lots of reasons that I will share anyway, not least of which is that I'm the one who nagged Gail until she agreed to induce lactation, and my reasons for wanting her to do so still stand. I also know that even though I find it satisfying to be Ira's sole source of nutrition, at some point, not too long from now, it will also be a burden. Even though I'm sticking with our plan, and am mostly happy to do so, my slight reluctance is interesting, and I want to know where it is coming from.

I'm reminded of a conversation I had with another mom back when Leigh was a baby. She was saying how her husband was taking to parenthood more slowly than she had hoped, that he didn't seem interested in the baby. I asked if he got any time with the baby, maybe even time alone, and she said that no, that it was too hard for her to leave the baby with anyone else (even the father), and that she cried if anyone else ever fed the baby. I confess that though I said supportive things, what I thought was that she needed to suck it up and hand over the kid, at least every now and then, if she had any real desire for her husband to parent their child. Three years later, it appears I'm experiencing some version of that same reluctance. Oh, I'm more than happy for Gail to trot off to the park alone with Ira after he's fed and show him off to the neighbors. I have zero qualms about her providing lots of his care once we're back at work. I don't think I'd be feeling this way if we were planning standard bottle feeding of my milk (like we did for Leigh). But nursing? It stings a bit. Now, I don't think I'll cry when she feeds him, but I'm not at all sure, so I guess I need to apologize to the universe now for some of the mean things I thought about that other mom.

There's also some piece of my reluctance that has to do with how much darn attention Gail gets for inducing lactation. When people find out that we're doing this, conversation always gets sucked into a giant lactation vortex, from which no other conversation topic can escape. Yes, it is super-interesting, but I sometimes think snarky things like "But wait! I grew the kid! And she only makes 10 ounces a day! I make like 3 million!"

Along similar lines, I find I'm having some non-bio-mom insecurity. She's getting all of these kudos for being the most deluxe NGP ever, and I find myself craving more credit for the work I did the last time. It's like I was some sort of first run model of a non-bio-mom, that still needed some bugs worked out, and all that work I did to connect with Leigh and parent her without the benefit of a nursing relationship, still comes up short. I already grappled with feeling like I came up short next to Gail when we just had Leigh, but now I'm wondering if I come up short as a non-bio-mom, too.

But at the same time I'm feeling these not-so-nice things, I'm also feeling thrilled that Gail is now voicing a real desire to nurse Ira. Back when I was pestering her to seriously consider it, her reasons for doing so were primarily logistical, and also probably to get me to shut up about it. She was reluctant to nurse again, partially because of the complications she had while nursing Leigh, and also because we both understand that nursing does not make a mother. But now that our son is here, she really wants to nurse him for him, not for some ideal of sharing care or doing nights "better" than we did last time. I love that. It makes me truly happy that she's excited about this.

I also have been thinking back to those moments right after Ira was born, when I got to know that he was close and secure with his other mom, and I didn't have to panic that we were separated or that he hadn't nursed during the 45 minutes I was with him before being rolled away to the OR. That was such a gift. Just like right after he was born, I won't always be able to be with Ira. I feel better knowing that when I'm not there, his other mom is providing for him.

(See also Sharing Lactation, Part I)

As close as you'll get to a birth story

Instead of telling the birth story, I will do what I love most: give unsolicited advice. You already know we didn't want to be at the hospital for Ira's birth, but it turned out being at the hospital really did go OK. I still wouldn't have chosen it, but we managed not only to avoid the C-section I was so afraid of, but also to have a really good birth. In retrospect, there were several decisions that helped to make that happen, so I want to pass them on.

1) We prioritized sleep. Our process from first hospital admission to baby took over three full days (Sun night 5/24 through Wed night 5/27). I wasn't in labor that whole time, but it was a long haul. There were two decision points where we went against doctor recommendations and prioritized rest over continuing to push an induction that wasn't happening. The first was on Monday afternoon. I had cervadil placed on Sunday night, and had a really good response to it. It popped me into decent early labor and looked like I might not need pitocin. I labored into early afternoon, but then contractions fizzled and it was clear we'd need to soup things up. But at that point, it was getting late, and I really didn't want to start a pitocin drip in the evening, only to be up all night in "real" labor. At our doula's suggestion, we asked our doctor to release us so that we could go home, eat and sleep. She reluctantly agreed, scheduled us for continued induction (with a different doctor) the next morning, and then helped us carry our bags to the car (what doctor does that?!). The next morning we showed up fed, rested and ready to get the show on the road.

The second point that we prioritized sleep was early Wed morning. I'd labored all day Tuesday on pitocin, and eventually reached really high doses that got me close to active labor but not quite. I really wasn't making meaningful progress and the doctor suggested rupturing membranes. I was reluctant to do so and the doctor hesitantly offered a second option of shutting off pit, sleeping for a few hours, and seeing if it might work better in the morning, since sometimes that happens. I asked if I could eat while the pitocin was off and the answer was yes. That, and our doula's comment that Gail needed rest, too, sealed the deal. They shut it off. I stuffed my face with food before sleeping, and in the morning upon waking, and Gail and I grabbed a precious 4 hours of sleep. I never would have made it through "real" labor, once it finally actually started, without those periods of rest (and food)

2) We filtered information on progress through Gail. The strangest request on our "birth preferences" was for me not to be told information about progress at internal checks, especially information about how many "centimeters" I was. Instead, the doctor would check, and then talk to Gail in the hall where I couldn't hear, and she would share some information with me, but not all of it, and she could control the timing. This way, I was protected from that inevitable frustration of feeling like I'd been laboring forever not getting anywhere, and was better able to keep going. This ended up being absolutely critical, especially near the end of labor. At my second to last check, the one we now refer to as "the bad check," the doctor (we were now back to our favorite doctor, the one who was with us on Monday, and who I saw for prenatal appts) determined not only that I'd been "stalled" at about six centimeters for several hours of extremely strong and painful contractions, but that our boy was acynclitic. His head was tipped in the exact same way that Leigh's was during birth, and was pressing on my cervix in a lopsided way, making it hard for me to completely open. If I had gotten this information directly, it would have absolutely crushed me. Instead, Gail got the information. It did crush her (it was, in fact, the low point that she wrote about, where she wonders if she should have encouraged me to have an epidural right then and there). As the information filtered through the room, I felt energy seep away and frustration and fear seep in. But there was enough of a buffer that I was able to move on to the next step. Folks moved me straight away to the tub to change things up. Our midwife and doula dropped hints about the baby's position, and suggested things to try and that I ask our baby to move. I hung in there, but I figured out that Ira was positioned just like Leigh. I was able to do as they asked, but this was by far the hardest part of labor. I was feeling the urge to push far too early (which is what had prompted the "bad check" in the first place), and resisting that urge was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. An hour later, it was clear that I was only marginally holding off on the pushing and we needed to do another check. I stated very clearly that if I had made no progress it was time for an epidural. I knew that was how Leigh had come. I knew it would be OK. But the next check turned out to be the one I actually wanted to hear. The doctor broke into a huge grin, "You are complete! You can push this baby out! He's at zero station!" The room practically broke out into a party. And wow, did I ever push. Our boy arrived less than a half hour later. If the info from "the bad check" had come to me directly, I wouldn't have been able to stick it out for that last little bit. It would have been fine. Believe me, I would have thoroughly enjoyed an epidural. But now that it is said and done, I'm so glad to have gotten the chance to push him out myself.

3) We had lots of (professional) support. We headed into this labor with an embarrassment of riches on the labor support front. Our midwife for our previously planned home birth was there in a doula role, and we went ahead and kept the doula we'd lined up for home already. We certainly felt a little silly heading in with two doulas, but figured it couldn't hurt. Turns out we needed both of their energy. With the process stretching on and on, they were able to trade off taking time with us, and were each able to get (some) rest and bring in new energy at different times. Our doula knew the hospital procedures well, and was essential in helping us navigate them and advocate for what we needed (see point 1 above re: sleep). They were both absolutely critical in keeping Gail going. After "the bad check" they were able to provide me with support that Gail simply could not have. Our midwife was an absolute lifeline for me through the most difficult parts of labor. Most importantly though, they both helped us understand what was going on and make the best decisions we could. That, more than anything, would have made everything OK, even if we had ended up needing surgery in order to keep Ira safe. No matter how things had turned out, we made good decisions the whole time, and we needed that supportive experienced presence to make those decisions. Now, do you really need two doulas? Probably not. One, and more reliance on the nursing staff would probably work fine (we really were boring for many of our nurses), but should you end up with two by a fluke of planning, go with it.

I guess that ended up covering a lot of the birth story anyway. It isn't the whole story. I left out good parts, like how my mom was there despite my insistence that I'd never want her at a birth, and it was wonderful to have her. I left out how it turns out that in the throes of labor, I'm still bossy, kind of funny, pessimistic, polite and worried about if everyone else has had enough to eat, which means that I'm still pretty much myself. I also left out some bad parts, like about the evil "Dragon Nurse." In any case, it was a wild ride. We're so happy to have Ira here safe.

Monday morning quarterback

It's really difficult to sit down and write about something as life-changing and intense as the birth of your son. I could write down a blow-by-blow of events from my point of view, but the more I talk about what happens the more ordinary the events seem and the further away the actual experience of them drifts. Instead I'll just try to get down a few rambling thoughts.

Over the last week or so I have come to appreciate Lyn's experiences three years ago. I appreciated her before, but labor, birth, and newborn time for a partner is very different that it is for a birthing mother (duh!). During labor, Lyn's only job was to focus on herself, but my
job, to a certain extent, was to manage the whole experience. I learned information from doctors that I didn't share with her because I judged it wouldn't be useful. I called family and decided what to share with them. I was instrumental in making decisions that potentially changed the course of labor, and it's really hard not to play the Monday-morning quarterback.

When I gave birth to Leigh a few years ago, I had a lot of clarity afterward. I knew that the birth went exactly how it needed to go, even though it was different than what we had planned. I had some regrets about not getting to birth Leigh at home, but mostly I felt the experience was wonderful and fundamentally right, both the parts at home and the parts at the hospital. Lyn had more doubts, and it took longer for her to come to terms with the birth.

I'm now in Lyn's position. I keep thinking about moments during the birth when I might have made a different decision and wondering if I was "right." In particular, I worry that I should have encouraged Lyn to have an epidural during the evening of the 27th. She was really struggling and I'm afraid that my decision about what to tell her and how to support her might have been based too much on my own experiences and not enough on what was happening with Lyn. For her part, Lyn says that everything happened just as it should have. She seems to see the birth as a series of events that went just right, including the bumps in the road. This is harder for me to do, just as it was harder for Lyn after my labor with Leigh.

Birth is a transformative experience for everyone involved. But I have learned over the course of two births that you don't get to pick the kind of transformation you have. Instead you have to be fully present and deal with each new twist in the road as it comes. It's great to plan ahead and imagine how you might deal with different alternatives, but things will most likely happen that you are completely unprepared for. That's the part that actually transforms you.

[By the way, all four of us are doing well. Lyn is recovering slowly but surely. I'm enjoying taking care of the family. Leigh loves nothing more than to kiss her baby brother and help with diaper changes. Our beautiful new baby boy is growing both in his body and in our hearts.]

He's here!

Our son arrived very late on Wed night (May 27th). He's a healthy 7 lbs 4 oz with a full head of reddish blond hair. We have lots of recovering to do around here, so details and pictures may be slow to appear, but know we are all doing well. His name (both on the blog and in real life) will be forthcoming on day 8.