This is me right before we left for the hospital on October 16. It is the only pregnant picture I have. I only asked Micah to take it because I realized it was my last chance. I was scheduled to be induced 30 minutes later.
All told, I only really gained a Sasha.
We got to the hospital at ten minutes early. In the lobby, I asked Micah if we could just sit for a second. I was getting really nervous. I sat on the edge of a small fountain and tried to soak up all the serenity. Then I noticed another pregnant couple coming into the lobby, and told Micah we'd better get checked in before them in case there was only one whirlpool room available. I wanted it.
I didn't get it. I basically forgot to ask. When I remembered, a nurse told me it wasn't a good idea because I was being induced, and I would be strapped up to an IV and machines and all that.
The room we got was nice and big. The maternity ward was dark and quiet. I kicked Micah out of the room while the nurse asked me "personal questions." When he came back, he had coffee and a pastry that I couldn't have a bite of.
That's about when all the peace and tranquility ended. Enter the inept nurse that couldn't get my IV in. Two tries later, I was in tears. She stopped trying and sent another nurse in, who got it on the first go. I declared her my new BFF. For the first few hours, people came in non-stop. Nurses, doctors, my doctor, and more nurses. An anesthesiologist to discuss epidurals. My parents. Micah's brother. The hospital-provided doula.
Oh god, the doula. I hated her right away. She was by all accounts a nice, outgoing, grandmotherly type. She had a dome of white hair and a pudgy tummy. My problem with her was pretty stupid. I found her too nice, too chatty, too eager to get all up in my space. She forcably gave me a foot massage and then put some totally ridiculous blue socks on me. I still can't grasp why I didn't like her, I just didn't. A few hours later, when my mom was sitting with me and I was supposed to be relaxing, she would not shut the hell up. She just kept talking, and then she'd talk more...about me relaxing. Even my mom stopped replying to her in an effort to shut her up.
One thing about Sasha's birth that still bothers me is the fact that I was induced at all. We never had one great reason, just a bunch of small, decent reasons. The induction was suggested by my doctor after I complained of being really uncomfortable, plus she was concerned about the baby getting too big, and the doctor wanted to be there for the birth, but she'd be out of town the next week. Every single medical professional that came into my birthing suite asked why I was being induced, and every single time I flubbed up a decent answer. I didn't have one. Induction rates are on the rise all over the country. I don't necessarily feel like a victim, like it wasn't my choice, but I don't want to do it again.
It took until around 2:00pm for the Pitocin to start working. They start it in small amounts and build until you are having steady contractions. Upon arrival, I was already dilated three cm. By mid-afternoon, I was up to seven. Ten is crowning. One of my main concerns leading up to this was that I be able to move around and get in different positions. This, of all suggestions I'd read previously, seemed to be the most important. Lying on your back is the position least conducive to having a child, but it is most convenient for the doctor, so that that's what most women are told to do. However, when you are hooked up to a million things, alternate positions are hard to achieve. It's hard enough just to turn from your left side to your right, which is what they told me to do. Lying on your back decreases blood flow to the baby.
Once I hit seven cm, I started having regular contractions. They weren't unbearable at first. I was riding them out pretty well. Micah stood next to me and watched the contraction monitor near the bed. I think he was scared and unsure of his role in all of this. Maybe we should have prepared better as a couple, but in the end it wasn't a lack of good support that caused the c-section.
The contractions got stronger and harder to breathe through. I made it through probably twenty before I decided I wanted an epidural. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what the worst of the contractions felt like. I remember feeling like I was cheating myself out of a certain experience that I had been kind of excited about. I believed it was an essential challenge to my inner strength. But the pain was intense, I was scared, and I knew the game plan had to change.
The general practioner on duty came in and said that my doctor suggested we break my water to get things moving. Several days ago in my doctor's office, she said "don't let them break your water without the epidural first." I repeated this to the GP. She said I would barely feel it, and I would be fine. I wish I had felt more empowered. I wish I had put my foot down. I can be the bitchiest, sassiest chick in the world, but it seems in the most critical times, I don't stand up for myself. But these were medical professionals, and who was I to question them? Right?
So one of the nurses or doctors or students - fuck if I know, there were so many in and out - put her hand inside me and declared my water unreachable. The baby hadn't dropped far enough. PHEW! YESSS! No water broken without epidural! She left the room.
Not ten seconds later, a doctor I'd never met came in and said rather cheerfully "oh, I think we can break it," or something equally confident and disturbing. She then proceeded to perform the most painful manuever on my body that I could possibly imagine. Couldn't have been much easier than actually shoving that baby out, but in fucking reverse. I started crying hard and fast. I absolutely felt like I had been violated, but because there was no ill intention, I just had to suck it up.
To make me feel better, I guess, everyone in the room started raving about the anesthesiologist on duty as we waited for him to arrive. I was still so shaken up. I saw a look I'd never seen on Micah's face - total terror - as I screamed and cried while she broke my water. We held hands while we waited for the anesthesiologist. We were truly shaken up. (I'm realizing I'll have to edit this before Sasha reads it one day. I don't want her to think it was as bad as it actually was at times).
When he arrived he was kind, but all business. Getting the epidural was one of the strangest things I've ever felt. First, it feels like a bee sting as they numb it. Then, when the giant needle is being placed, it's like someone is poking you in that funny spot in your elbow, but in your back. The contractions were still coming, making sitting still, which is essential, almost impossible. The freakiest bit is being able to feel the doctor pushing the needle around in your back. I actually had to help him place it by letting him know where I felt it. When the medicine kicked in, I was in heaven. Micah visibly relaxed as I began to smile again.
As soon as I was numb, they turned up the Pitocin again. At this point it was early evening, I guess. I was really sick of laying in bed, but there was nothing to be done with my legs totally numb. Micah would tell me when the contractions were coming because I couldn't feel them at all. It wasn't active labor, so it's not like I had to push. Mostly I just lay there and entertained the constant flow of medical and hospital staff. I was still 7cm, and I had been for many hours, despite the constant increases in Pitocin.
The doula I didn't like went off duty. A new one, who was far less intrusive, introduced herself. At this point it was just a waiting game, so she didn't bother me much with what techniques we'd try during labor or foot massages.
Finally they decided to just leave me alone and let the meds work. It was about 9:00pm. I had a hand-held control that let me increase the epidural meds whenever I needed to. Micah was exhausted and wanted to lay down, but the chair in the room was a sad excuse for a bed. Oh sure, it "kicked out" into a bed, but you couldn't lay on your side and it definitely wasn't soft. After a few minutes of grumbling, I rang the nurse and asked for a cot. She was nice, and within five minutes, a cot! He promptly fell asleep.
No matter how many times I clicked the bliss button, I was feeling really intense pressure in my pelvis, and I knew when I was having contractions though they weren't very painful. Sasha was moving down. Every few minutes the pressure would subside and I'd try to fall asleep. I might have dozed off a few times. The room was completely dark. Nurses would come in every thirty minutes to check me. Around midnight, the GP on duty came in and checked me. Still 7cm! No progress at all. Sasha's head was moving down, but the rest of her body wasn't. She was getting coneheaded.
Looking back, I can see exactly what I did wrong if I was expecting to deliver her naturally. She wasn't going to move fully into my pelvis while I was laying there with my pelvis basically shut. Turning from side to side might be healthier for the baby, but it's not great for opening things up. I had certainly read enough to know that there was no way she was coming out vaginally. Perhaps I was not-so-subconsciously more terrified of delivering her than having a c-section? Then again, when your lower half is totally numb it makes it hard to facilitate much of anything.
My doctor called me on the phone in the room. She was still on call, thankfully. She said the lack of progress was troublesome, and since Sasha's head was getting increasingly bent out of shape, she wanted to do a c-section right away. I don't remember how this made me feel. I think I must have been mostly relieved to have my baby and be free of all the discomfort. It had been an extremely uncomfortable day.
I was wheeled into the surgery room around 1:30am. The new doula pulled up a chair and held my hand while they increased my epidural meds and got me prepared to the point where Micah could take over. I so appreciate her silent support. I liked holding her hand. Micah came in, all suited up, and they started cutting me. I didn't feel anything except a little jostling of my belly. I was hot, nauseous, and the oxygen mask they put on me was slipping off. They pulled out Sasha and I heard her cry a little. I heard someone says her fingers were really long and she could be a WNBA player. Micah went to her and cut the cord, which had already been disconnected from me. I was adamant that he not look at my cut-open belly, because a few months before my friend Steph's fiancee fainted and fell when he looked down there. Then he brought her over next to my head and sat down. The three of us were there together, quietly, while they stitched me up. I did start crying when I first saw her. I continued to cry because I was so fucking uncomfortable. They tilt the operating table for some reason, and it was causing my neck to get tight. Then I could feel everything they were doing to me. I felt pulling and pinching. After I practically yelled this, I quickly got more meds, which made me nauseous. Then I said I was going to puke, but I never did. The last thing I remember saying in that room was "Are you almost done? PLEASE!" I heard my doctor from the other side say they were almost done, I was doing great. I looked at the clock. They'd been stitching me up for an hour. I was at the end of my rope. I couldn't appreciate my newborn daughter, right there next to me, because I was so fucking uncomfortable.
When it was finally over, I don't even remember getting the epidural taken out. I don't remember falling asleep back in the birthing suite. I don't remember anything until I was being wheeled to a different floor where the nursery was. Suddenly it was 6:00am and a bushytailed nurse was asking me if I wanted a shower, water, more pillows? Anything? Food, I said. She said not until the doctor's clearance, but I could have juice. Yes, please. A gallon.
Soon they brought Sasha and Micah in. He had been watching her in the nursery the whole time. The next four days were quite the experience. There were people walking into and out of my room ALL THE TIME. I couldn't get a moment's peace. Then again, I have never been spoiled so righteously in my life. Anything I wanted was given to me. I got to pick food off a menu. I got more pain meds upon request. In the middle of the night, when I was exhausted beyond comprehension, the nurses would bring Sasha in every two hours to nurse and then come get her so I could go back to sleep. The room had the biggest windows and the best view. I stared at the sky all the time, knowing I should soak it up; people pay big money for such a view. Despite all this wonderful stuff, I bitched all four days about wanting to go home. Once home, all I wanted to do was go back. I daydreamed about going back for two whole months.
And now, four and a half months later, things are pretty smooth. The baby has a somewhat consistent schedule and we now sleep next to each other most nights. My body has downgraded its need for sleep, and Sasha rewards me by coming up with new talents every day. The best way to describe it...it's like unwrapping a present you know will be exquisite. Literally everyday she discovers a new sound, move, or expression. She has recently discovered her feet, and she's getting more affectionate. Babies are neat, especially mine.
This mom thing is hard, but amazing.
I has slings. One for the mama,
and one for the daddy. Sometimes I falls sleep. 
I wears dis dress wif dees shooz. Dis stuff makes Mama cry! Dey are SHOES, Mama!
Dis me and mah dog. I like him pretty good. He very soft but his mowf kinda stinky. He gib me kisses.
She mostly locks her knees and stands there. For now. I have great expectations for this contraption. 
When has taken to snorgling her face into the soft fringe when she's sleepy. I find this absolutely adorable.
"I'm a badass muthasucka. Betta recognize. Yeah, it's a bonnet, what of it? Wanna step?"
Clearly, she is suspicious of the dangling lion. 
And absolutely furious with the giraffe. 
But mostly, this baby is chillin'. She takes life as it comes, enjoying the taste of her long, chubby fingers. If her fingers taste like her cheeks smell, I totally understand. 
SOOO good, and I absolutely do say so myself. The best sugar cookies ever. Do the words homemade buttercream icing mean anything to you? Holla.
I'm so, so curious to know what her hair will look like eventually. At home, in the dimmer lights, it looks quite dark. Outside or under flourescents the top is definitely lighter and a bit red. She has some interesting growth patterns happening. That ducktail cuteness was there when she was born, but the rest is pretty new. She has a lovely longer bit on the very back and top of her head that, when teased a little bit, stands up like a mini feather headdress. She is, like, 1/36 Blackfoot Indian. See that little bald spot? Happens to most babies, since they spend so much time with their heads supported by something. It's very soft. I like to touch it. I don't think there is ever a time when "I like to touch it" doesn't sound dirty and creepy. Really. Can you think of a time? Say it out loud. Ok stop, you sound skeezy.
(Dang, Angelina, those lips are going to cause immature boys to make terrible comments one day. I'll string up their nuts with floss outside our door, I sweartogod.)
