Tag Archives: Birth

December 6, 2012

Freewrite: Worst Days

 Getting back to the root of blogging with uninterrupted, narcissistic rambling.

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It’s 9:19pm and I’ve had one of the worst parenting days I’ve had in a long time. A 5am wake up followed by a morning of crying, an afternoon of whining, and an evening of unexplainable tantrums. My eyes are heavy and my chest feels tight, like I’ve been holding my breath all day long. I know it’s normal, but that doesn’t make it easier. This is hard. I know we’ve said it a hundred times, whispered again and again into each others ears, but there’s nothing else to say in these moments. This is hard.

I was talking to my friend Carrie a few minutes ago, the one very pregnant with a first baby, and she was saying she’s so ready to meet this child. “I know,” I said, “I know, I know, I know. It’s almost here.” And then I showed her a picture of Waylon and I when he was just born. It’s a picture I’ve never shown anyone else because I look so puffy and tired and raw. I thought she would laugh, but instead she was amazed how big he was. Is that in my belly? she asked. That can’t be inside of me.

I was amazed how small he was. And then I had this strange flashback to that first night in the birthing center. I hadn’t slept for 48 hours and I felt my body shutting down after a long 23 hour labor. When we finally got Waylon to sleep, we turned out the lights and for the first time in a long time, I shut my eyes.

Two minutes later, a nurse came in to draw my blood. She was quiet and sweet, but when I asked her to come back later, she said she needed this now and if I could just stay awake a little longer. I tried to stay calm, but my bed shook with sobs. I wanted to say, “I can’t. I can’t do this. I need to sleep. Please let me sleep.” But I was too tired to speak. Instead, I closed my eyes and let the tears burn. If this was parenthood, I might not be able to do it.

When I think about that moment, that first test, I know I can do this. I know that on my worst day, I am still here. I am still facing it. Even if I’m crying and resisting and wishing I was in a hotel with free cable and feather pillows, I show up.

It is those moments, so puffy and tired and raw, that define us. We are here. We are doing it.

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October 11, 2012

Would You Hire A Birth Photographer?

A few decades ago, men weren’t even allowed in the delivery room. Now it’s your man, your Douala, your doctor, and your birth photographer.

Every day, more and more woman are voluntarily putting their bodies and new babies in front of the camera to capture the first moments of life. It started with celebrities and trickled down to the hippies, home birthers, and Kelle Hamptons. Now it’s commonplace.

When I was pregnant with Waylon, I swore off any photos or offers to videotape the birth of my son. I was sensitive about being embarrassed and worried it might get a little National Geographic in there, with images better kept out of the family scrapbook.

In retrospect, I regret not having the moment I saw my son for the first time on camera. I can hope my brain will never forget it, but sometimes I wish for proof of my soul filled joy.

After researching it a bit, I found that this new niche of photography does have its own set of problems. Some hospitals ban photography while women are giving birth. Videotaping tends to set off even more alarms and is often strictly forbidden. There are places, however, where the doctors and nurses on duty unofficially set their own rules, some even allowing birth photographers to be present during C-sections. Obviously home births are the easiest gig. There, the mother calls the shots (Source).

Admittedly, I’m not sure I want a whole photoshoot of my lady parts in such a sad state of affairs, but apparently I don’t have to. In fact, most clients just want pictures after the baby has made their way out of the ring of fire, which makes sense. The whole thing is a bit messy.

I will say, however, that having done it once has changed my pre-baby National Geographic fears. Yes, birth is raw, but a pregnant woman drenched in sweat and bellowing has become beautiful to me. I kind of wish I could watch the whole thing over again. I’m already scheming about including my BFF (and amazing photographer) in the next ordeal. At the very least, I hope to set up a tripod.

Things could get weird.

 What about you? Would you hire a birth photographer?

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August 30, 2012

5 Tips For Surviving That First Post Labor Poo

We’ve talked about a lot of things here on the blog. We’ve talked about marriage and sex, breastfeeding and hemorrhoids, mornings and morning sickness. The funny part is that out of all of it, the thing you bring up most is the first post labor poo. Those posts are the most popular and almost every reader I meet brings it up within the first 5 minutes. You either thank me for talking about it (you’re welcome) or tell me I’ve scared you into never, ever having children (you’re welcome). It’s awesome.

Recently it’s come to my attention that despite talking about it multiple times, I’ve never actually talked about how to deal with that first post partum poo. I wish so desperately that someone would have warned me about that sucker. I wish even more that someone would have told me what to do to make it less painful.

I have talked to some of you who never had to deal with a difficult first post labor poo. For some reason or another, you were blessed with amazing bowels or a body that takes labor and delivery like a champ. My sincerest congratulations. You have dodged the bullet of all bullets. Now go sit in the corner and be quiet.

Two days after I came home from the birthing center with my new baby boy, I knew I couldn’t avoid it any longer. It had been 6 days since anything had passed through my system and it was time. I waited until the baby fell asleep and quietly slipped into the bathroom. Austin wasn’t home so I gave myself a little mirror pep talk and took a few deep breaths. It was go time. Literally.

Exactly ten seconds later I was crying and bracing myself against the wall. Two minutes later I was on the phone with the OBGYN asking if it was possible for my vagina to fall out while trying to have a BM.  The nurse was very kind and assured me I just needed to relax and maybe take a stool softener. A stool softener? Lady, I’ve taken 7. I hung up.

After a few more minutes of trying, bleeding, and quiet screams, the cause of all this angst started to cry from the other room. Panic washed over me as I realized I was really in no position to get up. I was in the middle of anal Armageddon for Pete’s sake. I waited a few minutes hoping he would fall back asleep, but his cries only escalated. I tried calling Baby Daddy who was painting a house a few miles away but he didn’t answer. I cursed him. I cursed him for not having to do any of the hard parts; labor, delivery, twelve stitches, and now this.

Finally I just faced the fact that this was happening. I picked myself up, waddled out to the baby, returned with him attached to my breast, and the experienced the worst 15 minutes of my life. Really. It was the worst.

A year later and this memory is the single largest barrier between me and baby number two. In retrospect, I should have done things a little differently but I didn’t know any better.

Save yourself.

Here are my five tips for surviving that first post labor poo:

1) Get medicated. IB profin, tucks pads, cooling creams, stool softeners, wine. Do it. Do it all.

2) Apply counter pressure. It was only after my first post labor poo that a friend told me to apply counter pressure. It was in a facebook message and I immediately started crying. Yes! Of course! Applying counter pressure in the front with a frozen pad makes it much easier to go in the back without worrying about anything ripping or falling out. (Tip: Soak a pamper and then put it in the freezer. Take out when you’re ready to use the bathroom).

3) Don’t do it alone. Wait until someone else is around before attempting the first labor poo. Moral support plus you won’t have to risk bringing the baby into a war zone.

4) Avoid cheese and anything else that will make your stool hard enough to cut glass. Fruit and veggies are your friend. Prune juice too if you can stomach it, though I’m pretty sure prune juice contains no prunes. Just dirty feet and garbage. Gross.

5) Go to the doctor if it doesn’t get better. Not to freak you non moms out, but my post labor poos didn’t get any easier. In fact, I shit glass for 6 weeks straight before I finally went to the doctor. As it turns out, I had nasty anal fissures as a result of a difficult delivery. Swallow your pride. If it still hurts after a week or so, you might need a prescription to poo in peace.

Now that you have all the secrets, I should probably tell you that no matter what–it’s still going to be uncomfortable. That whole situation in general is uncomfortable. Be gentle, be safe, and avoid anything that is going to put stress on your body. Two weeks after I had Waylon, we moved and I regretted it for days afterward. My body suffered, especially that part of my body.

What about you? Do you have any tips on post labor pooing? I know it’s awkward for some of you to talk about it. Take heart in the fact that I don’t feel awkward. In fact, I think talking about poop is a complete gas (joke!). Also, if you ever need to feel less awkward about it, think about Paris Hilton pooping because she totally does it too! Everybody poops and almost every mom has survived a post labor poo. It’s a rite of passage. One that still leaves me with shivers up my spine.

Good luck.

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July 16, 2012

Mrs. Goat: A Birth Story

Prologue

My in-law’s have goats. Every year I wait and wait to witness one being born.

Chapter One

We are at my in-laws to visit. We do this most every Sunday afternoon because that’s what you do on Sunday afternoons around here. Today is hot and humid and we’re having fresh corn on the cob for dinner. Austin and I help husk it while Waylon plays close by.

After the corn is husked we take the garbage to the field to feed the goats. Almost immediately we see a mama goat in labor. I am ecstatic! It’s happening! Where are my shoes? Forget shoes!

I am running around and running my mouth. I go inside to get my camera. Waylon is unaffected.

Chapter Two

Soon Jim, my father-in-law, prepares a birthing suite which turns out to be a pile of hay. I am doing nothing to help except ask important questions like, “Does it come out of her butt?” and “What happens next?”

I am a goat birthing idiot.

The whole time it’s happening I can’t help but think about my own labor. I shudder as the goat bellows and lays on her side. She is uncomfortable. She is swearing. This is her first time.

At one point Austin notes how goat births are different than human births because the sister goats eats her mucus plug. I had been trying to ignore this fact, but now it’s all I can think about.

Chapter Three

An hour passes by and I am on close watch. I leave her side only once to get a drink. Apparently this is a long labor for a goat so I try to look sympathetic. Really I’m still thinking about my own 23 hour labor and how this goat should probably suck it up.

Everyone else goes inside except Gavin (Austin’s brother), Jim, and myself.

It is raining.

Finally her water breaks. The billy goat chews on his cigar like it is 1965. I try not to be annoyed at his ambivalence.

Chapter Four

It’s really happening. This young animal is about to be a mother for the first time. I hold my breath and soon enough, a baby boy.

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Epilogue

It was gross and then it was beautiful. Tears were in my eyes. Every new life, a miracle.

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January 25, 2012

Dear Friend (Letter To New Moms)

One of my best friends is pregnant and going to have her baby any minute. You may remember her from here. Anyway, I wrote her a letter and she said I could share it. Come on out, Baby G. We’re so excited to meet you.

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Dear Friend,

In some ways I envy you. I envy your big round belly, constant admirers, and excuse to eat ice cream for breakfast. I envy your time, your naps, your organized nursery and neatly folded baby clothes. I envy your ignorance; your wonderful, pregnant, pre-baby ignorance.

I don’t envy your birth, or more accurately your post-birth. You know this because when I left your baby shower I said, “I’m sorry you have to give birth.” I’m sorry I said that in front of your grandmas, but it’s true. I’m sorry because everyone says “the pain is worth it,” but fails to acknowledge how you shit glass for weeks afterward. I’m not sure why no one tells you this. Someone should tell you so you don’t call your doctor in a panic and say something ridiculous like, “I don’t think my anus is in the right spot.”

Of course the baby does help improve morale. When I think about you seeing your son or daughter for the first time, my heart breaks a little because that’s a moment you can never take back. That moment sticks with you for the rest of your life, hovering in the back of your brain, reminding you what perfect means. It’s a feeling of pure joy and absolute terror. You won’t know what to do with it, but you’ll accept it without thinking because that’s what mom’s do. They enter into survival mode the second the baby is born, because otherwise they will most certainly die.

You are probably wondering about birth and contractions. I know it’s incredibly frustrating not to know what to expect. Have you ever had your arm fat pinched? It’s like that but in your uterus.

Good luck.

Once the baby is on the scene, you can be sure of a few things:

1) Your body will never be the same.

2) Your sleep will never be the same.

3) Your marriage will never be the same.

You can also rest assured that the big belly you’ve been carrying around will still be there, but no longer be acknowledged as “cute.” In fact, it’s kind of horrifying. Remember flubber? It’s like that but with stretch marks. Avoid mirrors.

Now it’s time to come home! The hospital was nice because the nurses did everything short of breathing for you. You didn’t even have to change the baby’s diaper. How convenient!

Don’t be alarmed if on the car ride home, you have a miniature panic attack. I remember feeling that it was very bright outside and suppressing the urge to sob. This is all very normal. Your body just went through World War III and now you have to keep a small, defenseless human alive on top of it. Terrifying.

Once you get home, you will probably want to sleep. You may be thinking, didn’t I just spend three days sleeping in the hospital? The answer to that question is a solid “no.”

A word on breastfeeding: it may come easily, it may not. What I can promise you is that it will get better and it’s okay to ask for help. Despite rumors that it is “the most natural thing on earth,” breastfeeding can actually be pretty tricky. If you end up giving your baby a little formula to get some relief,  you will not go to Mommy hell.

Things people will say to you that may or may not make you want to cut them:

It’s such a magical time, isn’t it?

Don’t you just love being a mommy?

Breastfeeding is such a bonding experience, don’t you think?

Just ignore them.

Treasure those who bring you meals and take out trash and quietly clean up your house. Make a note of the ones who say “this is hard” because they are the ones you call at 2AM when the kid still won’t latch. Honor them later, take advantage of them now.

I will pray for you.

I will pray for your sleep, your sanity, and your patience. I will pray for your expanding mom heart.

Most importantly, I will pray for your first, post-labor poo.

You know who to call.

Love you,

Kate

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