I put Mom on the airport shuttle this morning. I will really miss her companionship as I face the first week home alone with Claire. It was lots of fun to hear her stories of birthing and raising 5 kids over many decades, from my brother Tom, born in 1949, to me, born in 1968. Technologies changed, "standard procedures" in the hospitals changed, and "conventional wisdom" also changed dramatically over the decades. While Mom got to stay in the hospital for 5 days minimum after each delivery, she didn't have things like my electric portable breast pump. (It has been my salvation the last 10 days before we got a professional out to help address Claire's latching problems.)
I cannot speak highly enough of the noble calling of lactation consultants. I'd honestly begun to belive that my baby hated me, she was having such a hard time latching on. The success we've finally had getting Claire to feed from me again has given me new hope and enthusiasm for being a mom. Hooray for the pros!
8.30.2002
8.20.2002
Claire's birth story
Our beautiful new daughter arrived punctually on her due date, Aug. 17, at 2:16 a.m. Here's the story of my L&D experience bringing Claire Elise into the world.
On Thursday Joel and I went to the mall and walked our legs off, got the contractions faster, only to have them stop completely as soon as we got in the car. Most discouraging. We hung out with a friend that evening, relaxed, played Scrabble and figured the timing of labor was all in God's hands. After all, I wouldn't be pregnant forever, even if it was beginning to feel that way.
At around 2 a.m. Friday, I was awakened by a contraction worse than any before. I went and grabbed Joel's watch that lights up and started timing contractions, but tried to sleep as I was able. The contractions were 10 minutes apart. By 6:30 they were 7 minutes apart. I got up and tried to keep moving--showered, walked the dog, did some light house cleaning. They slowed down more than once, then I ate a little lunch. Powie! The contractions got much harder and were 5 minutes apart. I could barely stand they hurt so much. I made Joel eat lunch, then we headed for the hospital, arriving at around 2:15 p.m.
Check in was slow, and the monitoring process was like an episode of the Three Stooges--I seemed to have all the clueless residents tripping in and out. Once they got the monitor working, the contractions were 3 mintues apart and excruciating. They finally checked me at 3:30, I was 5 centimeters. Pretty cool! I thought it would take far longer to dilate that much.
Because monitoring had been so slow, I asked them to send the anesthesiologist over as soon as I got to a L&D room. They got my IV going, and he arrived to do the epidural once enough fluids were in.
I must say, epidurals are AWESOME! I felt fantastic as soon as it kicked in. The next few hours, the contractions slowed down only a little bit (from 3 min apart to 4), but I could barely feel them. :) The doctor examined me and said I was now 7 cm and 90% effaced.
While I was in transition, I actually napped a little. (Did I mention that epidurals were awesome??) I sent Joel to go eat dinner while my mother-in-law and the nurse stayed with me. During this time, my blood pressure was making folks a bit nervous. It got as low as 98/34. Apparently my pressure had been only 110/54 before the epidural though. I had no symptoms like light headedness, but they put me on oxygen for a while anyway.
The next thing I knew, the doctor examined me and said, "You're 10 cm, it's time to start pushing." (I had been asleep when he first came in the room. No kidding). "One problem though," he said. "The baby is face up. We will have to try to turn her through the pushing." That explains why my contractions had been so excruciating without drugs--I'd been in back labor all along.
We started pushing at 8:40. This lasted a very long time. I was put in 4 different positions along the way to turn the baby. I got some breaks when I needed to rest out a few contractions. We watched Friday slowly tick away, and we all joked that this baby wanted to be born ON her due date (Saturday), not one day sooner. By midnight, I was exhausted. We had succeeded in turning the baby face down, but the doctor decided I needed help to finish. My epidural was also wearing off on one side.
The anesthesiologist came to give me a booster dose of anesthesia, and the doctor told me to rest while he finished another delivery. We would proceed with the help of foreceps when he returned.
Over an hour passed, and I was able to recover some strength. A huge cast of characters arrived to help--the doctor, several residents, two nurses and the anesthesiologist. I joked "Party in my room!"
Six more sets of pushing and some deft turns and pulls by the doctor, and she was out at 2:16 am! The foreceps left no marks, and I didn't even have an episiotomy, just some tearing (2nd degree). It took quite a while for him to stitch me up, so I'm still very sore. We were all surprised that an average sized baby (7 lb. 5 oz.) could be so hard to get out.
Claire Elise is named in honor of her great-great grandmother, Clara Elizabeth. She looks like my family facially, but has Joel's long hands and feet. Joel took some film to be developed, and he hopes to scan and post some photos Tuesday or Wednesday.
Our beautiful new daughter arrived punctually on her due date, Aug. 17, at 2:16 a.m. Here's the story of my L&D experience bringing Claire Elise into the world.
On Thursday Joel and I went to the mall and walked our legs off, got the contractions faster, only to have them stop completely as soon as we got in the car. Most discouraging. We hung out with a friend that evening, relaxed, played Scrabble and figured the timing of labor was all in God's hands. After all, I wouldn't be pregnant forever, even if it was beginning to feel that way.
At around 2 a.m. Friday, I was awakened by a contraction worse than any before. I went and grabbed Joel's watch that lights up and started timing contractions, but tried to sleep as I was able. The contractions were 10 minutes apart. By 6:30 they were 7 minutes apart. I got up and tried to keep moving--showered, walked the dog, did some light house cleaning. They slowed down more than once, then I ate a little lunch. Powie! The contractions got much harder and were 5 minutes apart. I could barely stand they hurt so much. I made Joel eat lunch, then we headed for the hospital, arriving at around 2:15 p.m.
Check in was slow, and the monitoring process was like an episode of the Three Stooges--I seemed to have all the clueless residents tripping in and out. Once they got the monitor working, the contractions were 3 mintues apart and excruciating. They finally checked me at 3:30, I was 5 centimeters. Pretty cool! I thought it would take far longer to dilate that much.
Because monitoring had been so slow, I asked them to send the anesthesiologist over as soon as I got to a L&D room. They got my IV going, and he arrived to do the epidural once enough fluids were in.
I must say, epidurals are AWESOME! I felt fantastic as soon as it kicked in. The next few hours, the contractions slowed down only a little bit (from 3 min apart to 4), but I could barely feel them. :) The doctor examined me and said I was now 7 cm and 90% effaced.
While I was in transition, I actually napped a little. (Did I mention that epidurals were awesome??) I sent Joel to go eat dinner while my mother-in-law and the nurse stayed with me. During this time, my blood pressure was making folks a bit nervous. It got as low as 98/34. Apparently my pressure had been only 110/54 before the epidural though. I had no symptoms like light headedness, but they put me on oxygen for a while anyway.
The next thing I knew, the doctor examined me and said, "You're 10 cm, it's time to start pushing." (I had been asleep when he first came in the room. No kidding). "One problem though," he said. "The baby is face up. We will have to try to turn her through the pushing." That explains why my contractions had been so excruciating without drugs--I'd been in back labor all along.
We started pushing at 8:40. This lasted a very long time. I was put in 4 different positions along the way to turn the baby. I got some breaks when I needed to rest out a few contractions. We watched Friday slowly tick away, and we all joked that this baby wanted to be born ON her due date (Saturday), not one day sooner. By midnight, I was exhausted. We had succeeded in turning the baby face down, but the doctor decided I needed help to finish. My epidural was also wearing off on one side.
The anesthesiologist came to give me a booster dose of anesthesia, and the doctor told me to rest while he finished another delivery. We would proceed with the help of foreceps when he returned.
Over an hour passed, and I was able to recover some strength. A huge cast of characters arrived to help--the doctor, several residents, two nurses and the anesthesiologist. I joked "Party in my room!"
Six more sets of pushing and some deft turns and pulls by the doctor, and she was out at 2:16 am! The foreceps left no marks, and I didn't even have an episiotomy, just some tearing (2nd degree). It took quite a while for him to stitch me up, so I'm still very sore. We were all surprised that an average sized baby (7 lb. 5 oz.) could be so hard to get out.
Claire Elise is named in honor of her great-great grandmother, Clara Elizabeth. She looks like my family facially, but has Joel's long hands and feet. Joel took some film to be developed, and he hopes to scan and post some photos Tuesday or Wednesday.
8.13.2002
Lady in waiting...
Day 2 of maternity leave. It feels so strange to be home and not deathly ill. Last night I had contractions that were 10-15 minutes apart for about 5 hours, but they slowed down overnight.
How about sending some labor vibes my way? I'm eager to meet my little girl!
Day 2 of maternity leave. It feels so strange to be home and not deathly ill. Last night I had contractions that were 10-15 minutes apart for about 5 hours, but they slowed down overnight.
How about sending some labor vibes my way? I'm eager to meet my little girl!
8.05.2002
Something's fishy
While nibbling on some Swedish fish (the gummy candy), I noticed they have a slightly oily sheen. Reading the package, I learned that these critters contain mineral oil and carnauba wax. Is this supposed to make them easier to swallow?
While nibbling on some Swedish fish (the gummy candy), I noticed they have a slightly oily sheen. Reading the package, I learned that these critters contain mineral oil and carnauba wax. Is this supposed to make them easier to swallow?
8.01.2002
Alas, I'll never be a chemist
While I aced the concepts of chemisty in high school, I and my lab partner were total clods at application. I still blame the teacher, though, and here's why.
Mr. G. was one of those rumpled, bumbling sorts of high school teachers who wore polyester pants, wrinkled shirts and had crazy Harry Potter-esque black hair. His wife, a bossy, condescending type, taught eighth grade science in the same school district. I suspect she had done a lot to undermine Mr. G's confidence.
Early on in the school year I became convinced that Mr. G. was an idiot. I think it was the day he was doing calculations on the board and needed to add 2 and 3, came up with 6, realized that wasn't right, then reached for a calculator. How can you trust a man who doesn't know the difference between addition and multiplication?
One of our early lab experiments was to create hydrogen gas, collect some, then do a "pop test" to verify that it was indeed hydrogen. Mr. G. (who can't even add) told us to collect the gas in a test tube. Our lab manual said to use a gas bottle (roughly five times the volume). Debbie and I decided that Mr. G. had to be wrong, so we followed the lab manual's instruction. We easily collected our gas, then went to do the "pop test." Instead of the nice little pop our classmates were getting, we got a sonic boom. The sound echoed down the corridor, and Mr. G. went ballistic. When we sheepishly admitted to following the lab book, he just shook his head and said, "You girls!" I guess that was supposed to be the ultimate put-down.
Later in the school year, after months of no major lab incidents, we were to do an experiment that required heating a substance from above with direct flame from the bunsen burner. Mr. G. showed the class the technique at my lab station. We got set up, lit the burner, then Debbie gently lifted the burner to heat the substance. Well, the hose attaching the burner to the gas line disconnected and flame shot out of the gas line, burning Debbie up one arm. Mr. G. again went ballistic.
This time I stood my ground and told him that HE was the one who had loosened the hose during his demonstration, and that he ought to be more careful. He looked at me dumbfounded, told the rest of the class to check their hose connections, then had me take my injured lab partner to the nurse.
The really funny thing is, I took chemisty as an elective my senior year, thinking it would be interesting. Talk about going out with a bang.
While I aced the concepts of chemisty in high school, I and my lab partner were total clods at application. I still blame the teacher, though, and here's why.
Mr. G. was one of those rumpled, bumbling sorts of high school teachers who wore polyester pants, wrinkled shirts and had crazy Harry Potter-esque black hair. His wife, a bossy, condescending type, taught eighth grade science in the same school district. I suspect she had done a lot to undermine Mr. G's confidence.
Early on in the school year I became convinced that Mr. G. was an idiot. I think it was the day he was doing calculations on the board and needed to add 2 and 3, came up with 6, realized that wasn't right, then reached for a calculator. How can you trust a man who doesn't know the difference between addition and multiplication?
One of our early lab experiments was to create hydrogen gas, collect some, then do a "pop test" to verify that it was indeed hydrogen. Mr. G. (who can't even add) told us to collect the gas in a test tube. Our lab manual said to use a gas bottle (roughly five times the volume). Debbie and I decided that Mr. G. had to be wrong, so we followed the lab manual's instruction. We easily collected our gas, then went to do the "pop test." Instead of the nice little pop our classmates were getting, we got a sonic boom. The sound echoed down the corridor, and Mr. G. went ballistic. When we sheepishly admitted to following the lab book, he just shook his head and said, "You girls!" I guess that was supposed to be the ultimate put-down.
Later in the school year, after months of no major lab incidents, we were to do an experiment that required heating a substance from above with direct flame from the bunsen burner. Mr. G. showed the class the technique at my lab station. We got set up, lit the burner, then Debbie gently lifted the burner to heat the substance. Well, the hose attaching the burner to the gas line disconnected and flame shot out of the gas line, burning Debbie up one arm. Mr. G. again went ballistic.
This time I stood my ground and told him that HE was the one who had loosened the hose during his demonstration, and that he ought to be more careful. He looked at me dumbfounded, told the rest of the class to check their hose connections, then had me take my injured lab partner to the nurse.
The really funny thing is, I took chemisty as an elective my senior year, thinking it would be interesting. Talk about going out with a bang.
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