Hello World

I have not been missing in action for the last two weeks.  I have been very much in action.  I have been spending the last ten days basking in the complete delight of this...

My little "Duck," was born on Thanksgiving Day, at 2:40 pm, after a nearly 24 hour long induction of labor. This  precious little boy is my smallest baby, weighing 6 pounds 14 ounces and measuring 20 inches long.

I am blissfully happy.  Happy to have the opportunity to be a new mommy again.  Happy to have the chance to experience another newborn.  Happy to have him here safely.  Happy to no longer be pregnant.

I would like to warn you in advance that, for a little while at least, there will be a flood of baby posts.  It would be impossible for that not to occur.

I should also warn you that the rest of this post is my birth story and may be overly long and may contain too much personal information.  Reading this is optional.  Writing this is not optional.  I must write to remember and to cherish.

When I went to my last regularly scheduled OB appointment on Wednesday, November 21, I took my time walking over there.  I didn't want my blood pressure to be high from a power walk from the OR to the clinic.  My blood pressure had been elevated on my last two appointments.  However, rechecks had been normal.  I strolled over and arrived with plenty of time to sit, relax, and rest my massively swollen feet and legs.  Despite this, my blood pressure was still elevated when I was checked in, so my urine was checked for protein.  This had been done two week earlier, and the result was normal.  This time was different: my urine came back positive for protein.  With high blood pressure and  proteinuria, the concern for preeclampsia, the diagnosis that had just been a whisper of a concern, suddenly became a real possibility.

My OB came in to discuss the results.  She gave me two options: head over to Labor and Delivery now for an induction, or undergo a 24 hour urine collection to arrive at a definite diagnosis and then have an induction. The only reason she was really giving me an option was because the next day was Thanksgiving. She said that if I were her sister, she would take me to L&D now, and bring me turkey later.  I looked at Hubster, almost feeling numb.

"Let's just be done,"  he said.  I nodded and mumbled my assent.   The OB left the room to arrange for my admission and induction.

I wasn't quite sure what to think.  I wasn't ready.  Yes, I wanted to not be pregnant anymore, almost more than anything.  The swelling that had been a mild nuisance was now significant, going up to my mid thighs; it had been a while since I could fit into normal shoes and my face and hands were now swollen. My heartburn was still raging, despite twice daily medication.  My mild hip and back pain had turned into distracting sciatica.  So yes, I wanted to be done.  But I still had pictured going into labor on my own.  I had undergone an induction with Monkey and had been hoping to avoid it this time around.  That was not going to be the case.

As Hubster and I walked over to Labor and Delivery, I called my mom, who had arrived in town on Sunday and was currently watching Bug and Monkey. I then called my friend who had offered to watch the boys so my mom could be present at the birth. I felt guilty with every phone call, feeling that I was ruining Thanksgiving for so many people. But not a single person complained.

I checked into L&D, changed, had an IV placed.  I then received a medication to help "ripen" my cervix, since I was only dilated to 2 cm.  Now, there was nothing left to do except wait.  Hubster returned home to get my carefully packed hospital bag.  He brought my mom and the boys to the hospital to visit. The boys then went to my friends' house for what we sold to them as a sleepover.

Playing on iPhones is apparently much better than actually visiting.

The rest of the night was spent waiting, having the external monitors constantly adjusted.  Around 2:30 am, the irritating Braxton-Hicks contractions I had been having started becoming more uncomfortable, waking me out of my already poor quality sleep.  At 5 am, when they rechecked me, I hadn't made an cervical change, and a different cervical ripening medication was  placed.  At this time, they also took the monitors off so that I could shower.  That may have been the longest shower I have ever taken, since it felt wonderful to be out of bed, off monitors. At 8 am, the monitors went back on.

I became increasingly uncomfortable with my contractions.  Also, the baby's heart rate, which had looked perfect most of the night, started showing some dips, or decelerations.  These were mild enough and short lived enough that no one was really concerned.

At 11 am, I was no longer able to talk through (or really breathe through) my contractions, and I had an epidural placed (ah, the glorious epidural!)  Finally having my contractions stop hurting, along with my back and hips, I was finally able to get some real sleep.

This lasted only an hour, because the decreases in the baby's heart rate, which had been mild, had become more pronounced.  I was placed on oxygen.  The nursing staff moved me into a different position every 15 minutes.  I was given more IV fluid.  All was in an attempt to make the fetal heart rate tracing look better.

This is the problem with being a patient and being medically educated.  I kept looking at the red tracing of the baby's heart rate, and I knew the zig-zagging line was showing variable decelerations.  Every time the entire team of doctors came into my room, I knew how worried they were, despite their calm voices.  After so long, we have all learned to keep our voices calm despite our concerns.

I was still making very little cervical change.  The OB team was worried that anything to speed up my labor might make the baby do worse.  He already wasn't dealing well with my own contractions, so adding Pitocin to make them stronger might hake things worse.  The decreases in his heart rate could also be from compression of the umbilical cord, and breaking my water could make that worse.  Finally, the team decided that we were at a stand-still and something had to be done and decided to break my water.  When they did, the amniotic fluid contained meconium and blood.  At this time, the concern became that I had a placental abruption, or bleeding behind the placenta, making it less effective at providing good blood flow to the baby. And then the talk of a Cesarean section began. Fetal scalp monitors and intrauterine pressure devices were placed.  The OB decided to try an infusion of fluid into my uterus to see if it would help alleviate the stress on the baby before taking me for a C-section.

Around this time, I started crying.  I help Hubster's hand tightly and quietly cried among all the activity around me.

This was not how this was supposed to go.  This was my third baby.  This was supposed to be easy.  Everyone kept telling me how easy the third labor would be ("Oh, that baby will probably just fall right out."  "So-and-so only had 5 contractions and pushed once with her third baby.")  I wanted this to be the perfect labor, where I got to really be aware of everything, to be in control.  This, what was happening, this was not my perfect labor. This was anything but perfect.

When they broke my water, I had been measuring 4 cm.  10 minutes later, when they came to start the amnio-infusion, the last intervention before taking me for a C-section, I was at 10 cm.  The baby's heart rate tracing was still not looking better, but since I was complete, the OB decided to have me push.

"You are going to get a lot of aggressive coaching," she told me.  "You have to push hard.  You have to have this baby right now."

It felt that there were 20 people in the room yelling at me to push (Hubster says it was closer to 10).  Around that time, my clear picture of what was happening became less clear.  Everything felt more intense, more fuzzy.  Each memory became a mere snap shot.

Pushing, and feeling the pain of each contraction through the epidural.
The OB's expression changing and the vacuum delivery unit being rapidly assembled.
The vacuum popping off twice.
Someone shouting that they needed the pediatric team in the room now.
Hubster voice in my ear, telling me his head was out and to keep pushing.
The physical relief of the baby being delivered.
The backs of the peds team facing me.
The cry of my baby.

My own sobbing, both of relief and pure joy.
Hubster, snapping pictures and become tearful himself.
The OB attempting to explain to me what had happened: a profound decrease in the baby's heart rate, necessitating rapid delivery with the vacuum.
My whole body shaking.

Everything was blur, up to the moment until they placed my new baby boy on my chest, all pink and perfect.

There is this moment, when your child is born, that the universe tilts, shatters, and realigns around this new person. All the concerns and preoccupations that I previously had, those no longer mattered.  Missing Thanksgiving, inconveniencing people, having the "perfect" labor: none of that mattered.  The only thing that matters is the tiny, fragile, damp haired baby in my arms.

Eventually, after everything settled down, Hubster left to get Bug and Monkey to meet their new brother.  Looking at them holding him, commenting on how small and cute he is, made me feel so complete.  This is my family.  

He is here, my little Duck is finally here.

Ready to head home

And he is perfect.

Hello world.

Quilting

I'm not much of a sewer.  I can replace a button and occasional hem a pair of scrub bottoms.  But beyond that, I don't break out the sewing machine and thread.

Except for one thing: baby quilts.

I have now made each of my boys quilts.

Obviously, it started with Bug. At that time, since I couldn't make a nursery, I thought the least I could do was make him a quilt.  I also figured that I would have approximately 20 weeks to do it, from the time I found out the gender until birth.  That should be enough time, right?

Bug's Quilt

Turns out, for me, it is just barely enough.  All three quilts have now been finished during the last week of my pregnancy. But the whole point is that they are finished.

Well, basically finished.  I planned on embroidering each child's name and date of birth on their quilt. So far, Bug's quilt has his name on it...

The quilts are small, meant to be for babies and go in the crib.  But despite their small size, Bug and Monkey have both loved their quilts and still sleep with them now. This makes me very happy, because for a girl who doesn't sew much, these were truly a monumental labor of love.

Monkey's Quilt

Although, they probably didn't need to be quite to difficult.  All three quilts I designed from scratch, coming up with my own pattern and color scheme.  Just a third of the way through this last quilt for Duck, I though what a bad idea that was, that I really should have just used a pre-made kit.

 Duck's Quilt

But now that it is done, it feels worth the effort.  Especially since I won't have to make any more.

The Nursery

Otherwise known as my new favorite room in the house.

One of the things that I looking forward to doing during this pregnancy was creating a real nursery.  With both Bug and Monkey, we were living in apartments when they were born, so things such as painting and hanging up decorations were just not possible.  And there just wasn't room.   (Although I did paint a room for Bug in one apartment - only to have it quickly repainted over the day we moved out.)

This time, I wanted a dedicated baby room.

Our office/guest bedroom was emptied and all its contents were relegated to the basement (still yet to be finished.)

The before...

I started creating color schemes and design plans almost the very moment I found out I was pregnant. I created a Pinterest board dedicated just to nursery ideas.  And wow, did I have ideas.  I wanted something bold, striking, colorful, unique. Somewhere along in the planning process, I changed my mind.  After all, this was going to be a room for a newborn, a sweet, soft, snuggly newborn.  So I backed off the oranges and teals and lime greens and yellows and decided to go for something soft and soothing. 

And blue. 

The after...

At first, I couldn't believe myself.  How stereotypical, how expected could the nursery get - being blue for a boy. I was a little disappointed with myself.  I could have chosen any color, and I chose blue?

But I'm completely over it.  I love the room, blue walls and everything.

I hand painted trees and cardinals on the walls by finding a picture I liked online, tracing it onto a page protector.  I borrowed an overheard projector from a lady at the boys' school and traced, then painted each tree, leaf, and bird.  The cardinals were my mom's idea.  The nest was Monkey's idea.

Bug helped me create art for the reading/rocking corner.

I completely altered our old mobile, covering it first with brown floral tape, then with artificial vines and felt leaves.  I painted over some cheap bird Christmas ornaments to hand from the mobile.

And look at these darling black and white animal flashcards I found...I had to hang them up as art (but they are still easy to take down, so we can actually use them.)

I still have ideas: I need to get letters for the baby's name to hang on the wall. I want to create some baby accessible bookshelves for all the board books. I'm completely lusting after this owl lamp.

But for now, the nursery is done.  Often, when I walk by, I stand in the doorway and just look at everything, take in my new favorite room, and hope that its future occupant loves it as much as I do.

38 Weeks

I'm getting to the point where I hope that there won't be any more pregnancy update posts. I think I've officially hit the wall. I'm done. I'm fat pregnant enough that I can't fit into most my pregnancy clothes.  My feet are massively swollen.  I waddle.  My hips and back ache. I'm exhausted, but still can't sleep more than three hours in a row. The belly is just getting out of control.

I'm not all miserable.  Every rib bruising kick this little boy gives me makes me wonder how much he will weigh, whether he will be as bald as Bug and Monkey, and when he will make his appearance.

Despite physically having had enough, I'm actually hoping Duck does hold off just a bit on his grand entrance.  My mom arrives in 6 days.  And it would be kind of nice to make it through Thanksgiving without being immediately post-partum. 

To combat the fatigue and overall just blah feeling, I've spent the last week doing a little pampering.  

A couple of weeks ago, I took both Bug and Monkey out for individual dates, just the two of us out for an evening.

Hubster and I have a date planned for this weekend (hopefully.)

But I needed some individual time. I choose a time where my work schedule was lighter and spread a variety of activities over the week.

I bought myself flowers.

I got a manicure and pedicure, choosing a light blue to celebrate the arrival of a baby boy.

 (Just focus on the cute toenail color, and not the swollen toes)

I scheduled a maternity massage, which was the most wonderful thing.  I kept dozing off and may have snored on at least one occasion during.

This last week of some dedicated "me" time was something I have never done before, but was well worth it. I also took my last OR call of residency, (having worked 15 out of the last 17 weekends), and that alone is worth celebrating.

I feel rejuvenated and maybe, maybe even able to resist the temptation to have my OB/GYN induce me a week early.

Soup Snob (And a Recipe)

Despite all my whining about summer ending and winter coming and not liking changing seasons and everything else that I whine about, I actually really do like fall.  It's a beautiful season.

One of my favorite things about fall is the food.  With cooler temperatures, I find that my appetite picks up (not necessarily a good thing), and I crave food made with squash, and apples, and plenty of cheese. Not necessarily all together. And my absolutely favorite food?  Soup.  I love soup and I just feel that you can't really get away with eating it during the hot afternoons of summer.  But the leaves change and the temperature drops, and I bring on the soup.

I thought I would share my very favorite soup recipe: roasted butternut squash soup.  I've been kind of hanging on to this, not really wanting to share, because, well, I'm selfish. This makes phenomenal soup, and I wanted it to just be my soup.  But since I can't have all of you over for dinner, this is the only way I know to share the deliciousness with you. 

This recipe has actually made me a bit of a butternut squash soup snob. Every time I go out to eat and I see butternut squash soup, I order it so I can compare it to my butternut squash soup.  And every time, Hubster and I both agree, it's just not as good.  My soup is creamy, silky, rich, and beautiful.  Every other butternut squash soup has just been a disappointment.

I've been making this soup since before Monkey was born. I can't remember where the original recipe came from.  I had the ingredients and some basic instructions scribbled on an index card, but I lost the card years ago. So be patient with me - this recipe is also an attempt at organizing my cooking, as in putting numbers to what goes into the pot.

First, get a butternut squash. Peel and clean it out.  Then chop it into pieces.  Place in a roasting pan.

Then chop up an onion (the whole thing) and put it in with the squash. 

Add several smashed cloves of garlic (you don't want to chop this because the pieces will be too little and will burn in the oven).  I use about 4-5 cloves of garlic, but then I really love garlic. 

Toss the squash, onion, and garlic with olive oil (several tablespoons). You want to be generous - not only does it help brown the vegetables, it keeps them from sticking to the pan.  Sprinkle very generously with pepper and kosher salt.

Place the roasting pan full of beautiful vegetables into an oven preheated to 425.  They are going to stay there for at least an hour and a half, but check on them every 30 minutes and give them a stir.  You don't want them to burn, but you do want them to get a lovely dark golden color.  The more color, the better the flavor of the soup.

After roasting for approximately 1 1/2 hours, or until golden brown, place all the vegetables in a large pot.  Add 4 cups of chicken stock.  Then add additional water until the vegetables are completely covered, about 2-3 more cups.  Cover and simmer on low heat for at least another hour.  Or you can be like me and just let it simmer for several hours, because you are easily distracted and forgot about it. Don't worry.  It will be fine.

After boiling, let it cool a little before the next step.  Working in batches, puree the vegetable-stock mixture in a blender. 

Now here is the crucial part: after blending, pour the soup through a sieve into a new pot.  Straining the soup is what gives it the silken texture you are after. 

After all the soup is pureed and strained, extra water can be added as needed to get the thickness desired.  Especially if you forgot about the soup and let it simmer for several hours, you may need to add a little more extra water/stock. 

Right before serving, stir in a cup of cream.  (What?  I never said this was a healthy soup recipe, only that this was the best soup recipe.).

Serve with warm rolls and a salad of spinach, pear, and pecans, and you have the best dinner there is. 

It's not dinner at my house, but then I guess you are also forgoing the developing humor of two elementary school boys.  I hope you enjoy. And who knows?  This recipe may make you into a soup snob as well.


Roasted Butternut Squash Soup

Ingredients:
1 butternut squash soup
1 large onion
3-6 cloves of garlic
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon ground black peper
4 cups chicken stock
2 cups water
1 cup cream

Directions: Preheat over to 425.  Peel, clean, and chop up butternut squash.  Chop up onion.  Smash garlic.  Place all vegetables in roasting pan and toss will olive oil, salt, and pepper.  Roast for approximately 90 minutes or until golden brown, stirring every 30 minutes.

Place vegetables in pot, add chicken stock and enough water to completely cover vegetables.  Simmer over low heat for at least 1 hour.  

Working in batches, puree vegetable-stock mixture.  Strain soup into a new pan.  Stir in cream just prior to serving.
 

Blood Suckers

Months ago, maybe even last year, when I asked Monkey what he wanted to be for Halloween, he replied that he wanted to be a mosquito. 

Wait?  What?

What 6 year old kid wants to be a mosquito?  I had other suggestions.  How about a dragon?  A pirate?  Captain America?  A cowboy?  A firefighter?  Nope.  The kid really, really wanted to be a mosquito. 

And that's fine.  Only how does one go about making a mosquito costume?  The costume section at Target suddenly seems quite mundane.  This forced me to get creative and actually make a costume. I found some wire shaped fairy wings, that I bent into a more insect-like shape and then spray painted gray.  We bought gray sweats and a gray and black striped hat.  I got a black headband and fasted on black pipe cleaner antennae.  The nose was the hardest part: it ended up being a engineering feat that combined a blue baby suction bulb and a paper towel roll that was covered in duct tape (yes, a little red-neck, I know, but sometimes, you just have to go with what works.)  I painted the tip of the nose red for good measure.

Bug was a lot easier.  He decided to ditch the cuter costumes of previous years and go with something more Halloween classic: a vampire.  Fortunately, all the requisite parts of this costume were easily purchased at a store.

It was only when we were doing a trial run of the costumes that we realized there was a theme to the boys' costumes.  Both are blood suckers. 

Blood suckers hungry for candy.

Bug, Version 10.12

Dear Bug,

Being 10 is tough, isn't it?  Maybe it isn't for everyone, but it sure has been tough for both of us.

You vacillate between still being a little boy and almost being big. I think they call this being a "tween," although that term seems more appropriate for Justin Beiber crazy girls, wearing sparkly shoes and pink lip gloss than it does for my Greek mythology crazy boy, wearing hoodies and unkempt hair.

I know that there are a lot of changes going on right now, and I think that may have a lot to do with this being a difficult age. 

There are things that I think you will never forgive me for. 

Like making you take orchestra this year. 

You played the violin last year, and seems to really enjoy it.  You practiced over the summer without a single complaint.   When band instrument sign ups came around at the beginning of the school year, you told me that you would just rather continue to play the violin. And then things went down hill.  You never gave the me the orchestra registration paperwork. You didn't let me know that lessons had already started.  When I finally noticed other children at school with their instrument cases, you came unglued.  You said you didn't want to play anymore.  You said you were too busy with school.  You said that you weren't interested.  We had long talks about how important it was learning an instrument, about developing other talents, about being involved in something other than just school work. 

Finally, after many tears and frustrated conversations, we came to an agreement - you would continue to play, but would not be required to perform in any concerts.

We've also had run-ins over chores, being kind to your little brother, and how you talk to your parents.

I often worry that you'll spend the rest of your life mad at me.

So it was wonderful to take some time to spend, just to the two of us, on a date night.

We went to your favorite restaurant, a cozy little crepe cafe downtown. We watched them make crepes behind the counter, and you made the cook smile by asking for spinach on your bacon and cheese crepe.  We shared the pesto that came with my veggie crepe.

I told you stories from when I was little and when you were little, and we both had some great laughs. We watched the flood of college students pass by the restaurant window.

After dinner, we enjoyed some locally made ice cream.  You prefer your ice cream in a bowl and not in a cone.

We then strolled through the book store, looking for some purchase to make the evening out perfect.  None of the novels or picture books caught your interest.  None of the science books attracted you.  But then your face lit up as we came to a display of Calvin and Hobbes collections.  Of course, this is you, my boy with the tiger.

We needed this evening out, just to be Bug and Mom again.  To focus on how, despite all the difficulties, despite all the little tempests, that we still have this amazing connection, of mother and first born.  You needed the time to just be you, not to be the one setting the example, not to be the helping hand, not to be the big brother, but just be you.  I needed this time with just you, to recognize how much I ask of you and how much you already do, to realize that we still have an amazing bond.

Thank you for the evening out, Bug.  Thank you for reminding me of how this whole parenting thing began.  With you and with me.

Love,


Mom