8 weeks

Dear Penelope,

Today you turned 8 weeks old and already it's hard to remember a time when you weren't a part of our lives. The days have been long and the nights sometimes longer but I have never felt so fulfilled as I have being your mother.




The first few weeks of your life were probably the hardest of mine. Not only was I trying to figure out the schedule of a newborn, keep you fed, happy and warm, but then my breast milk wasn't working the way it should. You would nurse for sometimes an hour on one side and still be famished and we'd have to give you formula. I wanted so much to be able to breastfeed but I just didn't have the milk supply. I felt like I had failed you somehow. The one thing I was MADE to do and it wasn't working. At feeding times you would latch on perfectly then cry because you weren't getting any food. You'd cry. Then I'd cry. And there we'd be, cuddled in bed, crying. I didn't care so much about the fact that we had to feed you formula. It was the disappointment of knowing I couldn't provide you with something so basic. But I know that it's not where it comes from that matters as long as you're growing and healthy. So now you're strictly bottle-fed. There is much less crying on both our parts and you're getting the sweet chubby cheeks that I love to munch on.




You have the sweetest disposition of any baby I've ever known. You fuss when you're poopy or hungry. The rest of the time you love to eat your fingers and coo at the ceiling. We're still not sure who you're talking to when you do that but you smile and laugh so I think it's probably someone awesome. You love the Christmas tree lights, sleeping with your arms over your head and when Daddy gets your tongue. Baths have also become a favorite pastime. Whenever your diaper has a blowout, you and I climb into the tub. You lay back and stretch your body out as long as it will go. We splash water on your belly and you begin to get a dreamy look on your face. We're starting to think you have the diaper disasters on purpose just so we have to take a bath.




Last week we went to have pictures taken at the mall. I had tried to time it so that you'd be asleep for the process but you were awake the whole time. You didn't cry or fuss, just let the photographer position you this way and that, trying for the perfect shot. She kept trying to get you to have any expression other than the mellow one you were sporting. She'd cluck at you and jostle your legs to get you to smile and you'd just look at her. Then for her troubles you decided to pee on the blanket. That's my girl.




Every time we go out I am flooded with compliments about you - that you're beautiful, adorable, sweet, calm, clever and cunning. You are all of these things. You truly are a blessing that has come into our lives.





Love, Mama

the labor story

The day honestly didn't go as I thought it would. I don't know what I expected but it wasn't what happened. Except for the baby part - I mean, I did know I'd have a baby at the end of it all. But the day just turned out different than I had imagined. I thought, you show up, have contractions, have pain, have the baby, snuggle, take pictures, then everyone can take a nap together. So not the way it went.

I woke up around 2am thinking I had to poop. That was the sensation. Kind of crampy and urgent. Used the bathroom and went back to bed. No biggie. Except I couldn't fall back asleep. I laid there for about half an hour feeling anxious that something bad would happen if I dozed off. So I grabbed Jason's watch, a flashlight, a note pad and started timing the cramps. Not cramps. Contractions.

Around 3:30am I woke Jason to inform him that the contractions were coming every 3-5 minutes and that we might want to get our stuff together and head out to the hospital. He agreed. So then I did the one thing I positively had to do before we left the house. More important than the hospital bag or feeding the cat - I curled my hair and did my makeup. Jason couldn't believe it. But I knew, sometime later that day, there would be pictures and I would be damned if I was going to actually look like I woke up at 2am! No. I would look well rested with some carefully placed under eye concealer and my silky locks. As we have all learned in this new digital age - pictures last forever. There was no way I was going to LOOK like I'd been in labor all day.

We got to the hospital around 4am. They put the monitors on me to time the contractions and record the baby's heartbeat. The pain wasn't bad. More uncomfortable than painful. A menstrual cramp coupled with a fart. Annoying but not life threatening. Then I felt a leaking. My first thought was please tell me I didn't wet myself! Turns out it was my water breaking. And then the pain started.

I knew from the beginning of this pregnancy that I was completely OK with having an epidural. Anything to ease what could be a very long and painful process of bringing a new life into this world, right? What I didn't know was how fast the pain could go from being uncomfortable to being agonizing. With just my water breaking, I couldn't catch my breath during a contraction. The anesthesiologist couldn't get to my room fast enough. What do you mean another pregnant lady needs an epidural first? I said I need relief and I meant now! If there had been any doubts before about having an eight inch needle placed into my back they were gone before that first painful contraction ended. And honestly, getting the epidural was not the horror story I had been led to believe. Twinging, pinching and pressure. That was all. Then the pain stopped and a wonderful sense of heaviness came over my lower half.



Now the tedious part starts, I thought. I'd read many labor stories of how long it takes to actually have the baby. All seemed to recommend things to ease the waiting - books, ipods, a Himalayan mountain man to recite prayers. I thought I would be going crazy stuck in that room for who knew how long. I'm not a patient person in the best of circumstances and you want me to lay in a bed IN THE HOSPITAL for how long? Ten hours? Not without a serious meltdown along the way. But it turns out the way to pass the time is to watch Die Hard on VHS on the crappiest old TV I've ever seen. The hospital had a wonderful selection of any movie that came out prior to 1994. Help yourself.

So the time was passing pleasantly but I didn't seem to be progressing at all. If my water hadn't broken, they probably would have sent me home after monitoring me for an hour. I came in at about 3 cm and four hours later was only at 5cm. They put more monitors on me and even one on the baby to get a better read of the contractions. Seven hours after checking in, they decided I wasn't progressing like they wanted and began giving me an IV of Pitocin to hopefully speed things along. Finally, around 1pm, I was far enough dilated that I could begin pushing. And oh my dear heaven was that a weird sensation. Imagine taking a double dose of Nyquil, sucking on some nitrous oxide then being asked to stand on your head. That's what pushing with the epidural was like for me. I knew the mechanics of what I was being asked to do but I couldn't tell if I was doing it. And I could tell by the look on the nurse's face that I wasn't doing it very well.

Which is why I think I had to push for two hours. Long enough that the epidural finally began wearing off and I could feel what was happening down there. Pain. But also the sense of pressure I should have been feeling all along to know when to push. Oh and did I mention the pain? Yes there was pain. Lots of it. All because I couldn't seem to get the baby's head out. It was right there, down where it should be, but all my pushing wasn't getting it any farther out. I was huffing and puffing and straining but nothing was happening. I kept hearing just one more big one and she'll be here. That was a good one, now just another big one. But no matter how many big ones I had, she stayed where she was. Turns out the solution to the problem was an episiotomy.

One quick snip and there she was. They laid her on my chest and it was all I could do to check that she was indeed a girl and to try and count all 10 wiggling fingers and toes.






Jason was snapping pictures and cutting the cord and somewhere in the background I became aware that the doctor and nurses were talking about fluids. I thought they meant the stuff that was still leaking from me. Turns out they were talking about my little girl and all the fluid she had in her lungs and stomach. Because I had to push for so long, she was in the birth canal long enough to start breathing in the amniotic fluids. All too soon she was lifted off my chest and taken to the warmer where they began to suction out her mouth and nose.




I heard the words NICU then became distracted by the stitches being sewn into my lady bits. A feeling of dread came over me. You want to take my baby where? Intensive Care has ominous tones at the best of times but all I could think of was there was something wrong with my sweet little girl and they wanted to fix it. I made Jason go with her because I couldn't. They promised me they'd get her back to me as soon as they could. She'd need a breathing treatment after they got all the fluid out so why don't I relax, get cleaned up and get taken to our new room. I saw her for just a few minutes looking like an X-wing fighter.




Five hours later they finally brought her to us. I've never felt time pass so slowly. But then there she was, a pink perfect little doll that just stared at me for a year and a day.







Hello Penelope Jayne.

thankful

The two things I am most grateful for in all the world.

Happy Thanksgiving.

penelope jayne

Penelope Jayne Hunter was born Monday, October 26, 2009 at 3:19pm. She weighed in at a slim 6lbs 11oz and 18.5 inches long. She's absolutely beautiful.












I have never felt so humbled or so inadequate in all my life.

39 weeks

Have you ever seen the Monsterpiece Theater skit on Sesame Street entitled "The 39 Stairs"? I've linked to it in case it's been a while since you've watched it. Other than Jason, I don't know anyone out there who actively searches on You Tube for old Sesame Street favorites. This one was always a favorite of mine because Grover is just so absurd. He makes it for me. The whole thing revolves around counting (to 39, obviously) and on the effort it takes for Grover to get to the top. And it's quite an effort, let me tell you. Grover never does anything by half-sies.

For the last month I've felt like Grover on those stairs. Apropos, there being 39 stairs and me finally at 39 weeks, right? That's right, I'm drawing parallels.

At stair #10 Grover stops and proclaims - "I know there will be something exciting awaiting me at the top!"

10 or so more stairs later - "There BETTER be something exciting at the top!"

I'm at the top. All I can see is that damned brick wall and I'm having a very hard time resisting the urge to be impatient. Impatient and whiny. And hormonal. Impatient, whiny and hormonal. Three things not conducive to a harmonious pregnancy. The tears threaten each time I think - Who the hell decided that 40 weeks equals 9 months? Can't they multiply? 4 times 9 is 36! Didn't they watch Sesame Street?

I just have to keep reminding myself that Grover was right- there will be something VERY exciting at the top of the stairs. It's just that mine have one extra step.