Oh, right, you want to hear about the baby.

I have Meredith snoozing, sprawled out like a frat boy, in one corner of my lap and the laptop dangling off my other knee to write this - I hope you all appreciate my sacrifices to bring you baby updates.

I can't help it. This one makes me laugh every time.

Other than the whole thrush/breastfeeding/recovering from the delivery from h-e-double-hockey-sticks thing, life with Meredith has been pretty good. If you catch her cries right away, she'll usually calm down fairly quickly, the major exception being what we've dubbed Angry Hour. AH takes place usually between 4-7 pm and involves a hungry, gassy, inconsolable baby who alternately wants to be held and pushes us away with surprisingly strong little hands. Even at night, she's not too terrible, waking up between every 1.5-3 hours and wanting to be fed and changed and snuggled: I'm getting good at sleeping sitting upright, holding her in the crook of my arms propped up on the Boppy pillow.

Whuuuuuh? You mean someday I'm going to have to do chores?

The wee digestive tract seems to be in good working order: Mer farts and burps like a trucker (we're so proud), has lots of wet diapers, and saves up the dirty diapers for about every 24-36 hours, when the Crack Of Doom goes off BIG time. In that case, we just hang out with her at the changing table for 15-20 minutes until it's all over, in order to avoid a blowout on the couch. Since we moved to alternating between pumped milk, Similac Organic, and Similac Sensitive for feedings, she's had far fewer spit-ups, although I have gotten gakked on pretty good a few times. She's still on Diflucan, which doesn't seem to upset her poor tummy nearly as much now, although she tries to spit it back out at me at each dosing. She doesn't mind wet diapers, unless it happens while she's eating, but dirty diapers MUST BE CHANGED SOON.

The little maestro tries to 'conduct' diaper changes.

I'm still pumping 3-5 times a day (I need to pump at night but it's too hard to stay awake!), although I don't know how well I'll be able to do that once I'm home alone with her, since she prefers to be held as much as possible. But, any breast milk I can give her is a good thing, I keep reminding myself.

Note the cat tush horning in on the photo.

So far as personality goes, Meredith loves being talked to and held. When awake, she's very interactive, and cuddly when asleep. I need to figure out the Moby wrap so I can cart her around with me during the day when I'm home alone and maybe get more done than just surfing the net on my iPhone and watching (yuck) daytime TV. She always has at least one hand up by her face, just like she did in utero, and manages to get that way even when swaddled snug as a bug in a rug. When left unswaddled, she does the frat boy/Homer Simpson sprawl, as seen below.

Daddy is a good pillow.

Mer's repertoire of noises is legion, involving snuffles, grunts, sighs, squeaks, and squeals that we have a hard time distinguishing from the cats' mews at times. We can't quite differentiate all of her cries yet, but there's starting to be more differences between happy and sad sounds. When I'm sleeping, I still tend to wake up to most of her sounds (she sleeps in a pack-n-play next to me) but I'm getting better at realizing which are her dreaming/shifting, and which are her needing something. Dave tends to sleep through all but the most indignant of cries, but if I need him to grab me something he does so right away. I honestly couldn't ask for a more supportive husband and father of our child. When she's really inconsolable, he's the best at getting her calmed down using a combo of Happiest Baby on the Block techniques and his own brand of silliness.

I am concerned with the current lack of pacifier in my mouth.
Please as to be rectifying the situation.

Well, the wee bairn (Thorberta, Merberta, Meri, Mer, Munkin, Punkin, or Hunnybun, depending on who you talk to) is stirring and I think I smell a wet diaper, so I'll sign off for now. We're so in love with our little miss, and so grateful for all of your love and support. She's one lucky little gal.

Latch on, latch off

This is a post about boobs. But not in the way you're thinking. If you enjoy reading about nursing, read on.

Like any good type-A mom-to-be, I did loads of research on birth, parenting, and breastfeeding. We took an in-depth breastfeeding class as a couple, and I was psyched. Ready. Nursing bras and pads purchased. Laughingly eschewed having some bottles & formulas on hand "just in case". I knew breastfeeding would be healthy! Economical! Help me lose weight! Help baby and I bond! Magical unicorns and puppies! I also knew it would be difficult, but I was more than ready to get going.

Then THE BIRTH happened, and both Mer and I were so logy and tired from IV fluids, drugs, and general exhaustion that when a nurse tried to get her to latch on the night she was born, she wouldn't. Ditto the next time we tried. And the next. I could get her on for a little bit, but even after we were both more awake and drug free, she'd fall asleep after juts a couple minutes and I'd have to keep jiggling her awake. I got differing advice from every nurse that came in to the room, and even from the lactation consultant: Wake her every 2-3 hours to feed. Let her sleep. And so on and so forth.  Most of the time though, she couldn't latch on no matter how carefully the nurses and I positioned her. And she would get frustrated and start screaming to the point that nothing could console her.

I ended up doing what I thought I would never do: I asked for some formula to give her. She sucked it right down, snuggled in to me, and fell asleep. We kept working on feeding, and had a couple of successful feeds, but it was overall NOT going well and I was tired, frustrated, in pain, and not sure how to make it work. To make matters worse, by her 3rd day of life, she was getting thrush. Thrush is painful, and made her not want to nurse because it hurt. So I started pumping - we rented one.

We got Meredith put on Nystatin drops, which she hated the taste of, but the thrush continued to get worse. We tried supplementing the Nystatin with grapefruit seed extract (a natural antifungal/antimicrobial), but still, her entire mouth was coated with a thick layer of white and she SCREAMED every time we tried to feed. And my milk wasn't coming in - some, yes, but not the level you'd expect. So we continued to give her some formula along with the measly few CCs I was able to pump. The Nystatin didn't work, so our pediatrician put her on Diflucan, which has cleared things up right away.

Spent $$$$ on an appointment with  lactation consultant. Bought milk-enhancing supplements. Pumped. Tried to nurse a squalling baby. Cried my eyes out. And repeat. Managed to get up to an ounce and a half to two ounces on some pumping sessions. Tried everything I could think of and that anyone else could think of.

Finally, this past Wednesday, something clicked in my head. I have fibromyalgia and Sjogren's Syndrome, a autoimmune disease that attacks moisture-producing glands in the body: tear ducts, salivary glands, etc. MILK DUCTS ARE MOISTURE PRODUCING GLANDS. A quick Google search yielded no results (most women with Sjogren's are well past childbearing years), but an email to my rheumatologist did: Yep. Pretty much no matter what I do, I will struggle with breastfeeding and a low milk supply. My paternal grandmother, who was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis at 19, apparently also had issues breastfeeding her two sons.

Although the confirmation of my theory was disheartening, it was good to know I wasn't doing something wrong. Still, I cried some more.

So, I'm going to keep up pumping and giving Meredith bottled breast milk and formula. It's not ideal, but any breast milk she gets is good. And seeing a milk-drunk baby sprawled out on my lap after a feeding, content to snuggle into her momma, makes my heart go ker-thump.

I love this tiny baby creature who snuffles in her sleep, grunts through feedings, makes "Blue Steel" faces at us, and prefers being held to sleeping in her bassinet or swing. And as long as she's growing and developing on schedule, that's the important thing. I'll miss the intimacy of breastfeeding her, but I'd rather bond with my girl and have a happy baby and a not-stressed-out-me than drive myself into an early grave trying to fulfill this idealized image of mothering I had in my head.

And PUSH!

Editor's Note: For all my fellow grammar fiends, this post will probably be rife with grammar/tense/spelling errors, but I haven't exactly gotten much rest over the last week. So, deal with it. It may also be NSFW or uncomfortable for gentler-minded readers, but I needed to get this all out. It's long, it's rambling, it's not up to my usual highlarious standards, but here it is.

Monday, 10/31/11: Finally, Dr. B said that if I hadn't gone into labor by my next appointment on Thursday 11/3, he'd have me induced that night. I immediately scheduled an acupuncture session for that day. And the next. And the next. To wit, we have tried EVERY natural induction tactic that didn't involve castor oil or cohosh.

Thursday, 11/3/11: Induction scheduled for tonight at 8pm. My mom arrives from WA, and the 4 of us (Dave, mom, my MIL A, and me) decide to go out for one last big dinner at Enterprise Fish Co., which is a delish end to a very, very long pregnancy.

Dave and I drove from dinner to the hospital, and get settled into room 2518. I gowned up and left my modesty at the door. At 10pm, I was checked and deemed about 1.5-2cm dilated and 80% effaced, and given Cervidil, and told to get some sleep before pitocin was started at 5am. They gave me some Ambien, which made me loopy, but I didn't sleep much, just dozed. Some contractions, but nothing awful. Letha, the lovely night shift nurse, told me to focus on breathing out slowly during contractions to relax my body and help with the pain.

They try hooking my hep lock IV line up on my forearm but it doesn't take, so I have to take off my left wrist brace and let them do it on the back of my hand. A numb left hand will be my constant companion the next few days.

Friday, 11/4/11: The Cervidil was done at 4, and a Pitocin IV started out on low at 5am. Okay, so THESE are contractions. Nothing intolerable, but definitely worse than anything I'd had. They keep checking me, and still about 2cm, so the Pit levels are ramped up. OW OW OW. I could get off the bed and move around, but I can't. It's easier to just sit back in the bed, hold Dave's hand, and breathe and moan. At 6am, they ask if I want an epidural, since the anesthesiologist is going to take a nap. I was okay, and wanted to go as far as I could without it, so I declined. My day shift nurse, Meg, comes in at 7:30 and asks if it's okay if a student nurse, Paul, is with her. Eh, why not. Modesty is already out the window at this point.

Around 9:30am, Dr B shows up and checks me, still about 2-3cm but more effaced, so he ruptures my waters with what appears to be a gigantic crochet hook. Not much comes out, but daaaaaang that hurt. I get up to go to the restroom and more waters come out, plus ze plug (ewwww, gross). Things definitely get more intense, pain-wise, and the Pitocin is ramped up again. Puking begins. NOW I am ready for pain meds. I get some Fentanyl injected into my IV, I think around 10:15am.

The Fentanyl helps to take the edge off things for awhile, but soon they decide to up the Pitocin again and the contractions become utterly unbearable. I'm incapable of breathing through these ones, and am swearing up a storm and begging for an epidural. Sadly, the anesthesiologist is working on another woman's epidural and will be there "In 20-30 minutes." Are you KIDDING ME? Moaning, swearing, sweating and whimpering continues, with Dave trying to apply counterpressure to my back when he can and me rolling from side to side, gripping the bed rails. The contractions are now about 2-4 minutes apart, some far closer together.

At some point, they are having too many problems finding the baby's heartbeat and the contraction strength on the stomach monitors, so internal ones are placed.

1:30pm-ish: OhthankyoudearLordtheanesthesiologistishere! They have Dave sit down, since men often faint at the site of the epidural needles. I hunch into Meg the nurse, and manage to sit still through several contractions as they insert the epidural. Within about 15 minutes, oh, relief, sweeeeeeeeeet relief. I pretty much collapsed into sleep and napped for about 2-3 hours.

From around 3:30-5:00, I get a couple of small "bumps" to the epidural when I start to feel things again, but it's amazing to look at the monitors and realize the contractions are about every minute-two minutes and have some serious peaks, but I can barely feel a thing. I never thought I'd want an epidural, but it gave me the chance to rest for the serious shiz ahead and I'm now more grateful than I could ever have imagined.

At 5:00, they start having problems with the baby's heart decelerating, and Dr B is called. I'm determined to be fully dilated but still at a -1 station - the baby's head hasn't moved below the pubic bone yet. They keep having me move from side to side to try and get better readings and get the baby to labor down so I can start pushing, no easy feat when you're numb from the waist down.

Now things got serious, FAST. Suddenly, Dr. B and the nurses are panicking, and my bed is detached from the room wall and rocketed to the OR. WHAT is going ON? They're not telling Dave or I anything, and we're both freaking out. They're not being gentle with the move, either -the bed is getting slammed through doors and bumping into walls, and I keep asking what's going on. I've never been so scared.

In the OR, which is very bright and sterile, they move me over to the OR table. Suddenly, the baby's heartbeat is present again, and nice and normal. So it is determined that I'll be allowed to try and push the baby out. The epidural is turned off, basically, and I get moved back over to the hospital bed but it's left flat.

Side note: I knew at the time that the hospital windows are all tinted, so you can see out but not in, but for some reason I insisted that the nurses shut the blinds on the OR window even though the view was of a ventilation shaft. Dr. B and the nurses found this very amusing. Glad I'm still comedic relief even when I'm at my worst.

Now I got to start pushing, flat on my back, legs back like a turtle, head scrunched into chest: The one pushing position I swore I would never do. But unless I want to give into a C-section, I have to do it. And my GOD it hurts. Meg, my L&D nurse, holds up my right leg and Dave holds up my left. And from about 5:00 to 7:00, I push 3 times on every contraction, listening to Meg say, "And breathe out, now POWER BREATH IN, and hold it, 1, push push push, 2, good job, 3, you can do it," etc. A random med student (or nurse, or intern, I have no clue) who is holding up my shoulders & head starts chiming in with her and blowing in my ear, and I eventually turn to him and say, "I'm sorry, but could you please SHUT UP!? I only want to focus on one voice!" He kept blowing, though, and I had to tell him to stop breathing in my ear. I think this was about as mean as I got, though Dave would have to confirm. I was given oxygen, and the cold wet washcloth on my forehead kept slipping down during pushes so all I could see was wet cotton.

By around 6:45, I was wiped out and couldn't stay silent through pushes any longer. I was throwing up, grunting, praying, and crying. My legs were shaking. I couldn't do it, and said so. Everyone kept saying, "You're doing so well, you're doing so well, keep it up!", but it didn't feel that way. Finally the anesthesiologist, on hand in case we did have to do a c-section, said, "Oh my God, look at all her HAIR! I can see her!" and that one sentence motivated me more than almost anything else I'd heard the previous couple of hours.

Finally, Dr. B swept in and pronounced her ready to come out, NOW. Suddenly there were like 15 people in the room, and Dave overheard someone say to interns in the hallway "Oh, stick around and watch! This will be informative!" Uh, excuse me? The vacuum was retrieved, and with a few last minutes of pushing with everything I had and some I didn't know I did, plus an episiotomy, she was born. They put her on my chest for a minute, covered in blood but no vernix, pink and perfect, for a second, then whisked her over to the warmer while my epidural was bumped back up and a team of nurses and Dr B started working on me, since I was losing a lot of blood.

All I could say was, "She's here, oh she's here!" and Dave and I looked at one another. Everything in our worlds changed in that one instant. We both cried a little, I think.

She didn't cry at first - I think she was shell-shocked from the vacuum, who wouldn't be after getting hoovered out? - but in a minute I heard a confused "Waah!" from the vicinity of the warmer and it was the sweetest sound I've ever heard.



Dave stayed with her at the warmer and did the ceremonial cord cutting, but there were so many people in the room I couldn't see what was going on. I kept asking, "Is she okay? How big is she??" and finally someone told me 7lbs, 13oz. They brought her over to me, bundled up, and Dave helped me hold her for a minute since I was so weak. We looked at her and at one another, said some mushy stuff I don't remember, then I said "Meredith?" "Yep, Meredith Marie." I couldn't believe how much she looked like Dave. They then whisked her off to the nursery, Dave in tow, where he kept an eye on her and did the skin-to-skin contact I'd been wanting to do right after the birth but didn't get to.

The placenta was delivered, then deemed to be missing a piece, so "aggressive massage" was performed to get it out. I was kind of fading in and out of consciousness at this point since I'd lost a lot of blood, but could hear nurses and doctors talking about all sorts of drugs. Someone asked if I was allergic to Penicillin (no), and I got an injection in one thigh of that stuff, along with other things I still don't remember.

Finally, I was wheeled into the recovery room and laid there by myself for awhile under a huge pile of heated blankets, trying to come to terms with a suddenly empty stomach, blinding thirst, and the realization that I was no longer pregnant. After what seemed like forever, Meredith was brought in to me and put skin-to-skin. I tried to get her to latch on but she was a little woozy, so we just snuggled. For some reason, they'd given me my iPhone back (it was on the bed when I got slammed down the hallway to the OR), so I played her Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely?" and Billy Joel's, "Lullaby (Goodnight My Angel)" while I waited for a nurse or Dave to come back. I couldn't stop looking at this tiny creature with pruned skin, Dave's hair, my hands, and the sweetest little rosebud mouth.

Dave came in, and after another half hour or so we were escorted to our postpartum room. The two grandmothers came in for the adoration of the grandchild, tears all around. After awhile, they left, and we were suddenly alone with our girl. She was here. We were a family. It was official.

More to come.