two weeks ago today, I thought I knew the definition of a restless night. 8 and a half months pregnant, I was getting way burnt out on the swollen tummy and frequent awakenings of a full, screaming bladder, gestational fever like dream sequences that would make even david lynch blush, and nightly 4 am bouts of anxiety.
three weeks ago today, I went to my doctor for my 36 week check-up. I was prepared for the regular 'good heartbeat, 'strong vitals,' 'measuring exactly as he should be,' rigmarole. instead - I learned I had high blood pressure. not really getting what that meant, I asked if maybe my doc could just take it again? instead, I was sent on my merry way to ob-triage at my hospital for observation. apparently, the excess swelling (what I chalked up to a mere nuisance of my vanity and discomfort) and high blood pressure were two warning signs of a more serious condition known as preeclampsia. apparently, this condition could lead to kidney/liver failure and seizures for mom, as well as being the number one leading mortality cause in mothers/infants at childbirth if not caught in time. fun stuff, right?
three hours spent in the hospital later, I was sent home on my merry (yet freaked out what the hell is going on) way with a health clearance of 'you don't have preeclampsia - BUT,' orders to monitor my blood pressure closely on a daily basis to make sure my health didn't take a turn for the worse and a heads-up that my little bundle would be coming sooner than expected, with a '100% chance' within the next 1-2 weeks. this was on may 2nd. I was due may 25th. and orders for bed rest (aka no going to work until after the baby's born), this part I was ok with.
but that just made shit that much more real.
as you can imagine - the orders to closely monitor my bp just made my blood pressure rise even more. previously unstressed by the pending birth of my little one, I now was paranoid with every pump of the blood cuff. numbers rose and with every daily increase, the nurse triage at advocate Illinois masonic got yet another call from a frantic mom to be. 'that is high,' they would agree, 'but you should be fine - just continue to monitor the numbers and let us know if it reaches x/x' (which it would the following day, only to receive identical 'advice.'
Thursday, May 8th, I was a ball of jittery nerves. knowing my visit with my primary ob-gyn was the following morning at 7:30, I did my best to mentally prep myself for another visit to the hospital the following day. sure enough, my doc agreed that yes, my gestational hypertension warranted induction, and that I should go straight to the hospital. not ten minutes later, I received a call that the hospital beds were full and there was no room for me, and to try again at 5 or 6pm that evening. this was at 8 am. adrenaline and anxiety now on full max, I was clueless of how to spend my last day of adult independence, off of work, yet not yet a mother. somehow - I survived it.
6:30pm, my husband and I finally reported to the hospital. 43 hours and 4 different drugs/attempts at induction, I finally delivered my little guy. that's nearly two fucking days. while I was in active labor mode for only 3 hours, (or at least 3 hours that drugs didn't help), I was already done with the stiff ass robot hospital bed, IV hookups, ass flaunting hospital gown and bips/beeps/bops of the various monitors hooked up to me and my stomach. a few hiccups in the process of delivery, I wound up with an infection and bout of hemorrhaging, which resulted in even more IVs and antiobiotics for me and the little guy once he finally joined the world.
i'll spare you all the ugly facts of what the hell happens in childbirth, pre/during/post. but let's just say my body can handle a hell of a lot more sci-fi blood and gore like shit than I ever anticipated. for some reason, I always thought I'd have to have a C-section, and while recovery would be more of a bitch - it seemed like the easy way out in that I would be spared all the push and shove, sweat and tears of a natural child birth. this wasn't the case for me, thank god in retrospect, but part of me still feels like I cheated. after I delivered, I repeatedly apologized to the staff of nurses/doctors for 'being such a wimp.' I took all of the drugs. all of them. every iv drip - which I'm pretty sure was my first 'trip' in my 30+ years. within seconds of administration, I was drowsy, blacking in and out of consciousness, forgetting who I was and where I was. I flashed back to 611a Wisconsin street in Oshkosh - the haunted drafty apartment of my senior year in college. trailer 25 in Wisconsin dells where I spent my 22nd summer. 503 north state street in argyle, where I grew up from 4th grade onward. 5214 north damen avenue, apartment 3 , my first shelter in Chicago 8 summers past. and then, no wait - was I having a baby? or was that just a dream. it didn't seem like I was having a baby - I'd been in this gown and uncomfortable bed for ages already. when would I be able to eat chipotle? I was so hungry. induction prohibits you from eating until delivery, so 2 days without substance got to be a bit trying. no - shit, I was having a baby. the pain was real, that's why I was tripping. I was on drugs. right. I'm married and I'm about to be a mom. ok, then.
and then the first round of drugs wore off. the epidural and following pain pills got the job done - (I have NO idea how the granola/hippie moms can truck through the natural births - seriously, I have no idea. this shit hurt more than the tattoo covering the left side of my rib cage, and I thought that was my maxed out pain tolerance - nope). but these drugs were not as magical as whatever narcotic coursed through my veins to get through the third induction trial.
like I said, 43 hours later, little H.R.S joined the world. my heart stopped when they told me, 'here he is' and I heard none of the reported first breath cries. 'why isn't he crying?' I insisted - and then like clockwork, there was a squeal, my husband cut the tube to his lifeline in my stomach and they put this little tiny beautiful man on my bare chest. I sobbed like a little baby, tinier and more helpless than the real puny infant on my upper chesst. and felt really, really tired. subdued. nearly numb. I learned later it was because of all the blood I had lost. not to mention the empty stomach - both from not eating and the projectile bile/water vomiting my poor husband got to stand in as a casualty for the past few hours. he was a good sport, to say the least.
this was on mother's day, 1:43 pm. we were finally released from the hospital two days later, on Tuesday, may 13th, around 4pm. that's 4 fucking days, flapping my ass around in a nasty ass gown and struggling to stay sane without more than 2 hours of sleep each night. doctors of all specialties (obs, peds, labs), nurses, lactation consultants, nurse assistants, food deliveries (that shit is nasty, btw - so glad I finally got my chipotle - twice), etc. - not to mention the guests/family/friends, the three of us never got any sleep. we foolishly thought that our arrival home would bring a more relaxed bout of sleep/comfort.
well, I didn't have to wear the nasty gowns any more. and I did get a non remote controlled bed - but to little use. apparently, little tiny men need to eat on a 2 hour schedule. after each 15 min to an hour long feeding, they then require multiple diaper changes ('oh, he peed through his diaper AND onesie? even the swaddle?), (oh, that sounds like a poopie, shit - we just changed him!), to cottage cheese throw ups, Houdini broken swaddle grips, (seriously, how'd he get out of that?!), to crying and crying and crying - just because he can and it's 3am. (did you try the side swing? maybe I can rock him? SHUSH HIM! womb sounds? here, give him my boob again. WHY OH WHY IS HE STILL AN ANGRY TOMATO MAN? CAN'T WE JUST GET SOME SLEEP? please???)
you get the idea. and as I type this, the little man's not even two full weeks old. I didn't even touch on the frustration/fears we had for another potential hospital visit due to the little guy's touch of jaundice and weight loss. 3 doc visits later, he's on the right track, finally back over his birth weight and skin pink as a piglet's. (even more scarlet when it comes time to a diaper change - this dude's got a temper and kicks/punches to put Jackie Chan to shame).
i'll admit I had a brush of the baby blues, too. whether it was hormonal, the abundance of aches and pains, or due to lack of sleep (I maybe average 3-4 hours on a good night, rarely consecutive), I don't know. but i think it's finally getting better. I laughed a few times today. (which oh my god, don't laugh TOO hard - women who have had children - you know what I'm talking about - laughing, sneezing = woops). I find myself enjoying washing dishes or sneaking away to switch the laundry. (I got to listen to my ipod for 3 whole songs today and was never more thrilled! it was like I was a normal person!) although the most important lesson I've learned to date is the utmost importance of getting outside. I made the mistake of feeling pressured to stay in and tend to the draining boob man for 2.5 days at one point and was ready to cut a bitch. hard. let's just say i was never more soothed/ecstatic for an excuse to go to walgreen's. the fact that it was 70+ degrees outside, and I had just spent the last 8+ months on house arrest due to the arctic 'polar vortex' made me a weeee bit restless, as you can imagine.
it's funny - the simple things you take for granted when you have freedom. like, eating breakfast, lunch and dinner. and then, washing/cleaning up after breakfast, lunch and dinner. brushing your teeth. taking a shower. these are all now luxuries in the sassana household. so when we have days like today where we also snuck in a walk to the park, laundry, assembly of even more baby accessories (tummy time anyone?), you begin to feel like wonder woman or super man. for all of you who have been so awesome to check in via text, phone calls or email to receive no response - I hope you realize I do truly love you all for it and appreciate it - but even drafting a 30 second text takes time I no longer have, and chances are I didn't even see your message until the following day. the fact that I've been able to vent and draft this half assed blog the last 20-30 minutes is monumental in itself. although I am kind of kicking myself for not using the time to take a much needed nap instead.
I don't know how mommies do it. the pregnancies, the deliveries, the childcare - especially the stay at home mommies who don't go to work with multiple kids. I found myself day dreaming of editing a powerpoint, creating agendas and leading meetings yesterday evening. I actually MISSED work. not the office, per say, but the act of actually working. using my brain instead of being on autopilot. feeling confident in my abilities and actually accomplishing things. I suppose I am accomplishing things with my little guy, but this is all brand new turf/territory for me, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss knowing what the heck I was doing. again, like taking (all of the) drugs during the delivery process, it almost feels like I'm cheating (or will be) when I go back to work. instead of putting in the hard time with mr. s, i'll be escaping to the office where it's easier than tending to the pooping/peeing/puking/sucking machine. like I'm being a wimp again. kudos to you, moms. I really don't know how you do it. although some say, it does get easier. . .
I guess in the last 11 days I've learned a few things.
being a mommy means putting yourself last. getting pissed, puked and shat on on a daily basis. never sleeping. waiting to eat your first bite of sushi in 9 months until the little piglet is done with his
'surprise! I'm still hungry! you didn't think I'd actually let you eat dinner, did you?' hour + long suckle. not having a beer. not drinking more than one cup of coffee per day ( I learned that lesson the hard way the other day). peeing with the door open. forgetting about your appearance. who has time for make-up/brushing your hair when there's a little milk man in the house? knowing your body will never really be your body again - at least not for a while. and being ok with that. my tummy will probably never be the same. I weigh more than I ever did before pregnancy. but you know what? I have this odd sense of entitlement/ownership/confidence that I never had before I was pregnant.
yes, my stomach is not flat or even tight in the slightest. it's a bit doughy. it has some salmon squiggles on it. but the curves my body holds now - in my torso, my hips, my ass, my chest - they're somehow so natural and beautiful that I feel this earthly maternal confidence I never possessed before. like I earned them. I'm not about to strap on some tight ass miniskirt any time soon, and I may only have a few outfits that I can comfortably squeeze into (or have quick access to flinging out either breast on 15 second demand), but I don't care. sexy is having spit-up on your boob and being 100% completely ok with it. the circles under my eyes from sleep deprivation are hidden by the motherly glow of my cheeks. the way I naturally cradle my 6 and a half pound son. the growing confidence that yes, I can take care of another human being, and it will make a much, much better person out of me.
gazing into his wide, crazy buggy blue eyes. smelling the odors of his wastes and the sweetness of his innocent flesh. getting punched in the tit. stroking his brown, soft hair. feeling my heart wrench with every sob and shriek. and loving the hell out of him.
that's being a mommy.
but I was a fool if I ever thought I had the slightest clue of what this meant before he came along. the biological ticking of my mommy clock, 'I want a baby', that urge never gave me the slightest clue of what was coming to me. it's a new journey. it has caused me a lot of tears, pain, tests in patience, sadness, but most importantly joy. even when masked by all the tribulations, I love this little man. more than I knew I could love another soul.
I only hope that I can instill the beliefs, education, morals, open mindedness and awesomeness in him that will make him a person a million times better than I could ever strive to be.
that's being a mommy. i love my little sweet h.r.s.
(now if only the little shit would let me get some sleep).
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