What up? I’m checking back in with y’all now that I’m finally done with the pregnancy adventure, which preoccupied me a little the past few months. (We all know I wouldn’t have updated much even without that excuse, but I swear, it really affected my attention to just about everything! ;))
As many of you know, the end of this pregnancy ended up to be a maddening wait-and-see situation that was remarkably similar to my first pregnancy. With both girls, we discovered at the 32-week ultrasound that they were in a breech position. So we waited and watched, because often breech babies turn to the vertex (head-down) position on their own before birth. In both cases, the babies were still breech around 37 weeks, so we scheduled a C-section. And again in both cases, when I went to my preop physical just days before the scheduled surgery, the babies had gotten into vertex position. So, we canceled both surgeries and waited for labor to begin.
There’s a tavern in Gifford called The Long Branch, and it has absolutely the best fish sammich in the area. (This seems unrelated, but I’m going somewhere with it, I swear.) Before Julia was born we would go there on Friday nights with some regularity, but it’s a real hassle—Gifford is over a half-hour away, and the place is often packed on Fridays. In my final days of my first pregnancy, we had scheduled an induction for a Sunday, and on that previous Friday I cajoled Dan into taking the trip out to Long Branch for fish. I was all like, “You know we’ll never come out here once the baby’s born, yada yada.” So we went, and later that night—at 2:30 in the morning, actually—my water broke, and we headed to the hospital to have Julia.
On April 6, 2007, I once again insisted on making a Long Branch voyage on a Friday night when I was miserably pregnant and figured the end was coming. So that night we dropped Julia off with her grandparents and went to Gifford for fish, half-jokingly thinking it might set something in motion. Improbably enough, my water broke at 5:00 the following morning, and off we went to the hospital.
We hadn’t been there long when this pregnancy began to differentiate itself from the end of the first one. I had gotten into a gown, started eating some ice chips, and settled in with an Arrested Development DVD, when the OB on call came in to see me.
Doc: I understand the baby had been breech?
Me: That’s right, but she flipped the day before the scheduled C-section.
Doc: Well, we’re going to do an ultrasound to check her position, because when the nurse checked your cervix, she couldn’t feel the baby’s head, and that means it’s probably not down.
Me: [stunned silence] Oh, this would absolutely figure.
Doc: [lubes up my belly, busts out the ultrasound thingie] Yep, sure enough, she’s breech.
Me: YOU HAVE GOT TO BE EFFING KIDDING ME.
So then he explains to us that we’re going to have an emergency C-section, and from there a flurry of activity ensues. They’re calling anesthesia to see when they can arrive, people start rushing in and out of my room, the nurse hooks up an IV and takes my ice chips away, and I just generally start freaking out a bit.
About a half-hour later, I’m being wheeled into an operating room on the same floor. Geez, those rooms are always so bright and shiny and freaking COLD. I was already shaking from nervousness, and the cold thing certainly didn’t help much. Fortunately, I had a wonderful nurse anesthetist who was with me the whole time, talking to me, asking me questions, telling me what was happening, and doing the majority of the work (the anesthesiologist was more of a supervisor). They administered a spinal block, started the surgery, and in a few minutes started laughing. Because apparently, it was pretty hilarious when they got me cut open and saw that the baby had flipped almost completely to a vertex position.
Yeah.
So anyway, the important thing is, they pulled out our baby girl, then pulled down the curtain so I could see her. She looked so tiny, but was weighed at 7 pounds 10 ounces—positively whopping compared to Julia (7 pounds 1 ounce), Dan (7 pounds 2 ounces), and me (6 pounds 13 ounces). Her little cries were wet and muffled because of all the liquid in her lungs that had to be suctioned out. They whisked her over to the table thingie to get her all cleaned up and check her vitals, and I found out later that she scored a 9 and 10 on her Apgars. Then they brought her over to my face so I could see her better while the doctors stitched me up (SO uncomfortable, by the way—that part was longer and far worse than the actual surgery), and it was off to the nursery with Daddy.
After a while I was wheeled across the hall into a recovery room, where I proceeded to relax and shake a whole lot for the next 90 minutes or so. We still didn’t have a name picked out, so when Dan brought the baby to me, we agreed that we needed to make a call pretty soon. We basically were down to Madeleine or Catherine, and Dan told me he had been leaning toward one name before she was born but now was leaning the other way since he had spent time with her. But he wouldn’t tell me which way he was leaning! We asked the nurse who was in recovery with me whether she thought the baby looked like a Madeleine or Catherine. We asked my mom when we saw her. We asked another nurse. It was unanimous: she looked like a Madeleine. That didn’t solve the problem of the middle name, though. I liked Claire, which Dan didn’t like, but neither of us could come up with something else we agreed on. So, by the time we had to fill out the birth certificate info—a few hours before leaving the hospital—we defaulted to my choice, and thus Madeleine Claire was inelegantly named. ;)
Recovery has been better than I expected. I had a bit of a spinal headache from the spinal block, but it went away after several days. And I realized yesterday that it was the first day I was starting to feel kind of normal and settled again. I had forgotten how disconcerting that first week is with a newborn—everything is so new and different and weird. It was even more so this time than with Julia, I think, because we had the added stress of assimilating a newborn into a family with a toddler. But Julia has been very positive about her baby sister after a little uncertainty about her. (A couple of days after Maddie was born, Dan asked Julia, “Do you love Mommy?” “Yeah.” “Do you love Daddy?” “Yeah.” “Do you love baby sister?” [pause] “No.”) And her general behavior has been pretty good, or at least normal; she has been more prone to crying and tantrums, but even that is getting better.
I’ve definitely had my share of the baby blues. It’s weird how the hormones are different in pregnancy and postpregnancy; for me at least, pregnant hormones make me prone to anger, but postpartum hormones make me prone to sadness. I can cry at the drop of a hat, for just no reason whatsoever. So I can’t even think about truly emotional things, or I can’t stop crying. Particularly I’ve struggled with feelings related to Julia—mostly, just guilt at causing her to endure a difficult adjustment and fear of her tiny little heart being broken. Ugh, writing it out, it looks so stupid, but it just kills me to think that she could feel at all less valued by us because we’ve added to our family. It’s dumb, I know—if she truly thought or felt that way, I know we’d be seeing some significant acting out. But she’s the same loving, sweet, sometimes dramaqueen-y girl she’s always been. Also, I’ve been sort of grieving for the passage of our little family—just Dan and Julia and me—not that I didn’t want more children, I absolutely did, but it’s just that the time just the three of us spent together will always be very special to me. And then there’s the passage of time, facing your mortality, seeing your kids getting older crap. For example, last week Julia was lying down on an activity mat we had out for Maddie, and as I looked at her, I kept seeing her as a little newborn lying there and I couldn’t stop crying. Crap, it’s making me cry now! Stupid hormones.
Anyway, Maddie appears to be a pretty good baby so far, just as Julia was. She’s not picky about food, enjoying both nursing and the bottle. I’ve given up nursing already (as Julia would say, “It’s too really hard”), which sucks but I knew ten years ago when I had my surgery that this was a possibility, and besides, Julia was bottle-fed and thrived. It’ll be OK. Maddie didn’t sleep well her first couple of nights, but now sleeps in good 4- to 6-hour chunks at night. She takes her last bottle at 11 and usually wakes up around 4 and then again around 8. Not too shabby! I’m cautiously optimistic that we’ll be able to get her sleeping through the night before 8 weeks, as we did with Julia.
And that’s about it. Dan took some cute pictures of both girls the other day…when he gets them on the computer, I’ll post some. Thanks to all of you for your care and concern!
As many of you know, the end of this pregnancy ended up to be a maddening wait-and-see situation that was remarkably similar to my first pregnancy. With both girls, we discovered at the 32-week ultrasound that they were in a breech position. So we waited and watched, because often breech babies turn to the vertex (head-down) position on their own before birth. In both cases, the babies were still breech around 37 weeks, so we scheduled a C-section. And again in both cases, when I went to my preop physical just days before the scheduled surgery, the babies had gotten into vertex position. So, we canceled both surgeries and waited for labor to begin.
There’s a tavern in Gifford called The Long Branch, and it has absolutely the best fish sammich in the area. (This seems unrelated, but I’m going somewhere with it, I swear.) Before Julia was born we would go there on Friday nights with some regularity, but it’s a real hassle—Gifford is over a half-hour away, and the place is often packed on Fridays. In my final days of my first pregnancy, we had scheduled an induction for a Sunday, and on that previous Friday I cajoled Dan into taking the trip out to Long Branch for fish. I was all like, “You know we’ll never come out here once the baby’s born, yada yada.” So we went, and later that night—at 2:30 in the morning, actually—my water broke, and we headed to the hospital to have Julia.
On April 6, 2007, I once again insisted on making a Long Branch voyage on a Friday night when I was miserably pregnant and figured the end was coming. So that night we dropped Julia off with her grandparents and went to Gifford for fish, half-jokingly thinking it might set something in motion. Improbably enough, my water broke at 5:00 the following morning, and off we went to the hospital.
We hadn’t been there long when this pregnancy began to differentiate itself from the end of the first one. I had gotten into a gown, started eating some ice chips, and settled in with an Arrested Development DVD, when the OB on call came in to see me.
Doc: I understand the baby had been breech?
Me: That’s right, but she flipped the day before the scheduled C-section.
Doc: Well, we’re going to do an ultrasound to check her position, because when the nurse checked your cervix, she couldn’t feel the baby’s head, and that means it’s probably not down.
Me: [stunned silence] Oh, this would absolutely figure.
Doc: [lubes up my belly, busts out the ultrasound thingie] Yep, sure enough, she’s breech.
Me: YOU HAVE GOT TO BE EFFING KIDDING ME.
So then he explains to us that we’re going to have an emergency C-section, and from there a flurry of activity ensues. They’re calling anesthesia to see when they can arrive, people start rushing in and out of my room, the nurse hooks up an IV and takes my ice chips away, and I just generally start freaking out a bit.
About a half-hour later, I’m being wheeled into an operating room on the same floor. Geez, those rooms are always so bright and shiny and freaking COLD. I was already shaking from nervousness, and the cold thing certainly didn’t help much. Fortunately, I had a wonderful nurse anesthetist who was with me the whole time, talking to me, asking me questions, telling me what was happening, and doing the majority of the work (the anesthesiologist was more of a supervisor). They administered a spinal block, started the surgery, and in a few minutes started laughing. Because apparently, it was pretty hilarious when they got me cut open and saw that the baby had flipped almost completely to a vertex position.
Yeah.
So anyway, the important thing is, they pulled out our baby girl, then pulled down the curtain so I could see her. She looked so tiny, but was weighed at 7 pounds 10 ounces—positively whopping compared to Julia (7 pounds 1 ounce), Dan (7 pounds 2 ounces), and me (6 pounds 13 ounces). Her little cries were wet and muffled because of all the liquid in her lungs that had to be suctioned out. They whisked her over to the table thingie to get her all cleaned up and check her vitals, and I found out later that she scored a 9 and 10 on her Apgars. Then they brought her over to my face so I could see her better while the doctors stitched me up (SO uncomfortable, by the way—that part was longer and far worse than the actual surgery), and it was off to the nursery with Daddy.
After a while I was wheeled across the hall into a recovery room, where I proceeded to relax and shake a whole lot for the next 90 minutes or so. We still didn’t have a name picked out, so when Dan brought the baby to me, we agreed that we needed to make a call pretty soon. We basically were down to Madeleine or Catherine, and Dan told me he had been leaning toward one name before she was born but now was leaning the other way since he had spent time with her. But he wouldn’t tell me which way he was leaning! We asked the nurse who was in recovery with me whether she thought the baby looked like a Madeleine or Catherine. We asked my mom when we saw her. We asked another nurse. It was unanimous: she looked like a Madeleine. That didn’t solve the problem of the middle name, though. I liked Claire, which Dan didn’t like, but neither of us could come up with something else we agreed on. So, by the time we had to fill out the birth certificate info—a few hours before leaving the hospital—we defaulted to my choice, and thus Madeleine Claire was inelegantly named. ;)
Recovery has been better than I expected. I had a bit of a spinal headache from the spinal block, but it went away after several days. And I realized yesterday that it was the first day I was starting to feel kind of normal and settled again. I had forgotten how disconcerting that first week is with a newborn—everything is so new and different and weird. It was even more so this time than with Julia, I think, because we had the added stress of assimilating a newborn into a family with a toddler. But Julia has been very positive about her baby sister after a little uncertainty about her. (A couple of days after Maddie was born, Dan asked Julia, “Do you love Mommy?” “Yeah.” “Do you love Daddy?” “Yeah.” “Do you love baby sister?” [pause] “No.”) And her general behavior has been pretty good, or at least normal; she has been more prone to crying and tantrums, but even that is getting better.
I’ve definitely had my share of the baby blues. It’s weird how the hormones are different in pregnancy and postpregnancy; for me at least, pregnant hormones make me prone to anger, but postpartum hormones make me prone to sadness. I can cry at the drop of a hat, for just no reason whatsoever. So I can’t even think about truly emotional things, or I can’t stop crying. Particularly I’ve struggled with feelings related to Julia—mostly, just guilt at causing her to endure a difficult adjustment and fear of her tiny little heart being broken. Ugh, writing it out, it looks so stupid, but it just kills me to think that she could feel at all less valued by us because we’ve added to our family. It’s dumb, I know—if she truly thought or felt that way, I know we’d be seeing some significant acting out. But she’s the same loving, sweet, sometimes dramaqueen-y girl she’s always been. Also, I’ve been sort of grieving for the passage of our little family—just Dan and Julia and me—not that I didn’t want more children, I absolutely did, but it’s just that the time just the three of us spent together will always be very special to me. And then there’s the passage of time, facing your mortality, seeing your kids getting older crap. For example, last week Julia was lying down on an activity mat we had out for Maddie, and as I looked at her, I kept seeing her as a little newborn lying there and I couldn’t stop crying. Crap, it’s making me cry now! Stupid hormones.
Anyway, Maddie appears to be a pretty good baby so far, just as Julia was. She’s not picky about food, enjoying both nursing and the bottle. I’ve given up nursing already (as Julia would say, “It’s too really hard”), which sucks but I knew ten years ago when I had my surgery that this was a possibility, and besides, Julia was bottle-fed and thrived. It’ll be OK. Maddie didn’t sleep well her first couple of nights, but now sleeps in good 4- to 6-hour chunks at night. She takes her last bottle at 11 and usually wakes up around 4 and then again around 8. Not too shabby! I’m cautiously optimistic that we’ll be able to get her sleeping through the night before 8 weeks, as we did with Julia.
And that’s about it. Dan took some cute pictures of both girls the other day…when he gets them on the computer, I’ll post some. Thanks to all of you for your care and concern!
posted by Jackie at 2:25 PM
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