Who knew labour and birth could be so much 'fun'?

It has been four weeks since we welcomed our little one into the world on May 9th, 2008. She burst into the world at 6:36 pm, weighing a healthy (my hubby's word, I say 'chubby') 9lbs 5oz. Life has been a bit of a blur since then. Actually, that is the BIGGEST understatement ever made.

So, inquiring minds want to know...how was my labour? I had thought before giving birth that I would be serious and write an eloquent and beautiful birth story. Well...that just isn't me and in all honesty the birthing process was, um, not all together pleasant. For a very lovely story about my labour, please refer to my doula's blog, re: Colours of Birth: http://www.sauciness.blogspot.com/ She has written about it in such a positive way, that every time I read it I am brought to tears. Tears of joy, honestly.

When I have flashbacks about the ACTUAL process....then I have tears of a different kind. I'll try not to be too graphic, which isn't really my true nature, but I have friends who are pregnant and I don't want to frighten them too much. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm blunt and candid, deal with it!

The birthing process was the EXACT OPPOSITE of everything that I indicated I wanted in my birth plan. It made me think of all of the theory classes that I have taken in Education. IN THEORY, certain things sound good, but in practice it never works like that.

I was adamant that I did not want an epidural. I was a warrior princess and I would laugh in the face of pain. In reality, after seven hours of intense contractions that were one on top of each other, and a damn cervix that was stuck at 5 cm, I finally asked for the stupid epidural. My hubby tried to convince me otherwise, but I was not going to be denied. We tried the gas mask first, which made me feel like I was going to hyperventilate and barf all at the same time. I all but threw it at the nurse the third time it was offered to me. The thought of relief from an epidural was the only thing that would console me. (each contraction at this point felt like someone was taking a sledge hammer and slamming it against my back)

Getting the epidural was a bit scary. I'm not a fan of having large needles stuck into my back. Nor was I a fan of being told not to move while having it done. Easier for the anesthesiologist to say - he wasn't the one being hit with a contraction every two minutes.

The pain relief from the epidural was divine. I loved every minute of it! I could talk! I could laugh! I could crack jokes! (I apparently informed everyone in the room that I could still feel the contractions but they weren't too painful - just felt like I needed to take a big cra* - charming, I know)

And then the doctor came and broke my water (I was stuck at 5cm still, even two hours after having been given the epidural) and all hell broke loose.

Sigh. Once my water was broken the epidural decided it didn't want to play anymore. It took a permanent vacation. I was beyond unimpressed. I hadn't wanted an epidural in the first place, I finally asked for one, and the damn thing only lasted for two hours. I don't know why, but it just stopped working. Pain resumed, on a much more intense level. I believe I asked anyone who would listen to 'just pull her out!' What can I say? I no longer think that pain is a right of passage to be endured during labour. Pain sucks the big one. The pain fairy was kicking my a**.

After my water was broken (it really did feel like I peed myself...a lot...), it only took about an hour to go from 5 to 8 cm. Intense stuff. That may explain why I no longer felt the epidural.

I had also said I wouldn't take any narcotics. The first time it was offered, I said no. Later on I was told it was time to start pushing, would I like to try fentanol? (a narcotic). I said YES.

The funny thing is (I can say funny now, not so funny at the time...), I had no urge or desire to push once I was told to start pushing. Zip, zilch, nothing. A bar was propped over the bed with a towel attached to it. I had to pull myself up on the towel with every contraction, and push. My hubby counted for three sets of ten. Then four sets of ten. My doula kept my head cool, and tried to keep me calm. (which was not a small feat at this point - I REALLY did not want to push). This went on for about an hour. At some point I think the narcotic must have kicked in, because in between contractions I all but fell back on the bed and slept/passed out/went into some weird funky trance like zone....

Then I felt the urge to push, and it must have been one damn good push because she was just about out, and then...the nurse told me to STOP PUSHING. The f-sharps came out on parade at this point, as did my temper. I started yelling that my baby girl was coming and that I did NOT want to stop pushing. They paged my doctor (yes, I actually had my doctor who was on call that day), who came a few minutes later. She had been absent for the entire pushing process and showed up for the last few pushes. She came and got set up and I was permitted to continue pushing. Second push after my doctor arrived and she had the scissors out for the most unkindest and unexpected of cuts. I screamed at the top of my lungs and I believe it was another push and my little one was born.

And then the pain just stopped. Other women had told me that the pain would stop as soon as the baby was born, but I hadn't fully believed them. But it was so true and such a HUGE RELIEF. That was the first emotion I felt upon delivering my daughter.

The second was shock. I had thought that I would cry, but I was a bit too stunned that she was actually out to feel anything beyond bewilderment. I had reached down to pull her onto my chest and the first thing I thought was 'she feels really oily.' And heavy. My doctor said she was a big one...and the second shock of the day was when they told me she was 9lbs 50z. What??? How??? Are you sure??? Then she was whisked away to be attended to by the nurses. She had a lot of mucous in her little lungs and they were trying to suction it out. One my end of things all I heard was her gasping which instantly sent me into worry mode and I kept asking my doula if my 'little' one was okay. I was told not to worry, the mucous was normal, and her daddy was with her holding her hands. (while all this was going on I was getting stitched up, which I was trying not to ignore. I'd had enough at this point of feeling like a science experiment...I found out at this point as well that I had been given the episiotomy because I had started to tear quite badly. GREAT.) She was finally given back to me and she breastfed like a trooper, about 20 minutes after she was born.

There is so much more that I could write. This kind of feels like the 'coles notes' version. My goals for the next week is to write about how my life has changed in the past four weeks, and how my little one is already changing. (I'd honestly like to stop time for awhile...it's too soon for her to be changing already!)

In spite of all of the pain and things not going how I thought they would, I wouldn't trade my life right now for anything. Being a mom is indescribable. The way my daughter looks at me...it catches my breath. She is so precious and I love her more than I ever thought possible.

But I absolutely DO NOT love it when she poops out of her diaper so much that it fills my belly button...that's a story for another day...

Three days overdue, bobble-heads, and cranky monkeys

Waiting really sucks. I'm not good at waiting on the best of days. For anything. This is THE most important thing I've ever had to wait for, and let's just say it's making me REALLY sucky. The continuous pain is adding to the 'suck-factor' as well. Something always seems to hurt. Yes, I'm pathetic. Yes, you SHOULD feel sorry for me. Yes, I would like to go cry to my mommy... My hubby discovered a few days ago just how sensitive and cranky I am right now. After spending an hour cooking dinner, with my back aching, he had the nerve to inform me that he didn't want to eat because he wasn't hungry. The pot of noodles almost went flying across the room in the direction of his head...Much crying ensued (even at this late stage in the game, hormones are running rampant) and he knows NEVER to say again 'I'm not hungry' after his wife has slaved over his dinner. Well, he can say it again but then I'll boycott cooking dinner from here to all eternity...

The continuous weight gain is driving me a bit batty as well. Until this baby comes out, I fear it will never stop! How much weight gain, you ask? Humpf. I'm not sharing. No way, no how. Let's just say it's A LOT, and as far as I'm concerned it's not a very 'nifty' number. Nor was it very nifty when the hubby and I went for breakfast this morning and I almost didn't fit between the seat and the table. (both were fixed to the floor and could not be adjusted) My belly was pressed right up against the table. Yup. That was a pretty picture. My self-esteem is not having a very great week...

In the past week, I've had two doctor's appointments. Last week there was not much hope. She figured I'd be in for the LONG haul. Swell. Just what every fat pregnant woman wants to hear. My hubby commented after last week's appointment that he thinks my doctor has 'magic' hands, because after only a few seconds of 'kneading' my belly she can tell which way the baby is positioned. Yes, she's a bloody miracle worker. If she was so great she'd have caused me to deliver by now! Sigh. Don't mind me. I told you waiting has made me quite cranky. Okay, I'm actually a bit crotchety because of her instructions at today's appointment. Double sigh. (Mom and mom-in-law, just skip to the next paragraph, okay? The next couple of lines contain graphic content that are not meant for either of our parents to read. Ever. I mean it!) After 'stirring' things up a bit (highly uncomfortable but not as bad as the internal exam from two weeks ago), she told us what else we could do to get labour moving along. Now, it's not so much that I was oblivious to the instructions she was about to give us (a number of other people have given the same advice), it was the AMOUNT that she 'prescribed.'
Dr: "You can try Castor oil, but it will give you diarrhea which will increase the prostaglandins in your body. This helps to dilate your cervix. Or you can have sex. THREE TIMES TODAY SHOULD DO THE TRICK."
Me: (really no words could be said. My mouth hangs open...)
Hubby: (HUGE grin on his face) "Doc, you've just made my day!"
Me: (still no words.)

Moving right along. At least I hope things are... I received an email this past week, indicating that unless I submitted an assignment for one of my courses (that quite honestly was so damn long and tedious I thought I'd just NOT do it. There really was no time to do it during my practicum, which is when it was due.), I'd receive a failing grade. I was a bit surprised as the assignment was only worth about 25% and I thought I'd still pass the course even if I didn't do it, because I did well on my other assignments. Apparently not. APPARENTLY, in education if even ONE assignment is not turned in, you receive a failing grade. Bloody hell. My instructor waited until three days before my due date to inform me of this. This led to a minor meltdown/hissy-fit as I realized that I'd have to get the damn thing done. And fast. Or so I thought, when I was still thinking that I wasn't going to make it to my due date. (funny how deluded I was...) I'm pleased to report that I finished it yesterday. Yippee! It was a really flaky/ridiculous assignment. It was for my art and drama course and I had to answer a set of questions that I felt were rather pointless. It also involved drawing, which I'm normally not adverse to. I did skip one question though. The question instructed me to go and 'play' with someone, and then draw the experience. (I don't think my instructor would have liked me to sketch the kind of 'playing' I've been doing lately...) I was then asked to write about this experience, and to describe whether or not I was 'in the zone'? Come on! I'm pretty sure I'm not the only student who skipped this question.

The baby's room is almost complete. We're cutting it close, I know. Oh well. The furniture was all set up and in place, but now it's dismantled and strewn around our living room. No, I didn't get angry and display super-human strength..., my hubby is painting the baby's room. It has turned out to be a bigger pain than we had expected. Actually, I'm not quite sure WHY we expected it would be a smooth process, as it NEVER is when we paint a room. Something always pops up. Our house is bloody old and the former owners used an oil-based paint, which is a royal pain to paint over. You have to buy special primer because otherwise any new paint put on will chip off. Last week I finally scraped off the wallpaper, which is never any fun. People who put up wallpaper should be shot. I'll never, ever, put wallpaper up in any house I live in. Even when I'm a little old granny and want to surround myself with images of flowers. But I digress. We were going to use a pail of paint that I had bought almost two years ago, when the room was supposed to be an office for me and thoughts of babies were just that, thoughts. Well, we tested a corner (which is when we, I mean my hubby, discovered that we had to prime the walls) and decided that we weren't quite sure about the colour. It looked kind of like a shade of caramel/brown. Not very babyish. So yesterday we picked out a new colour which I INSIST is green, kind of like sea foam. My hubby is adamant that it is blue. I think he is colour-blind. He thinks I'M colour blind. One of us is, and I'm pretty sure it's not me.

Wow. Who knew I could write that much about painting a room? What the hell? When did I get old and start talking about painting? I went to a friend's house yesterday, and house renovations and discussions of babies consumed a large part of our conversation. (I tried to limit the amount I talked about baby-related issues, but her sister is pregnant and her sister-in-law just had a baby so it was hard to avoid! Not my fault!) We were both slightly aghast. Our conversations used to revolve around who did what (or whom...) at the previous night's party, while nursing a cup of coffee. Coffee is still central to our chats, but the level of gossip seems to be subsiding. Sigh. Mademoiselle K, the worst has happened. We're grown-ups now. GASP.

The thought that I'm now a grown-up is slightly depressing. But I guess becoming a mom tends to do that to people? The grown-up part, not the becoming depressed part... (although some people might make an argument in favour of the latter...). I'm going to have to be all responsible and crap. Ick. However, there are ways to become a responsible, barf, adult, while still retaining some part of my former goofy self. I refuse to release my inner-child. She's here to stay. Plus I need her for when I teach, she helps me to relate to my students. (you said 'poop!' hahaha) A few days ago my inner-child burst out and started doing bobble-head impersonations. My extra, um, girth, works really well with this! I started to waggle my head back and forth and looked at my hubby and said 'I'm a bobble-head'. Giggling ensued on both our parts. I've still got it damn it! My daughter will be thoroughly amused, I just know it....

She is still quite active in my belly. I keep telling her that if she is feeling squished then she should just head on out. She's already ignoring me...

Hopefully my next post will be postpartum, when I'm wide awake and continue to have mountains of free-time, nursing and typing at the same time. Hahahahaha.....