Gilbert is our latest family addition. He’s a cat that I had as a little girl who’s since been renamed after Caillou’s pet. Immediately after nap last week, Charlie announced that Gilbert was “fuzzy” so he picked him up, held him and bounced him, just like I do with Miles. What a perfect articulation error.

In the first few weeks after Miles’ birth, Charlie would confuse some of his newest vocabulary. Miles would spit up and Charlie would proclaim, “Miles is nursing, mama. He just nursed.” He has them all straight now, age-appropriate language errors and all, and loves to announce that “Miles spitted up.” Which the baby has done four times down my shirt in the past two days. We are a laundry factory. And I need to go put a load in.

I began writing this post on Wednesday but it is quite appropriate that I’m just now finishing it. I’ve been a wee bit busy this week since Harry returned to work. I’ve also been extremely tired. Despite spending 12 hours in bed last night (9pm to 9am, thanks to Harry getting out of bed with Charlie this morning), I probably slept 4-hrs total, broken into two 2-hr chunks. Newborns and gas = a bad combination for a good night’s sleep. And now Miles has slept most of the afternoon and evening, so I am fearful of what our night will bring, but hopefully I’ll be pleasantly surprised.

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The house is eerily quiet. I decided to hire Tory to come over this morning and take Charlie to the playground. At this point, such an outing is something I could probably manage, but I’m also really tired and still recovering so I try to still all the ridiculous voices inside my head that tell me I shouldn’t spend money on this or am somehow abandoning my child by giving us both this freedom. This is a constant challenge for most moms that I know. How much time away from your kids is “acceptable” and when does taking time for ourselves cross a line to mean we’re selfish.

Anyways, instead of napping while Miles naps, putting away the huge pile of laundry at my feet, doing dishes or making a meal, I walked to Macrina and bought a coffee. I called my best friend on the walk back. And even though my littlest boy is still resting I have decided to write instead of work or sleep. First of all, the coffee makes sleep difficult and tastes really good. Secondly, writing sounds restful to me. So, here you are reading my stream of consciousness post. But Miles just began pooping in his sleep, so I imagine this time will be short lived.

The boy can poop and pee. Charlie probably sprayed a total of five times during diaper changes in his life. Miles pees almost every time he’s exposed to open air. He adores being naked. His whole body relaxes and he lets it all go. I’m getting quite good at catching all his pees in a wash cloth. Good for the environment, you know. And when I miss, I can still laugh about it, unless it’s 2am. Then I might not laugh but that’s mostly because I’m changing diapers in a half comatose state and might not even notice that he peed on me until I get back in bed and realize my clothes are all wet and it’s not from lactating, which can be the other source of wet surprises sometimes.

Our first outing with Miles was to the midwife office to address some of my concerns with my recovery and he happened to have an enormous poop that came up his back and front and down his legs. It surrounded his still-healing umbilical cord site which you’re reminded to keep clean and dry to prevent infection by just about every nurse and pamphlet prior to leaving the hospital. We had rushed to the office because they were technically closed and the midwife on-call was fitting us in while one of her patient’s was pushing. Thinking we had a well-packed diaper bag from the day prior’s trip to the pediatrician, we grabbed it and ran out the door. So, we were surprised to find not a single diaper nor wipe to help us with Miles’ poopsplosion. All we had was an extra outfit for Miles and one of Charlie’s pull-ups. The poop was discovered prior to the midwife’s arrival and when Miles started rooting and fussing, even though I was in a gown and covered by a sheet ready to be examined, I decided to nurse him in case she took a long time. So, in she walks while I’m holding a five day old baby covered in his own poop with yellow poop stains on my gown and sheet. Thank goodness she was a midwife and a mom, too. She hooked us up with lots of wash cloths, I cut apart Charlie’s pull-up to cover Miles for the trip home (who managed to pee all over the office floor and Harry’s leg before we cleaned up the mess and got him dressed & “diapered” again), and we were out the door with a clean baby within an hour.

That event showed Harry and I how much we’ve grown as parents and as a team these past three years. It would’ve really thrown us for a loop with Charlie, but with Miles we were able to work together, laugh at the continued string of problems, and find solutions, as silly as they may be.

While this post didn’t start out to be a a Mother’s Day post, I will let it journey there given the timing. Reflecting on my first week going solo with the boys reminds me how experiencing a “successful” motherhood is due greatly to community. For me, successful means enjoying my role the majority of the time, growing through the parts that make me crazy and fearful, connecting with and encouraging my children in play and emotional/spiritual/physical development, and providing a healthy household routine and nurturing food…and probably a few other key issues I can’t pinpoint at the moment because I should be sleeping. This week my community made the difference. Harry cheered me on from work and provided the extra morning and evening boost we all needed. Friends brought over meals, as well as conversation and playmates, to make the days not so long and my list of demands shorter. Despite not having a job, Tory ended up kindly giving us her time as a baby present and even vacuumed our house. I also got calls and emails from friends checking in on me which greatly brightened my days.

So, this mother’s day I applaud all the people out there who support moms. You make an enormous difference in the well-being of an entire household through your kindness and generosity. Without my support team, this mom would’ve probably cussed at her three year old during one of his horrible yelling tantrums and fed our family the same meal for breakfast, lunch and dinner this week. Instead, you brought me perspective, joy, and a step closer to sanity. Thank you.

On a totally random note, I am a 33 year old mom to 3-year old and 3-week old boys who is celebrating her third mother’s day with the three men in her life. Shall I celebrate with three cakes?

Happy Mother’s Day

I end with a picture of our growing baby. At his ten day appointment he was already 9lbs, 5 oz. If he has kept us his ounce a day weight gain, he’s reaching 10lbs now. I imagine it’s the case. Chub chub is coming! :)

Birth stories are magical for me. Three years after delivering Charlie, I still love telling the story. Miles’ will no doubt be the same. I regret not writing about Charlie’s earlier because I know many of the details are forgotten. I will write about it soon. But with the experience so fresh in my memory and the sweet smell of my newborn near me, this is Miles’ birthday story. (If you can’t handle details of labor, don’t read this.)

Beginning around week 39, I started doing nearly everything under the sun to attempt to encourage labor. I didn’t start this ridiculousness until my mom had been present at our home for several days, making sure we would have time for a few fun dates and Charlie’s adjustment to her presence. In an effort to laugh about all the labor inducing myths, I solicited on Facebook. Pistachio ice cream, eggplant Parmesan, wine, spicy food, primrose oil, acupuncture, castor oil, sex, and bikini waxes were among the suggestions. While I didn’t try all, I did a bunch of these recommendations knowing there was no harm in eating some spicy mango curry. I had a pleasant experience with acupuncture and learned that is has several studies backing it for decreased labor time and cervical ripening, so I would recommend it as a legitimate tool for those willing to face the needles. Plus, I walked away with a great packet of acupressure points which ended up being an invaluable part of my pain management during labor.

The funny thing is, I don’t even believe in most of these techniques that I tried and am aware that placebo effect doesn’t work without that factor! I guess that’s desperation for you. The pressure was on with my mom leaving April 21 and knowing that week 42, and definite induction date, was April 24. The closer we got to her flight date, the harder it was to relax about it. I was sad at the thought of her leaving without meeting Miles. I was also really concerned that Charlie would be adjusting to her departure and staying with someone less familiar while we were at the hospital. Once we discovered that Harry Senior would be willing to fly up and be with Charlie if we got to that point, I felt comfortable with whatever would happen.

In the end, genetics probably won out as the timing was just like Harry’s middle brother (and Charlie was like Harry, the firstborn). The first weak, irregular contractions started on Saturday, the beginning of my 41st week of pregnancy.  At 2am Sunday they were strong enough to wake me and keep me up.  In the morning I called my friend and doula, Kari, to help me get through them.  They were about five minutes apart and rather strong.  We went on a walk to get Harry some coffee and Kari some food and they slowed a bit but not much.  By noon they had become irregular and I was discouraged, thinking we were headed down the same path as Charlie’s labor (40 hours).  I sent Kari home and got a nap in.

Contractions were back shortly. By dinnertime I was barely making it through them by myself and Kari arrived just in time for Harry to start the bedtime routine with Charlie (which lasted a couple hours because of his sadness at us leaving for the hospital). I was relying strongly on breathing techniques, relaxation, visualization, prayer, and acupressure to get through them. (Thank you, Hypnobirthing book!) I also kept getting the image of my child being placed in my arms, which helped tremendously. That ended up being my primary prayer and motivator through the contractions.

Around 8pm I called our midwife to let her know we’d be coming into the hospital. My contractions had mostly been three to four minutes apart but we’d had some longer gaps. Because of those, she said we could wait a bit and reassess or go on in. Quickly, my contractions were getting closer together and we decided to head in. I wanted time to settle in to the hospital before they were too hard to focus on anything else.

Driving to the hospital was agonizing. First of all, contractions in that position suck and nobody could help relieve them. Secondly, I was facing the knowledge that my cervix would be checked and needed to decide whether or not I wanted to know where I was at. I knew a 3 or 4 would discourage me and continued to fear that I was going to have as long of a labor as I did with Charlie.  I didn’t think I was in enough pain or having a difficult enough time to be in transition yet.

Once we arrived there, I ended up crying to Harry and Kari about this decision. I didn’t think I could manage without an epidural if it was going to be that long (let alone care for the two boys on so little sleep after a week of minimal sleep to begin with due to Charlie’s illness and pregnancy woes). I was so conflicted because of my intense desire to labor without drugs. I realized how many different things (good and bad, including pride) were packed into this desire, which made it even harder. Mia, our fabulous (Lake Charles native) midwife entered, and joined in the discussion. She checked me and immediately said, “Well, there isn’t a decision to be made. You’re at a 7 or an 8 and all we have to do is get this baby farther into your pelvis and you’re going to be pushing him out.” I sobbed with tears of joy. This felt like an enormous gift to me and I was completely re-energized to continue labor without intervention.

So we continued for three more hours. I had to drink a lot of water to get Miles’ heart rate down (somehow I was dehydrated despite the 200+ ounces of water I’d had that day). Nurses performed what felt like exploratory surgery on my hand to find a vein to take my blood. And contraction by contraction Harry and Kari pushed on my back and other pressure points, talking me through, encouraging me on. I just focused like crazy and did my best to take them one contraction at a time. I also added humor to the scene by burping up gardenburger fumes after every contraction. And these burps weren’t masked. We’re talking bachelors drinking beer kind of burps. Labor does that to you. It’s a bit raw.

By the end of my transition period and throughout pushing I was groaning and yelling. Loudly. I felt really bad for the women just being admitted to the unit or put in the room next to mine. I was definitely the scary laboring woman if they were hoping for a nice calm experience. I had a hoarse voice for about 24 hours afterward and laughed to myself that some SLP out there would scold me for that and want to do vocal therapy for laboring women.

By the time I was pushing, Miles’ heart rate was hard to find and occasionally slow. I had to lay on my left side to push so that more blood flow would get to him. Two nurses held my right leg. Mia had said something about wanting to get him out as soon as possible, which worried me, so I pushed as hard as I could. Harry & I don’t recall exactly, but we think it was probably about eight to ten pushes for about 20 minutes. My bag of waters never broke, so they all got to see that push out a bit first and ended up breaking it while part of it was outside of me (which I wish I could’ve seen! Harry said it looked a bit like a white water balloon.). The nurse joked about how they all instinctively turned their heads away because they’ve all been splashed before! As Miles’ head finally came out, he stuck one of his fists out, too, just like Superman. Apparently, I wouldn’t have torn had he not done this. It’s such a cute way for him to exit that I don’t mind so much. Anyways, he was quickly brought to my arms, just as I had envisioned, and we got to experience that magical moment of meeting our son face to face for the first time. After lots of telling him how beautiful he was, exclamations of wonder and oohs and aahs, I checked in to make sure he was a boy and ask when his birthday was. I couldn’t believe it was still Sunday. I labored in under a day. 22 hours! Woo-hoo!

I am so thankful for this experience.  The beautiful, warm spring day filled with blue skies, flowers, and several walks with my husband and a dear friend.  All the time between contractions provided space for conversation that is rare and treasured.  I was in awe of Harry’s support this time.  Last round he was knocked out due to strep but still provided incredible support.  This time, he acted like he was a certified doula- truly phenomenal.  Plus, he held Charlie together all day, too.  Thinking of Harry’s presence will always be part of the intense joy I feel when I reflect on April 18th.  I also felt like God surprised me with a great gift by being so far along.  I truly felt blessed to know I could continue on med-free and was immediately freed from the fears I had as a result of Charlie’s labor and my recovery from it.  Of course, the end result is the best part of it all.  Seeing your child, whom you carried for 41 weeks, being brought to your arms couldn’t be sweeter.  Every challenge of pregnancy is suddenly washed away by the pure beauty of the precious baby.