Birth Day + Hospital Stay

This post is a little late, but hello, 40 Weeks!

4/21/13, 40 weeks and 2 days

Welcome, Oliver James!  Born 4/17/13 at 12:59 pm, 8 pounds 9 ounces, 21 inches.

I figure I'll want this recorded some day, so here is Oliver's (rather long and photo-heavy) birth story:


We arrived at West Hills Hospital at about 9:15, a bit more than three hours early so we could get checked in and I could have the pre-op bloodwork done.  They immediately put me in an ever-so-attractive tie-up-the-back gown, strapped me to a heart monitor and a contraction monitor, and hooked me up to an IV.  The bloodwork and checking-in took about an hour and a half.

Hospital Chic

I couldn't eat or drink anything after midnight the night before, which of course meant that I was absolutely parched and dying for a drink.  I asked the nurse when I'd be able to drink something.

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?!"  Oy.

One note about being three hours early to surgery: once you're hooked up to monitors and IVs, you can't move.  Which means your butt will go very numb laying there on that uncomfortable hospital bed.

Right about 12:30, Steve got into his super-cool cover-all outfit and they wheeled me in to the operating room.  The anesthesiologist put in the spinal, which was all kinds of bizarre.  I have never had no control over a part of me, let alone my entire lower half.  He warned me that the medication might travel upwards as well as downwards, and it might feel like I wasn't breathing.  But not to panic, because as long as I could talk, I could breathe.  (It didn't happen, thank goodness.)  I asked for anti-nausea medication straight away to combat any motion sickness that might result from all the tugging and moving of internal organs.

My wonderful doctors came in and the surgery started.  There was all kinds of tugging and moving of internal organs, and it was a little freaky to be able to feel everything except pain.  I mean, thank goodness for not feeling pain!

I heard things like "There's a lot of fluid!  It's clear!" and "I need a towel, please!"  (There really must have been a lot of fluid.)

At a few minutes to 1:00, I thought that the baby would probably be born in the 1:00 hour.

"Stand up, Dad, it's time," someone said.  Steve got the camera in position.

And then I felt the pressure release in my abdomen, and a moment later, a watery cry.

"Time?"

"12:59 pm."

Just Born!

 It was a few minutes before they brought the baby over to me and I got my first look at our beautiful son.  Steve and I hadn't set a name in stone, so once we were both able to really see him, we decided on Oliver James, named after his two great-grandpas.  We also got to take some pictures as a family.

First Family Photo

I couldn't hold him with my arms all hooked up to IVs, and that's one thing I really regret about the process.  I was so looking forward to that promised hour after delivery where they put the baby on mom's chest and let her breastfeed or just have skin-to-skin contact.  With a C-section, you don't get that.  Too quickly, they took Oliver away to be checked and bathed.  Steve got to go with while they sewed me up.

Tiny Feet

I had to stay in Recovery until I could move my legs a little bit.  I think it was about an hour from the time Oliver was born until they wheeled me into our "home" for the next few days.  Both Steve and Oliver were waiting for me in the room, a pretty huge private room.  The benefit of a private room is that you're the only ones there (although I think there were three or four babies on our floor at any given time, and 15 rooms).  The down side is only one bed, so Dad gets to sleep on the fold-out couch.

I was confined to bed for the rest of the day, hooked up to an IV and a catheter, with some kind of compression gadget on my legs.  I spent the rest of the day and night getting to know Oliver and figuring out how to breastfeed.  He was very sleepy, and it was difficult to keep him awake to suck for more than a few minutes, but we kept at it.

The next day, I got an incredibly bland bowl of broth, a jello cup, hot tea, and apple juice for breakfast.  When I kept everything down, a little before noon, the nurse came to take the catheter and IV out.  My first time standing up was tough--really tough.  I was incredibly dizzy and it took a few minutes to shuffle the six feet or so from the bed to the bathroom.

A little TMI here, but I could not pee.  The nurse put me back to bed and gave me instructions to continue drinking water and she'd be back in a few hours.

I got a slightly less-bland bowl of broth, orange Italian ice, hot tea, and apple juice for lunch.  I got to eat at the table instead of in bed, in my effort to walk around as much as I could.

I was terrified they'd have to put the catheter back in, but thankfully it didn't come to that.  My next goal: pass gas.  I was having terrible gas pains from all the movement of internal organs (but that would take a few days to resolve itself).

Dinner that night was finally real food!  It tasted amazing. (Actually, the food in general, once we got past the clear-liquids diet, wasn't bad.  I was surprised.)

That second night, I only got an hour and fifteen minutes of sleep.  The night nurse terrified me when she did her midnight evaluation of Oliver.  She came back and told me his jaundice was getting worse, his goopy eyes were a cause for concern, he was losing too much weight, and I had to make sure he ate and pooped.  On top of that, I had to get up and walk as much as possible for the gas. 

Peaceful in his isolet

So I spent the night alternating between pacing around the room with a sleeping Oliver in my arms, and trying to wake him up enough to feed him.

Friday was a much better day, despite the lack of sleep.  I was able to take a shower (hallelujah!) and put on my own clothes.  I got an abdominal binder, which provided enough resistance against my incision and enough back support to make walking more bearable.  I had an amazing nurse, Jasmine, who gave me a prune-juice-and-Sierra Mist cocktail--heated--which accomplished Goal #2, gas relief. 

And we had our first visitors!

"Auntie" G

Grandma S

Grandpa W

Friday night, again, was hard.  Steve offered to be on baby duty for everything but feedings, so we parked Oliver's isolet next to Steve's fold-out bed.  The night nurse, bless her heart, was determined to make sure Oliver was fed every three hours.  So every three hours on the dot, she came in, woke us all up, and gave him to me to try feeding him.  Again, he was very sleepy so I spent about an hour each time trying to keep him awake.

They had originally planned on having us stay until Sunday morning, but since things were going well, they let us out Saturday morning instead.

Going-home duds

Of course, the minute we put Oliver into his going-home outfit, he peed on it during a diaper change.  Woops!

Flowers from Grandma M and Grandpa R

Thoughts on having a C-section: Oliver wasn't as big as they thought he'd be.  But he also hadn't descended into my pelvis at all, apparently.  My doctor said it would have been at least another week, maybe two... if I'd have gone into labor at all before the 42-week deadline.  I likely would have ended up induced or with a C-section anyway, since another week or two of growing would have happened. 

Also, if Oliver hadn't been born when he was, Great-Grandpa Jim may not have lived to see him.  I'm so thankful for that.

Great Grandpa

This week started out one of the happiest of my life, and ended as one of the saddest.

My Grandpa Jim, Oliver's (middle) namesake, passed away yesterday.

A month ago, they said he had six months.  Even as recently as Thursday, they thought he'd live for months.  Maybe not six, but still months.  When I was at the pediatrician on Thursday, I confirmed that we were safe to travel after Oliver's 8-week appointment.  I almost came home and bought our tickets immediately.  I wanted nothing more than for Oliver to meet his great-grandpa.

Grandpa Jim was such a good man.  I'm lucky to have had him in my life for 32 years.  I'm lucky that he was able to come to every concert, every play, every graduation, every birthday party.  Steve and I got married near Chicago so that Grandma Peggy and Grandpa Jim could be at our wedding.  They were, and it was wonderful.

Grandpa wanted to dance at my wedding more than anything, and he did.  Even though his hip was probably causing him immeasurable pain.  I'll never forget him pushing Grandpa Peggy around the dance floor to Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.

Dancing at our wedding

 Every day for the last while, one of the caregivers has greeted Grandpa with "It's going to be a good day today!  We're waiting for that baby to be born!"

Grandpa Jim died a great-grandpa.  We talked on the phone this week, and we skyped with Oliver twice.  I wanted them to meet, I wanted a picture of the two of them together, and more than anything, I wanted to see Grandpa, hug him, one more time.  I wanted to be there, and we couldn't travel.

I really think Grandpa was waiting for Oliver to be born.  He held on as long as he could.  I know I haven't put up Oliver's birth story yet, but I now believe that the C-section was a gift.  If we'd waited for Oliver to come on his own, he might not even be here yet.  So we got that phone call, we got those skype sessions.  Grandpa got to give Oliver a ring he made, he got to see a picture of Oliver wearing it, and he got to see it on my necklace.

Some quick memories:

When I was little, Grandpa called me Katrinka.  I remember walking into his house, climbing the stairs up into the kitchen, and hearing "Helloooo, Katrinka!" from the living room.

He'd sing K-K-K-Katy to me. 

K-K-K-Katy, beautiful Katy,

You're the only g-g-g-girl that I adore;

When the m-m-m-moon shines,

Over the c-c-c-cowshed,

I'll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door.

On Wednesdays, Grandma had the day off so she'd drive out to our house to spend the afternoon.  Grandpa would take the train to our town from downtown Chicago for dinner, and they'd go home together.  One time when I was probably about eight, Jessica and I didn't want them to go home.  We decided if we had their coats, hats, and scarves, they couldn't leave.  So we put them on ourselves.  I wore Grandpa's, she wore Grandma's.  There's a picture somewhere.

When Grandpa was still working, we would occasionally go downtown to see him in his office.  I'm not sure what his job title was, but he made false teeth for dentists.  I loved going to his office, sitting on his spinning stool, and looking at the molds and supplies.  He used leftover gold to make rings, like the one he gave Oliver.  Boys got rings with a flat area for their initials to be engraved, girls got little bows.  Beautiful.  I'm so glad he made extras for the great-grandchildren.

He and Grandma came to visit me while I was working at Walt Disney World during college.  On the day they arrived, I was working at the Coffee Kiosk near the Tree of Life in Disney's Animal Kingdom.  Grandma and Grandpa managed to talk their way into the park--for free--to see me.  And that's all they did.  They sat at a table near my kiosk and watched me work.

Once I moved to California, every time I went home, Grandpa would put his hands on either side of my face, give me a kiss, and then a big, strong hug.  Even when he was getting weaker, that hug was the same.

Christmas 2012

I could go on and on.  Like I said, I'm so, so lucky to have had such an amazing Grandpa in my life for so long.  I'm the oldest of his grandchildren, and the only one to have had Grandpa at her wedding, the only one to have had Grandpa see her child.  I wish my sister and cousins could say the same.

Love you, Grandpa Jim.

It's Been One Week Since You Looked at Me

Oliver is one week (and one day) old.

We were watching the news the other day and there was a story about this baby that was born with some of his organs on the outside of his body.  His mom said he was her miracle baby.  A friend was visiting us at the time, and she said to Oliver, "I'm glad you didn't have to be a miracle baby."

I know what she meant, but he is our miracle baby.  Every baby is.  I mean, look at all the things that have to go right to end up with a healthy baby in your arms.

Maybe (probably) my miscarriage colored my view of pregnancy.  I was always half-worried, always half-waiting for bad news.  I put together the nursery, but I didn't throw away any of the boxes from the crib, car seat, Pack 'N Play, etc.  I didn't want to jinx it; I wanted to make sure we brought home a baby to use them.

And here we are, a week later and we have a perfect baby boy!

Yesterday, on his one-week birthday, I took about a million pictures.

Wearing the ring Great Grandpa Jim made

I have so, so many more, you wouldn't even believe it.  We were taking pictures on three cameras. 

I'm still working on his Birth Day post.  A little out of order, but you'll forgive me, right? :)

The End of Two

Today is our last day without kids.  It's weird to know that!  We'll have had exactly four years together, just the two of us.  Tomorrow is the anniversary of our first date.  And tomorrow, our lives are going to be very different. 

From our first year together

Since deciding last week to go ahead with the C-section it was actually exciting to have a countdown. "In four days or less, we'll meet the baby!"  Now: "Tomorrow we'll meet the baby!"

I really hoped the baby would come on his own before tomorrow.  (There's still time!)  I still don't like the idea of a C-section, but I've come to terms with it.  I trust my doctors.  I won't see it as a failing.  I understand that, at this point, it's probably the safest way to deliver.

Of course, twice since Friday I've had contractions regular enough to start using my contraction tracking phone app.  I really thought Friday night, it might be Time. (Guess not.)

*~*~*

My mom commented the other day that she was sure Steve wished he could shoulder some of the discomfort of late pregnancy/childbirth for me.  And I realized that maybe I don't give him enough credit on here, because Steve is amazing.  He takes care of chores I have a hard time doing, he's understanding, he's... well, here, have a partial list of all the ways Steve makes pregnancy easier:

1. He has taken on the litter boxes as his project like a pro.
2. He's ready with foot rubs at the end of a long day.
3. He always vacuums the stairs.
4. He knows when I need to sit down for a few minutes.
5. He carries the heavy groceries.
6. He gives the best back massages.
7. He tells me I'm beautiful even when my face is at its broken-out worst and I'm feeling as big as a whale.
8. He doesn't think I'm crazy when I cry over silly things.
9. Every night before we fall asleep, he goes through our relaxation exercise for me.
10. He never complains that two-thirds of the bed is taken up by my pillow fortress.

There are a thousand other awesome things he does every day.  Like, the other day I was reminiscing about one of the three video games I had as a kid, and he figured out a way to play my old Lion King Super Nintendo game.  And together, we beat it!  (It was mostly him...)  It was so much fun to finally see the end I could never get to. 

And yesterday, he turned boring old orange juice into mango-orange juice by blending it with fresh mangoes.  (Delicious!)

Goofing off in our honeymoon apartment in Paris

 We make a pretty good team, the two of us.  And tomorrow, we'll be three!

39 Weeks

I honestly didn't think I'd see you, Week 39.  Not looking like this, anyway.  Between all our doctors repeatedly warning us to be ready early and both Steve and me having been born three plus weeks before our due dates, I was pretty convinced Kidd MacDougall would have made his appearance by now.  And I have to say, maternity leave with no baby is kind of boring.  There's only so much reading/TV watching/internet surfing I can do in a day.  And otherwise, we're mostly ready!

At my doctor's appointment on Wednesday, the baby weighed 9 pounds 9 ounces.  Which puts him above the weight at which they start truly recommending a C-section. 

The only factor I can see that could cause a big baby that I would have control over is diet.  Which is frustrating, because I pay pretty close attention to what I eat.  I don't pig out on fast food or boxes of cookies.  I've been especially careful with carbs over the last several weeks, once this baby's weight started becoming a concern, replacing my morning oatmeal with hard boiled eggs (not nearly as delicious), among other things.  I exercise almost every day for at least 30 minutes, usually longer, on top of the usual dog walks.  I have gained just over 40 pounds, more than the recommended 25-35, which in itself is frustrating.  Because I don't know what I could have done differently.  And I don't know what I can do differently next time. 

I had a good cry over the C-section probability Wednesday night, if the collection of crumpled Kleenexes thrown in the general direction of the garbage can from where I was laying in bed is any indication. 

My doctor left the decision up to me at this point, saying the risks and benefits of either vaginal birth or C-section--for now--are not great enough to mandate one or the other.   But if I haven't given birth by that time next week, after the baby's done another week of growing, a vaginal birth is pretty much off the table.

So.  I have a C-section scheduled for Wednesday.  If I go into labor before then, I can try a vaginal birth.  If my labor is not exactly on the labor curve, progressing as it should, that's a sign it's not going to happen.  I'm hoping that taking the step to actually schedule the C-section will spur this kiddo into action.  Please?

[Side note: Wednesday is also the fourth anniversary of Steve's and my first date and the third anniversary of our engagement.  It happened to be the day the two doctors we really like were available.  (The third doctor in the practice is fine, and I know she's very capable, but she's not as warm and fuzzy as the other two and I haven't warmed up to her.)  So all told, if that's Kidd MacDougall's birth day, it's a good day to be born.]

I know I have to be flexible.  I know a healthy baby--regardless of delivery method--is the ultimate goal.  I know that how he's born is not going to have lasting effects, unless something goes wrong.  Which is what the C-section would try to avoid.  Would I be upset if I went with the C-section and the measurements ended up being off and I delivered an eight-and-a-half pound baby?  I don't know.  Would I be upset if I pushed for a vaginal birth and something did go wrong?  Yeah, I would.  And I'd blame myself.

For now, we continue to wait and see.  Until Wednesday.  Which means that in five days or less, we'll finally get to meet our son!  Our son.  I'm pretty excited about that.

Shower in a Box

My family and friends are fairly well spread out across the country.  So my mom and sister came up with the amazing idea to throw us a long distance shower... in a box!  They invited friends and family to write in with their favorite children's book recommendation, a few words about why they recommended it, and parenting advice if they had any. 

They then gathered all the books and laminated little cards with the why's and who the books were recommended by, which I can glue into the cover of each book.  Then they compiled the blurbs again, along with the parenting advice, all in one place into a scrapbook for us.

Someone my mom knows (who was not participating) asked my mom why I would want all these books, since everything is digital these days.  What?!  Okay, I may have a Kindle, but you can't read a children's book on a Kindle!  And let's not even go into my opinion of iPads.  The world may be going digital, but there's nothing like cuddling up to read an actual book.

I am so happy to have over 40 books to start off Kidd MacDougall's library, most of them with personalized reasons for why they were chosen.  We've already read more than half of them (and counting) to my belly, and I can't wait to read them all over and over once he's here. 

Which will be his favorite? 

Such a fabulous idea!  Thanks, Mom and Jess!! ♥

38 Weeks

Still here!  Come on, baby, it's time to be born!

I had the "accurate measurement" appointment this week.  First measurement was 7 pounds 13 ounces.  Second, 8 pounds 1 ounce.  Third, 8 pounds 6 ounces.  Do we have the Incredible Growing Baby, expanding before our eyes?  The third was done by the doctor and not the ultrasound tech, and that's the one my OB said to go with.  She said the measurement could be off up to a pound in either direction.  They start to worry about delivery method once the baby is 8 pounds 12 ounces.

My OB explained the reason she worries about a large baby.  A baby with a large tummy and thigh measurement (like Kidd MacDougall's) generally has corresponding large shoulders.  Especially boys.  Her biggest concern is shoulder dystocia, which can cause nerve damage to the baby that could resolve itself in six months or... not.  It could be permanent.  Delivery would be traumatic, most likely both to the baby and to me.

If I go into labor in the next week, things will probably be fine.  If I'm creeping up on my due date or going past, the likelihood of needing a C-section is higher.

She also explained that they will let me go into labor naturally, but if things aren't progressing at about one centimeter an hour, she would recommend just doing the C-section.  She said in many (most) cases, they would have the mother try to power through, but in my case, a slow labor would be a sign that my body can't deliver the baby vaginally without trauma. 

So.  That's where we're at.  No decisions have been made. 

But!  On a happier note, TODAY IS MY LAST DAY OF WORK!  I can wear yoga pants and flip flops after today! 
 

Okay, for my last day I dressed comfortably, too, so the yoga pants aren't too big a stretch.   But if this kiddo isn't going to be born today, at least I'll have a little time to relax before my world gets turned upside down.