Noah's Birth Story

Noah’s birth was like the classic textbook birth—perfect in every way (but definitely not to be confused with painless)!  Although I had already gone through labor with Judah, I still had no idea what to expect with Noah as Judah’s birth was induced.  This time, my body did it all on its own—from start to finish—and it was awesome (but again, definitely not to be confused with painless).

Me and Judah on the day Noah was born--Judah's last day of being my one and only.

After lumbering around like a giant ogre for 2 weeks, my cervix was still only 0.5 cm dilated on Noah’s due date.  Argh.  I forced myself to take a 45 minute walk (despite a persistent pain in my right hip due to bursitis) the day Noah was born, hoping that would help jump start my labor—guess that worked!

Around 3 pm my body evacuated all the food in my tummy to make way for the baby (it was not pretty, let’s just leave it at that).  Around 6 pm my mucus plug completely fell out and I had bloody show.  And around 9 pm I felt my first crampy contractions.  At first they were mildly uncomfortable and pretty far apart—15 min, 12 min, etc.  But by 10:30 pm they were definitely getting into a good 7-8 min pattern.

Of course my first thought was—oh crap, I just put my toddler down for bedtime!  I’d hate to wake him up on a midnight run to the hospital (40 min away) only to have the nurses tell me to go home cuz it was false labor.  The logistics of labor are infinitely more annoying with a toddler in tow!

So I called the OB on duty and she told me (and I quote)—Okay, you don’t want to come in and get checked?  Then you can just have your husband deliver your baby!

I responded with annoyed silence for about 10 seconds.  Man, OB’s can be cranky and sarcastic.  I prayed that she wouldn’t be the one to deliver my baby (spoiler alert—she was!)

When the contractions got to be very consistently 5 min apart at 11 pm, I told my spouse that it’s show-time.  Operation Deliver Noah was officially underway.  Go!  Go!  Go!  (Yes, I talk to him like we’re on a SWAT team).

We finished packing our half-packed bags, dropped our sleepy toddler off at his old nanny’s house (an hour away) and swung back to the hospital around midnight.  My doula (aka labor coach) came in while I was in triage and I waited forever for the nurse to come and check my cervix.  At around 3 am someone FINALLY checked me only to find that I was a disappointing 2-3 cm.  Only?!  What?!

Before I go on, let me say a word about doulas.  Doulas are awesome.  If you want to attempt an all-natural, epidural-free birth, I kinda think they are indispensable.  My first doula was super experienced and the crème de la crème of doulas (read: I paid a buttload of money for her services).  I really didn’t think she did that much for me so this time I decided to cheap out and hire a massage therapist who aspired to be a doula but has never been hired by anyone for that purpose (read: I paid ¼ of what I did for my first one).  I figured the thing I wanted most during labor was someone to massage me and give me pressure at the right points anyway, so might as well hire a massage therapist!

In the end, I realize there still is value in hiring a very experienced doula.  Sure it’s much more expensive but she will be able to coach you through a lot more verbally and knows different positions you can try out to help the labor along.  Although I got an awesome 7 hour massage from my 2^nd doula, she really couldn’t help me with pain management in any other way and her lack of birthing knowledge almost caused me to have the baby on the floor without the doctor present!  More on that later.

Anyway, from about 3 am to 5 am my contractions started to get a lot more painful—probably an 8 or 9 on a pain scale of 1-10.  Whatever jokey, smiley disposition I had was quickly eroding and I was starting to get really worried that I wouldn’t have the energy to push this baby out after pulling an all-nighter.  I was getting really tired.  Tired of the whole darn thing.

When I asked them to check me at 5 am, it was REALLY disappointing—just 4 cm!  All that time and pain and I had only progressed one measly cm.  (Btw, for those who don’t know—10 cm is the magic number when the cervix opens enough that you can actually start pushing the baby out).

But I was a little heartened by the fact that last time, it only took me 3 hours to go from 4 cm to 10 cm.  So maybe this time, it would also go quickly now that I had reached a solid 4 cm.  And I was right.  From that point on, everything took off like gangbusters.

The contractions started coming on stronger and faster—every 30 seconds one of those mofos would rip through me like a bat out of hell and send me whimpering and begging for mercy from the blinding pain.  On a pain scale of 1-10 I’d put them at…oh, about a 20.

After a couple of these bad boys I was pretty much ready to throw in the towel and get me a freaking epidural.  As I said during labor (my last semi-witty remark before I lost all sense of humor)—sh*t just got real people.  But some masochistic part of me kept saying—one more.  Just one more.  If I can just hold out for 2 hours, maybe that’s all I need for my cervix to reach 10 cm.  Just 15 more minutes.

The first hour was hell.   Each time a contraction came I felt like a very small child facing a rising tsunami of pain head on.  There is nowhere to hide.  There is nowhere to run.  The only way through it is, well…through it.  Right down the middle of the line of fire.

And that tsunami came and came and came.  Every time it crashed over my head, wracking me with unspeakable torturous pain, I vowed—never again.  This is for SURE the last time I’m ever going through labor without pain meds.  The motto of the Jewish holocaust rang in my head the whole time—NEVER AGAIN!  But I believe my exact words, each time, was—F*CK!  F*CK!  F*CK!  F*CK!  F*********CK! (which is the only time I’m allowed to swear near the spouse's sensitive ears).

And then 2 hours went by and my urge to push became unstoppable.  Typically you shouldn’t push until the nurse checks you and says that your cervix is dilated enough to start pushing.  But my stupid labor nurse kept repeating her uninformed mantra to me—if you don’t feel pressure all the time then you’re not ready to push.  That’s pure b.s.  People, never fall for that.  I felt pressure only when I had a contraction and believe me, IT WAS TIME TO PUSH.

The nurse refused to check me even though I told her IT’S TIME TO PUSH LADY.  I guess she didn’t believe that I could go from 4 to 10 cm in just 2 hours.  Anyway, at some point your body doesn’t care what medical professionals say—it’s just going to do what it was designed to do.  And I was involuntarily pushing hard with each contraction.

After a couple of those hard pushes I remember yelling—I NEED TO GET ON THE BED!  NOW!  (I had been sitting on an exercise ball the whole time cuz it felt better to be vertical).  But suddenly I could feel something different—like a little head making its way down the pipeline.

And then that silly nurse came and took one look at the head coming down the pipeline and said—whoah, baby’s comin’!  WE NEED A DOCTOR NOW!  Five more minutes and 3 more good pushes later, baby was out for good.

Of course those last 3 pushes were accompanied by the longest most inhuman screams that ever erupted from the depths of my being, but finally, it was over.  It was all blessedly over.

That my friends is the look of pure relief.

And there was my squirmy little creature, who looked shockingly like his older brother at the same moment in time.  My perfect, red-faced, hairy little creature.

And now, writing this account a week later from the comfort of my own home.  I’m starting to forget.  Was the pain really that bad?  Was it really all that awful?  Would I really never do it again?

How quickly bad gives way to good. 

How wholly is pain swallowed up by joy.

How easily we forget momentary afflictions in the face of lasting glory.

Little Noah

Dear Noah,

Before you were even born I already felt a lot of mommy guilt.

These precious shoes are one of the only special things Noah got just for him (not a handmedown from Judah).  You can order them on my friend's etsy site: Little Pear Company

I wasn't as "good" during my pregnancy with you as I was with your brother.  I exercised a heckuva lot less (okay, like none really). I ate a lot more crap (specifically top ramen, spam and brownies).  And was generally constantly exhausted running around after your brother, among other things.

Life was so busy and hectic I didn't even take you to most of the OB check ups I was supposed to have.  I postponed taking the gestational diabetes test for at least 3 months, and thankfully, found that we were in the clear.

And I'm sorry you're never going to get anything of your own.  You will always be wearing your brother's old clothes.  Playing with his old toys.  Using his old gear.  And standing in the shadow of every milestone he reaches first.

Even your name doesn't have quite the parental pride your brother's name has.  We loved Judah's name the second we thought of it.  We thought it fit perfectly in every way and locked it in instantly in our hearts and minds.

Your name...not so much.  It was acceptable.  Inoffensive.  But not something we really wanted to commit to...but it's growing on us.

But I certainly liked your name a lot more when I found out it means "rest."  Oh please, please live up to that blessed word.  Please be the opposite of your older brother!

And to be perfectly honest, the main reason we wanted to have you is for the sake of your older brother.  We wanted him to have a buddy for life--someone who will be there with him long after we are gone.  We wanted him to understand how to love and share everything with at least one other person.  We wanted to make sure we didn't spoil him too much with time and attention.

Anyway, suffice it to say, you are not getting the primo treatment your brother got (pun intended).  You are not our first boy and we'll always have less time and attention for you because of that simple fact.

But if our attention is divided, know that our love is not.

Our hearts felt and continue to feel the same infinite weight filling every fiber of our being the second we saw you that first miraculous moment.

And although you will never be 'first', you have something much better than Judah ever will--the joyful proud love of your older brother.  

He kissed you every morning and every night while you were in my tummy.  And he continues to do the same now that you are born.  He wants nothing more than to protect you and make sure you are well cared for and has a whole box of toys that he put aside just for you.

He thinks you're the best--he says "My dai-dai going to hit all the other babies"--okay, so he's a little violent, but his money is on you!

So welcome to our family, little Noah. Know that our love for you is second to none.

Sh*t Just Got Real

When I think about the fact that there's only 4 weeks until my due date, I kind of want to cry--just curl up in a fetal position (how appropriate) under my covers and cry.

If this baby comes even just a little bit early, we are really screwed.

Here's a list of all the things I have NOT done yet:
--find an OB in my new city.  EEEK!
--register at the labor and delivery department in the hospital in my new city.
--find someone to watch Judah while I'm giving birth.
--find someone to help with the newborn after the birth.
--dig out Judah's old baby stuff--all still in boxes!
--obtain and install an infant car seat.
--unpack 80% of our crap from the move.

It just seems like daily maintenance chores takes up 95% of the day--and the list of to-dos just gets longer, no matter how much I manage to cross off.  Yes, some progress has been made, but for every one thing I do, 3 new things manage to pop up!  It's like a whack-a-mole game from hell.

These days I'm so stressed out of my mind I think I have a permanent scowl on my face and the poor spouse has had to put up with my incredibly short fuse and grumpy disposition for weeks.

Of course it doesn't help that I like to distract myself from my stress and misery by surfing FB and other sites periodically throughout the day.  Argh.

It's times like these I really need to just keep looking forward instead of regretting the time I've wasted and the fears and what-ifs that may or may not happen.  As Daenerys Targaryen, the Stormborn, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Trueborn Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men (so sue me, I'm a Game of Thrones nerd) always says:

If I look back, I am lost.

Cut Me Out. Now.

Ugh.  This is the second time this month I want someone to cut me out of my pants.

Even though I'm wearing maternity pants with an elastic waist, it's so freaking uncomfortable when I sit down!  Not so bad when I leave for work in the morning--vertical.  But after sitting a while at my desk I feel like I'm seeing spots due to my circulation being cut off around my waist.

I'm such a huge whale.

The last time this happened I literally took a pair of scissors and cut my pants waist-band.  Off.  All the way.

Worked great when I sat at my desk.  In my office. By  myself.

Not so great stepping out into the hallway.  Where people can see you.  And your weird cut-off pants.

I'm making a vow.

From this point on, I'm only wearing soft yoga pants or leggings.  I'm so over 'real' clothing.

Now, excuse me while I try to find a pair of scissors to cut me out.

The Bump

Yesterday I had a short conversation with a coworker I haven't seen in a while...

She: Wow, you're pregnant!  When are you due?

Me: In January!

She: Wow, that's still a ways off.  You're huge!  Are you having twins?

Me: [What I wanted to say]  Wow, that's incredibly rude!  You're soooo old and ancient-looking, you should know better.  What are you, 75? 80? (In reality, she's probably just 60.)

Me: [What I actually said]  Um, nope, just one baby!

But kinda makes me wonder, do I really look that big?  You be the judge...

Me and my giant middle.

It's a...

I was carrying lower this time around.

I had much more severe morning sickness and nausea this time.

I did not have an explosion of acne all over me this time.

And I just had this feeling...this one is different...

But, you can't argue with the very prominant penis on the ultrasound screen!

It's another boy!!!!!!

I'm not going to lie, when I saw that boy part pop up on the screen, something in me wilted.  I instantly thought...maybe we should try again...hmmm...

If this is our last one, I'll never get to brush someone's long hair and put her in pretty little dresses, and revel in all those sweet little girl things.

But having another boy is good too, especially for Judah.  I'm excited for him to have a best bud for life (at least I hope they'll get along swimmingly).  And we'll save a ton of money on clothes and toys.  This second guy is going to live in a world of hand-me-downs.  Sorry dude.

I thought the spouse would be really disappointed (more like totally crushed) since he's been wanting a girl ever since the first baby.  But he actually took it very well and was comforting me in the end.

"Look at it this way," he said, "having a boy is great because it negates a major risk..."

"What risk?" I asked completely confused.  Was there some terrible genetic history I don't know about?

"That we'd end up with a girl that looks like me!"

Ha ha ha ha ha.  Yes.  That would be very bad.  Very very bad.  Bless his heart, my husband looks fine as a dude, but my husband in a wig?

Now that's a tough pill to swallow.

The Secret

Remember that think-positive 'religion' that Oprah was touting a few years back--the Secret?

You're supposed to send out positive thought vibrations into the universe and the 'laws of attraction' will make the universe respond by giving you what you want!

Well, I think that's pretty illogical and pure wishful thinking--literally I suppose, ha ha.

But today, I can't help but send out some GIRL vibes.  I've got GIRL on the brain cuz tomorrow morning I get to find out whether we're having a GIRL or not.  I hope it's a GIRL.  I hope it's a GIRL.  I hope it's a GIRL.

GIRL, GIRL, GIRL, GIRL, GIRL.

That word looks really wierd to me now.

GIRL, GIRL, GIRL, GIRLY, GIRL.

Wow, Girl looks a lot like Grill.

Reminds me of the time the spouse was in 3rd grade and made bookmarks to sell to his classmates.  He decided he needed to 'market' to the girls and made one that was supposed to say "Girls Rule!"

But he actually wrote "Grils Rule!"

Ha ha ha ha ha.

Wait, I don't want to confuse the universe with this line of thought.  Please don't send me a grill.  I want a GIRL. GIRL. GIRL.

Shoot, now I can't stop thinking of grills.  Crap.

Oh yeah, did I mention...?

This is a little awkward.

So I'll just come out and say it.

Happy news--I'm pregnant!

I'm not sure why I haven't mentioned it on my blog yet but now that I'm almost done with month 5 it seems like high time for it to make an appearance.

Part of not saying anything is that pregnancy is kinda boring. Yeah, there's the awful nausea (which was 10x WORSE this time around than with Judah) and the exhaustion. But other than that...watcha gonna say?

But around month 5 things get reeeeeeeaaaaaaal interesting cuz we get to find out the gender next week! I'm not going to lie--we really really really really REALLY hope its going to be a girl this time. The spouse has ALWAYS wanted a girl and I've always wanted one of each and we're both NOT a fan of having more than 2 kids. So this is kinda it. Our last shot at a sweet baby girl.

How does Judah feel about a baby on the way?

At first I'm not sure he understood what was going on, but lately he's been exhibiting some interesting signs of comprehension.

He often tells people "Baby tummy" and points to my stomach. And he'll often plop down on the couch and say "I tired! Baby tummy." Which is a pretty accurate imitation of what I did when I was explaining why I was too tired to get up off the couch during my entire first trimester.

But last night takes the cake.

I was cuddling with him before bedtime and he said "I want see baby." So I lifted up my shirt and he giggled and said "Hug baby! I love you, baby!" and proceeded to plant kisses on my belly. Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

And then he said "Baby bottle" and pretended to give a bottle to my belly and "Baby, massage" and started massaging my belly. Awwwwwwwwwwwwww.

But then the very next morning Mr. Hyde announces "NO BABY! I don't want baby!" and starts to kick furiously in the direction of my tummy.

Complicated feelings, this one.