Birth

Well, this isn't the story I thought I'd be writing. Let me save you any bothersome anxiety: at the end of this story, here's what I got.He is beautiful, healthy, and perfect, and his birth was an honest-to-god miracle. But as I imagine most miracles do, this one came about in exactly the ways we'd sworn it wouldn't.

My son was conceived last April and due on January 13th, 2011. I stopped working before Christmas, my mom traveled cross-country to be here for the birth on January 7th, and at 200 pounds with insomnia, carpal tunnel syndrome and a host of other discomforts, I was READY to deliver.

So much for that! I spent the month of January soliciting advice to bring on labor and subsequently eating spicy food, bouncing on a ball, drinking coffee, walking miles, driving an hour away (sometimes inconvenience is the key, I'm told), eating pineapple, and spending a little "special time" with my sweetie - all to no avail. On the 18th the doc stripped my membranes and assured me that I'd be in labor that weekend. We flew my dad out from South Carolina.

A week later, and nothing. Let me stress that having a healthy baby was my #1 goal, and I was prepared to let him come in his own time. The tests all showed that he was strong and healthy in utero and didn't need to come out, but by the 25th of January I was ready. READY for baby. We went back to the OB for more monitoring and to create a plan. We saw him on ultrasound for the third time and the babe was in the right position, moving and practice-breathing and looking great. We held our breaths as the technician estimated the birth weight:

TEN POUNDS, THIRTEEN OUNCES. TEN. THIRTEEN. TENFUCKINGTHIRTEEN.

At this point, I was a little more willing to consider induction than I had been. See, Josh and I were very clear about our ideal birth. We took classes from Amy Hoyt of Wholly Mama Birth Services, becoming versed in the Bradley Method of natural childbirth. We were prepared for anything, but hoping for a medication-free, powerful experience coached by Josh. We hired a doula, wrote a plan, and spent the pregnancy eating healthy and doing big strong exercises to prepare. I should have known things would not go according to plan.

So after taking castor oil and cohosh, walking forever, bouncing on the birth ball and participating in a theta energy healing session by phone, I was having weak contractions during the day that died out overnight. I saw the doctor one more time, consulted with the doula, and decided this was it: it was time to coax the little angel out. Bring on the Pitocin. And on Friday night, January 28th, we did.
That's a labor gown I bought from Amazon.com - it says "I dream of sushi," in case you were wondering.
They strapped me up around 8pm, Mom and Dad went home to get some sleep around 10, and Josh and I tried to rest and hoped the Pit would kick in overnight.

It didn't, of course. In the morning my crew (that's Mom, Dad, the doula, and a friend) returned as Josh and I were pacing the halls trying to move things along. Finally around 10:00 a.m. I asked my new nurse Lin to crank the Pitocin to 11, as it were.

That was when it hit. I was standing next to the bed sometime after 10:30 when I felt something break in my pelvis. It knocked me over and I was bent double clutching the bed before I knew what had happened - turned out that was my water breaking. From that moment on I had huge, painful, earth-shattering contractions every few minutes, and despite all the classes and practice and videos we'd been through, I was completely unprepared for that kind of pain. Here I am at 10:45:
and again at 11:00:I still can't believe how it felt. Women have tried to describe this experience for thousands of years, and all I can add to that record is that when I said I thought I was going to be ripped in half, I meant it.

After two hours, a lot of groaning and complaining, the removal of the IV and monitors ('cause boy oh boy, I didn't need any help contracting any more!), I felt the need to push at 1:00 p.m. Lin confirmed that I was fully dilated, and the real work started.

It's difficult for me to remember the first few hours of pushing. It took longer than I expected to learn how to push properly, and each contraction seemed stronger and more painful than the last. The pressure was so intense I thought for sure Lincoln was ready to be born with every push. Mentally and emotionally, I went down a rabbit-hole. All I could see was Josh's face, and I focused on him like never before.

Let me just take a moment to sing an ode to my husband. The man did not eat, drink, or rest from the moment we woke up on Saturday morning until we went to bed that night, hours after our son was born. He never left my side, never lost faith in my ability to handle the pain, and remained brave and strong when I was in utter despair. His face got me through the most difficult moments of my life, and I will never forget that. And he didn't flinch at the icky bits, either. Oh, I love this man.

Anyway, back to the pain. I pushed for hours on end. My doctor checked in a couple of times and encouraged me - the baby was at minus one station, my pushing was great, keep it up. When I told her I didn't think I could do it, she asked me to try for another hour. So I did.

Finally around 5:00, after four hours of pushing, I used my code word that meant I needed pain medication. The anesthesiologist came in and did an epidural, and for the first time that day I felt like a failure. Worse than thinking I'd lost my fight for a natural childbirth was realizing that the epidural had made my legs numb and my face tingly, and had done absolutely nothing for the pain of the contractions. Nothing. Nada. So I kept pushing for one more hour, when my doctor came to check me again.

The baby was still at -1 station. I'd been pushing, hard, for hours. My whole body was swollen beyond recognition, my face was covered in broken blood vessels, and my left eye had hemorrhaged and was bright red with blood. The doc, who I had been seeing for a year and a half and whom I immensely respect, told me that I needed a c-section.

At this point, I was too tired to do what I wanted, which was to sob with my whole body for the loss of the natural birth I'd dreamed of. I wanted a break from the contractions, just long enough to catch my breath and my brain and cry for a while. But since I couldn't have those things, I polled the room. Everyone told me to do what I knew was best - until I got to Josh. Terrified, angry, exhausted, and in pain, I looked into my husband's eyes as he told me it was time to have the surgery. I let the tears come and nodded at the doc, and they prepped us for the OR.Being wheeled from the labor room to the OR, and then having the spinal block anesthesia put in, was probably the hardest part of the whole experience. The contractions were still rocking through me like a Mack truck, but now I was flat on my back and couldn't push. Once the kind, calm anesthesiologist administered the block, I melted into the operating table and actually lost consciousness for a few minutes. Josh and the anesthesiologist stayed by my head and kept me company while my doc did the surgery, and then I heard them say "Daddy, stand up. You don't want to miss this."

And then I heard my baby cry for the first time.

And my heart burst open in a million pieces, growing in an instant and filling my chest, my body, the room, the world, with love.

Sweet!

Ah, January 15th is here! When I learned last spring that I would be due to deliver on January 13th, 2011, I was careful not to get too excited about that date in particular. First-time moms usually deliver late, so I knew I could go as late as January 27th and still have a healthy baby. I was ready for the long haul.

Well, it's a little tougher now that it's here! I mean, I am 100% committed to as natural a birth process as is safe and plausible, and I'm glad our wee boy is growing and moving well, and I am convinced that he and my body will prepare and deliver at exactly the right time. But week 39 (10 days ago now) brought a host of new, uncomfortable symptoms including carpal tunnel syndrome and a Herculean resurgence of overnight heartburn. I'm not sleeping, I weigh a LOT, and every Braxton-Hicks contraction has me a little more hopeful that labor is on its way.

So a little self-medication has been in order, lately. My birthday was a great salve - a couple of girlfriends took me to Tacoma for a great Thai lunch and an epic trip to Trader Joe's. Then one day I saw a recipe for homemade Oreo cookies and ended up with this:
Oh. My. The cookies are deep, dark chocolate, and the filling is the super-sweet white cream you'd expect from an Oreo - but I used butter and coconut oil rather than hydrogenated shortening. At first I thought the cookies were too sweet overall (despite my having reduced the sugar by quite a bit), but then, imagine! They kept disappearing!

Then it got even better - Mom came to town! She's been such a trouper, cooking dinner for Josh and me, getting me out to walk around, and coming along to the doctor earlier this week. And then best of all, earlier this week, Mama (Nana!) made a Deep Dark Chocolate Cheesecake. Hoo, nonny.It was so delicious I forgot to take a picture of a slice. And there are no slices left.

So just as long as the baby's signs remain strong, I am fine to handle whatever petty discomforts come along with an overdue little one. I'm content to know that sometime within the next twelve days I will be holding my perfect new baby boy - and in the meantime, I'll tide myself over with chocolate.

The other Portland, part 2

Customer service sucks in the United States. I don't like saying it, but in general, that's what I've found. In Japan, I never once doubted that the people working in each restaurant, shop, hotel, and train station were doing their best to make me welcome and comfortable - and that was doubly impressive, considering that I didn't speak the language or understand the culture. In this country, I doubt that all the time. So it is always with a little trepidation that Josh and I embark on mini-vacations. Why spend the money to be treated badly and eat mediocre food? I had hopes that Portland would be different.

Well, it was.

I mentioned in part one that our drive down was stressful. When we finally arrived at Hotel Monaco, dropped the car with the $33!! valet, and made it to the front desk, we learned that our room, which was prebooked, prepaid, and due to be ready 40 minutes earlier, was not ready. Josh and I sighed and exchanged knowing glances as we settled into a chair in the lobby - here we go. But it wasn't two minutes later that the front desk clerk walked over to us and let us know that no, the room wasn't ready - so they would be happy to upgrade us to a suite on the top floor that is ready to go now.

Well, color me flabbergasted. Even more so when I saw that the manager had sent up a bottle of sparkling cider with congratulations for our impending birth. Unreal.

This hotel delivered in a BIG way, and I heartily endorse the Monaco and the Kimpton brand.

But it didn't end there! After our delicious doughnut adventure we set out to find real food and landed at Mother's Bistro. One of the drawbacks to living in a small community is the lack of fine dining. It was so refreshing to have a meal that was well thought-out, delicious, and as-promised. Our server knew the menu, didn't hover, and didn't have to write our orders down. The meal, and our evening, was lovely. So much so that I didn't even pause to take photos of my crab cakes or Josh's pot roast.

It was still raining, of course, so we turned in early and enjoyed a couple of doughnuts for dessert in our cozy suite.

The next morning, we found the last culinary stop on our little babymoon. It was one I found on the web which bore the magic words: grass-fed beef. See, cows aren't made to eat corn and they can't digest it, which is where we get e. Coli! Cows that eat grass take longer to grow, have less fat, and are absolutely e. Coli free - which makes them tastier, safer, and much more expensive. Josh and I eat grass-fed beef exclusively at home, but it's almost impossible to find in restaurants. Except Urban Farmer!

Oh, what a place! This restaurant walks the local, sustainable, organic walk. And we woke to a blue, sunny sky, so you know the camera joined us for breakfast. Josh ordered the grass-fed steak and eggs, and I ordered a less photogenic but equally delicious plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, and whole grain toast with freshly squeezed orange juice.We ate, we drank, and we thoroughly enjoyed our leisure. I do still miss my caffeine a bit, though. Does it show?

We're counting the time until the due date in days now, rather than weeks, and I am so ready to meet our son. This precious baby, made up of Josh and me, is an awesome expression of our love and commitment to one another - a commitment that I know we'll need to work on as baby takes over our lives. This little trip was a great beginning to this, the next phase.

The other Portland, part 1

Two weeks to go! It seems so recent that I took a home pregnancy test, visited the doctor, and commenced worrying that this pregnancy would end abruptly and too early, like the three before it. But all that was back in May, and now I'm big and healthy and full-term-pregnant with a squirming, bouncing, kicking little miracle. I am so grateful.

...and a little uncomfortable. I admit it! As much as I'm in love with this baby and this pregnancy, I of course suffer from all of the (relatively minor) complaints of the last trimester. We're talking heartburn aka Throatferno, insomnia, pinched nerves in my back, and a bunch of general discomfort when I attempt athletic feats as ambitious as, say standing from a seated position. So in order to distract me and to celebrate our last few weeks as DINKS, Josh and I dropped off the troublemaker at Doggy Day Care, fed the cat, and headed south to Portland this week. Our destination?

VOODOO DOUGHNUT!
See, a while back Josh and I saw this clip of Anthony Bourdain in Portland, OR, visiting a doughnut shop. You can watch the two minutes if you want, but there is really only one thing to take from the video. Voodoo Doughnut makes a maple bacon bar. A risen, glazed bar, dipped in maple glaze and pressed with two thick, crispy slices of bacon.

It had to be mine.

As my relatives back East can attest, doughnuts are a major lifestyle component of living in New England. There's a Dunkin Doughnuts on every corner, where you can get mediocre coffee, terrible espresso, and absolutely transcendent doughnuts! In the Seattle area? Top Pot. I admit I've never actually been there, but look at that list. Plain, plain, plain Jane doughnuts, perfect for delicately consuming with a knife and fork while reading The Economist and lamenting the rain. Hey, Uptight Seattleites! THAT'S NOT WHAT I'M AFTER THESE DAYS.

What is it I'm after? This.
That's four of the five doughnuts we bought immediately upon arriving in Portland. The fifth was a plain glazed, which I bought expressly so I could eat one on the way home and not feel guilty about not photographing it. It was heavenly. There's a maple bacon bar, of course, a Mexican Hot Chocolate (old fashioned, rolled in cinnamon, chocolate, and chili pepper), a raspberry filled, and an Old Dirty Bastard - a raised and glazed plain, topped with crumbled Oreo cookies and drizzled with peanut butter.

My life is complete.

Seriously, these are some of the most delicious treats I've ever had! Which should be doubly apparent by the fact that I haven't yet described what we had to do to get them. UGH. Here's how our drive to Portland looked. Let me say again that I'm 8 1/2 months pregnant, hormonal, and did I mention neither of us is sleeping because in the 20 minutes or so I sleep each night, I snore so badly that Josh has to leave the room? We were kind of at our wits end by the time we arrived. Then our room wasn't ready (which the awesome hotel actually handled really well, more on that in part 2), we walked six blocks in the cold rain only to find a 45 minute, uncovered outdoor line for the doughnut shop. By the time we got inside, we were soaked, freezing, a little irked, and my back was incredibly sore. But the smell of doughnuts took all the pain away.
Josh is still learning the camera.

Since most other vices are strictly prohibited during pregnancy, this trip was all about the food. When we got back to the hotel it was about 6pm, and Josh and I traded bites of the bacon bar and ODB before heading out to find real food for dinner. The rest of our little overnight trip did not disappoint, even though we peaked a little early with the doughnuts.

"Portland" has always been Portland, Maine for me. Lobsters, lighthouses, fine dining everywhere, and local beer jump to mind when I hear that word, as do the childhood memories of The Maine Mall, drives to Boston, and visits to my more metropolitan aunts in the big city. (Yes, I'm still talking about Portland, Maine. Hush.) But after this little overnight, and considering my home address, the original Portland's namesake is carving out its own little place in my heart - a place shaped, of course, like a doughnut.

Thanks, but no thanks

Let me begin by saying that pregnancy, miscarriage and I'm sure birth, have a near-total deadening effect on modesty. Working for March of Dimes accelerates that process even further! I've had incredibly detailed conversations with strangers about timing sexual intercourse, labor positions, vaginal tearing and surgery, and much, much more. It takes a lot to shock me - and today, that standard was met.

See, Josh and I went to get adjusted at the chiropractor today. I've been having some shooting pains down my lower back and leg (hello, little baby medicine ball), and Josh is a big time weight lifter now, and we've both had good luck with chiropractic in the past. This time was a new guy, a man we've both met but hadn't been to for adjustment before. We were glad to get in to see him, since I got a super creepy vibe from the other practice I've been to here, and we both have a great feeling about this guy. We'll call him Dr. B.

So we walk in, get into the system, and meet for our consultation. Since I've had several creepy experiences with body care professionals in the past, I was glad that Josh and I would be evaluated and adjusted together. After a short wait, Dr. B. comes in and starts asking me questions. Pretty basic questions: how far along are you, age, weight, normal weight, have you been having any pain or headaches, etc. We're going strong. And let me repeat: I'm there to get my back and neck cracked, and my posture evaluated. That's all.

Well, Dr. B. has plans to assist me further, as it turns out! He starts talking about pregnancy-specific techniques to relieve pain, has me lift my shirt (showing belly only) and teaches Josh how to massage the round ligaments around my hips. No biggie - that's not really what I was after, but I don't mind. Then, out of nowhere, he starts talking about how he knows a really great technique to massage the perineal floor to prepare it for birth. See, your perineum plays a huge part in crowning and pushing, hence the near-universal Kegel advice during pregnancy. Makes sense that a health professional would know about that and perhaps offer tips, right? Stay with me here. Still waiting to get my spine worked on.

"So, let's go to the other room and I'll show you on the dummy what this looks like." We follow him, he pulls out a model spine and pelvis, and flips it upside down.

"Here's the base of your spine, the tailbone, and this is where the baby comes out. Here's where your anus would be, your vagina, your urethra. So if this is your anus," he says, making a little "OK" sign with his left hand, "I'm going to put pressure here," (a quarter inch from Ground Zero on the left) "and here," (the right).

At this point I'm completely flabbergasted. Surely, surely, this neck-snapping witch doctor is not suggesting that I GRANT HIM ACCESS TO MY BUTTHOLE. Right?! That would be absurd. I AM HERE FOR MY NECK. But just in case it's not completely, 100%, crystal clear, he keeps elaborating! "So for this procedure we'd take your pants down to your thighs, you'll lay on your side, and I'll start and then teach Josh how to do the technique so you can do it at home. Remember, this is your anus" (ok sign) "and I'll be pressing on either side to loosen the tension of your perineal floor. Let's see which side is tighter."

At this point, naturally, whether to do the procedure is moot, as my perineum has clenched into my ribcage. But for some reason I'm not saying anything! When he has me stand up so he can evaluate the tension around my hips - through pants, thank God - I glare at Josh with pleading eyes and vigorously shake my head NO!

He, I later discovered, was using all of his available faculties to avoid cracking up at the absurdity of it all, and at my discomfort. In fact, if you want to make Josh laugh at inappropriate times, just say "now here's your anus" and you've got him. He did not jump to my rescue.

Still, despite my overpowering and misplaced sense of politeness, there was no way this guy was getting my pants off. Finally I said "I need to wrap my mind around this before I try it. Do you have a brochure?" He produced one, reminded me that his wife used to model this procedure in front of 20 students at a time, and then gave me and Josh each an effective, helpful, simple little chiropractic adjustment.

I have developed finely honed radar for creeps, perverts, and opportunists, and Dr. B. truly does not seem to be any of those. He has a new baby and like many alternative medicine pros, he is kind of an evangelist about what chiropractic can do for the human body. He was so painfully earnest about the whole thing that I will probably return next time I need and adjustment - but I'll go with Josh, and I intend to be very, very clear about the services I'm interested in.

And if, at my regular cleaning next month, the dentist offers to check my breastmilk, I am never seeing another doctor again.

Christmas!

Let's just get right to it: I got a new camera!! My dear husband - remember him? - got me a Canon digital SLR, which I've been pining after since before we knew there was a baby on the way. Once there was a baby in the picture (har har), my desire for a decent camera began approaching the insane. And here it is! So far it is easy to use in auto mode, takes fantastic pictures despite my utter lack of knowledge or skills, and has potential for greatness! Josh's Christmas present is somewhat related, despite the fact that mine was a surprise - he wanted a new barbell and a weight vest. Connection: he's going to keep looking better and better, and now I can take lots of pictures of him. :)

I'm less than three weeks from my due date now, so traveling to the East Coast to see my family wasn't an option this holiday season. We are so lucky to live close to our Sullins relatives, and so we made plans to have a Christmas lunch with Grammy, Papa, and Bum (Josh's great grandmother). I don't have a tripod yet, so here's a couple shots of the whole crew:
Look at that belly! Holy cows!
Don't you just love those? Charlie had a great time visiting, as always, and was a hit with the staff at Bum's new home. At one point it seems someone told him a joke...
...which he tried to repeat to Fuji, with decidedly poor results.
Christmas 2010 is exactly what we've been hoping for ever since Christmas 2007 - the first time we became pregnant, and lost the pregnancy almost immediately. As the day and the season wind down, I am filled more and more deeply with gratitude for this baby, for our comfortable life and for our unbelievably dear family and friends. Love is everywhere.

Relapse

What did you eat or avoid during pregnancy? I find it kind of ironic that just a few months after starting a blog called "Emily Eats Everything," my diet became restricted in all kinds of interesting ways. Bacon is in the subtitle of this blog, and now it's off-limits because of nitrites. (Nitrites, by the way, are apparently horribly poisonous and also breathtakingly delicious. Luckily I am able to find and indulge in nitrite-free bacon and pepperoni occasionally, thanks to Central Market and Trader Joe's.) Here are some of the items I'm avoiding during pregnancy:

Processed meats containing nitrites
Lunchmeats (even the all-natural ones)
Large fish
Unpasteurized dairy, which vexingly includes all gruyére cheese
Caffeine
Alcohol
Undercooked meat
Undercooked eggs
Ginger
Most herbal teas
Sprouts
Anything cooked by my friend Irish's friend, who thinks that basting nearly-cooked meat in raw chicken marinade is delicious.

Okay, now I'd be avoiding that last one anyway. But two things have surprised me about the pregnancy diet so far: 1, I can still manage to eat really unhealthfully and often do, and 2, I'm pretty much a damn semi-vegetarian again!

That's the relapse part. I was so delighted to have rediscovered good quality (grass-fed, organic, sustainably and humanely raised) red meat and especially pork in the last year or two, and now here I am avoiding it. I can still eat red meat, but the other night I had my first pregnancy aversion. It wasn't coffee or bourbon or something I'd LIKE to have lost my taste for*, no. It was filet mignon.

Filet mi-freaking-gnon. We buy our fancy beef from US Wellness Meats, and let me tell you, they sell a top-notch filet. We've had it once before, and ordered two more last month for a special occasion. So a couple nights ago I made baked sweet potatoes, roasted popcorn kale, and two big, gorgeous steaks. I cooked mine to 145 F, to be safe, let it rest well, and sat down ahem, in front of the TV,. One bite and I thought the meat must have been bad. Turns out I can't handle any hint of undercooked beef anymore, and really? If you have to cook your beef to death? Not so much worth eating the beef.

So I've relapsed completely. Yesterday I had a PBJ english muffin for breakfast, vegetarian double-mushroom soup for lunch, and a truly transcendent bowl of palak paneer from a local Indian restaurant for dinner. The day before it was cereal with peaches, my biweekly tunafish sandwich, and and the beginnings of that same mushroom soup.

But! I'm not being entirely forthcoming with that list, am I? Doesn't sound so much like the unhealthy diet I was describing does it? Well, let's just say that dinner the night BEFORE was about a pound of curly fries and a couple fatty bites of ribs from the county fair. And there has been one other small relapse too: yesterday I had a single, blessed shot of regular espresso. That worries me more than the fries, by far, since caffeine is a miscarriage risk. But all the doctors and studies say a little occasionally is fine, I'm well into the second trimester, and this little baby is a fighter, so when I'm going to treat it like that tunafish sandwich - only one, only once a week or two.

Now that I'm really and truly showing, I'm sure I'll be getting more long looks and "advice" when eating in public. Maybe on this post, too. But for now, I'm happy with my healthy/unhealthy diet, and looking forward to a half a glass of wine in my future.

*No, I haven't had any bourbon while pregnant. But I sniffed a couple bottles from our liquor cabinet to see if nature would be kind and make them repellent to me. It wasn't, they weren't, and I think Baby loves good gin, tequila, and whiskey, in that order.