Who needs sleep?

Hi everyone -

Cassidy is now about 3 days old, and she is wrapped up like a little larva most of the time! She is a vigorous nurser, and has chapped lips from her nursing enthusiasm. She prefers sleeping in the daytime over sleeping at night, much to her parent's dismay. Her only current issue (besides the chapped lips) is that she has developed jaundice, so we have an appointment with the doctor tomorrow to see if we need to do anything about it.

Here's her birth story:

My water broke at 12:30 am on Wednesday morning as I was getting out of bed. There was no mistaking what it was! We waited for the contractions to come, and they started to become timeable starting at about every 8-9 minutes. Once 6 am rolled around, the contractions were happening every 5 minutes and had me doubled over leaning on our pellet stove. Despite the pain, I felt very collected and calm. I was not nervous in the least; in fact, I was completely confident in my body and the whole birthing process. However, the doctor advised us to come into the hospital to allow the baby's heart rate to be checked, so we arrived about 6:30 am on Weds.

I hate the term "birth plan" because it makes the whole process sound like a summer vacation: Which holiday inn should we stay at? How many days at Disney Land? However, we dutifully filled out the form provided by the hospital, letting them know that we were hoping to have as "natural" an experience as possible. This choice was based not on earth-muffin, anti-establishment reasons, but rather because 1. I felt I could do it and 2. I see no point in messing with a pretty intricate cascade of natural and normal events. I dislike medicalization of non-medical things. However I was not so presumptuous as to assume I would know at that stage whether or not I could tolerate labor pain. I simply requested no pitocin unless medically indicated and no pain meds offered unless I asked for them. I figured we'd play it by ear.

Unfortunately, my water breaking ahead of any strong contractions threw the hospital staff into a bit of a frenzy. While in Europe and Britain, the doctors are comfortable waiting 72 hours after water breaking to induce labor, here in the states, they like to have the baby out within 24 hours. So, upon arrival, we were approached by no less than 3 nurses and 1 nurse/midwife, all of whom told us that our plan to avoid pitocin was foolish at this stage. The nurse/midwife literally listed all of the bacteria that can infect and cause sepsis in a baby due to prolonged labor. They told me I'd be exhausted if I continued at the same pace (I had been in very early prodromal-type labor for 6 hours at that point and felt great). These conversations took place within less than 1 hour of our being admitted, and all the naysaying and negative prognosticators basically shut down my labor. I was fighting to keep my focus on the baby, not the "birth plan," but I was close to tears due to simple frustration over the dooms-day predictions. I longed to be sent home (and asked to, but they would not allow it). I longed to take a walk in the park by our house, because I knew both those things would allow my labor to progress. Alas, I was sequestered to the fourth floor of a hospital, being told every 5 minutes that my body could not do the job I expected of it. I don't know now who was right. But I do know that I am still angry about this assumption.

After about 8 hours at the hospital, I decided to give myself over to the recommendations of my OB/GYN. She recommended starting a low dose of pitocin to "jump start" the labor process. She, unlike the nurses, left it up to me to decide. I knew my body would never choose to give birth in that environment, so I allowed the drip to be started at about 2:30 pm. Within a few minutes, I was having contractions that knocked me to my knees about every 3-4 minutes.

I labored on pitocin for a few hours. Peter stood by my side for every contraction, breathing with me and helping me imagine each surge as a hill climb on my bike. People asked if I got mad at Pete (remember the assess-a-hand?). I never did. In fact, I've never been so grateful to anyone in my whole life. I got incredibly mad at the contractions (not my body itself, but rather the pain involved). Since we had a bike climb imagery going on, I was muttering things like, "Bring it!" and "Sprint to the top!" (along with FUCK and SHIT when the peak of the contraction hit). If you had asked me if I needed pain meds at that time, I would have said no; I was coping. At about 5:30 pm, the nurse checked my cervix and found me 8 cm dilated. She was surprised that I was so far along; everyone started moving a little quicker at that point, and my doctor was called in.

It was around that time that I must have entered the period of labor called "transition." If you had asked me during transition if I wanted pain meds, I would have (in between screams) told you to forget the pain meds and bring me a gun or something lethal. It sounds melodramatic, but seriously I would have been happy to die at that point. When I first came in, the nurses asked me to rate my pain 1-10. I told them I thought about a 5, but I had never experienced a 10 before. Well, I have a new point of reference now.

The pain of transition is impossible to describe. I was no longer coping. In fact, I pretty much passed out between contractions. Voices were far away; I generally failed to respond if someone spoke to me. I was making animalistic noises during the contractions and I have no idea where these noises came from. I am not a screamer or a cryer, but I was doing both.

Once I felt the urge to push, I was physically and mentally exhausted. I tried to push on all fours, but couldn't move the baby down, so I laid on my back in the typical position. One thing the natural mama childbirth people don't tell you is that labor is freakin' exhausting. There's a lot of folks that recommend pushing the baby out in a squat or another gravity-assisted position; I literally would have laughed if I had been asked to stand up at that moment. My legs would have buckled. So I pushed Cassidy out on my back in about 1 hour. Pete held a leg, and despite our "north-of-the-border only" promise (he wasn't supposed to venture down there), he watched as Cassidy made her entrance into the world.

Yes, the pushing part hurt but it was quickly over. My doctor and the one fabulous labor-and-delivery nurse (she came on in the evening, and I adored her) were a two-woman cheering squad, keeping me aware that I was making progress and letting me know when she was close. I remember my doctor asking if I wanted a mirror to see her head emerging, and in my dissociative state, I thought she was absolutely nuts. Just get that damn baby out of me. I don't give a shit how you do it. :)

Apparently the doctor also asked if I wanted to hold Cassidy after her birth, and apparently I said yes, although I don't remember any of that. I remember Pete cutting the cord, and Cassidy looking all around with big blue eyes. My thoughts at that time were centered around myself: someone take this baby, I need to sleep now for 7 days and 7 nights. I think the nursing staff thought I was a little froo-froo, hippy type, because they were very delicate about asking if they could take her for a bath, eye treatments and vitamin K. She got all her treatments and went out to be adored by two grandmas, two step-grandpas, and the hospital staff.

Although all new moms say this, I'll say it too. After months of nausea and a generally difficult pregnancy, culminating in the 18 hour labor described above, Cassidy is worth every last second of it. She is destined to be the best oops Pete and I will every make.

Thanks for all the well-wishes. We will post more pictures here soon.
Much love, Liz