(aka: Your Birth Story)
Dear Sophia,
On a warm Friday night in March, I sat with your daddy on the couch and tried to pay attention to the TV. I don't get to spend enough time with him, so I wanted to sit next to him as long as I could stay awake. We shared some pretzels and held hands until finally I was so sleepy I could barely hold my eyes open. Around 9:30pm, I went in to the bedroom and climbed in bed. The cool darkness was an immediate comfort and I began dozing off. I had been so physically uncomfortable in the previous couple of weeks that I barely slept at all and any that I could get was a welcome respite.
I had been in bed curled up on my side for about a half hour a trickle of warmth went down my leg. My eyes jerked open. Even though it was a common occurrence that when you kicked my bladder I would pee, I knew this was not pee. I lie still and waited. A few seconds past and the trickle started to turn into a small stream. I was pretty sure this was amniotic fluid, but I always assumed my contractions would have started before my water broke. I stood up in the dark bedroom and gushes of warm water soaked my black leggings. Startled, I cried out to your father.
"Ivan! Come here, please!"
He was dozing off on the couch in the living room and sleepily murmured, "Hmmm?"
My urgency increased as the implications of what was happening were dawning on me. "IVAN!" I called sharply. He was up and off the couch quickly as I made my way to the bathroom with the cell phone in hand. My knees quaked but I tried to hurry so as to avoid soaking Auntie Tash's carpet. Was I supposed to be worried about the carpet at a time like this? I wasn't sure.
"What's wrong, baby?" your daddy asked.
"I think my water just broke!" I breathlessly answered as I shut the bathroom door behind me. I huddled on the toilet and called Labor and Delivery at UCSF hospital. As they were advising me to come to the hospital, your auntie knocked on the door to check on me. "They want me to come in," I called through the door.
We got ready quickly and piled in the car. I self-consciously sat on waterproof pads in my wet pants. I hadn't bothered to change them because there were still periodic gushes of liquid coming from me. I felt water-logged. Your aunt Tash drove and daddy sat in the back seat. We were in a good mood and laughed and joked on the way to the hospital. We marveled that I wasn't in any pain because we had all privately imagined this night going very differently. This wasn't as dramatic as we'd all expected.
It didn't take us long for us to get to the hospital. By 10:45pm I was in a gown and on a bed talking to Dr. Quinn in a hot little room with Tash and daddy packed in there. I was still so sleepy! How could I possibly have the energy to give birth tonight? I wondered. I was scared I wouldn't be able to do it. When they established that you were breach with an ultrasound and informed me that other risk factors made them want to perform a C-section on me, I was relieved.
The contractions progressed rapidly from there, and by 12:30 I was given medication to slow them down because you were coming too fast. I was so thirsty by then but wasn't allowed to have anything to drink since I would be getting anesthesia. I kept asking, "Are you sure I can't have just a little sip?" and was repeatedly and good-naturedly told no.
Nurses bustled about prepping me for surgery and having me sign paperwork and around 3:00 am I was wheeled into the operating room. "Where is my partner?" I kept asking. Dr. Quinn's eyes appeared in front of me behind a surgical mask.
"Don't worry," she assured me. "I won't forget him. We'll bring him in last thing before we get started. I'll make sure."
People swarmed around me and I was embarrassed that I required all this bother and attention--at least a dozen people were in the operating room and engaged in actions of various sorts: counting surgical equipment out loud, monitoring my vital signs as the epidural injection was delivered to my spine, double-checking my identity and condition prior to beginning surgery. By the time Dr. Quinn brought your daddy into the operating room, I was numb from the navel down and laying crucifix-like on the operating table. The doctors and their surgical tools were obscured from me by a curtain across my chest. I smiled with relief when I saw your daddy come in wearing the hospital garb. He took a seat near my head and kissed my cheek. "Here we go," I whispered. He squeezed my hand gently so as not to disturb my IV. Or, more likely, he squeezed my hand and I cried, "Watch out for my IV!" so he squeezed more gently.
You entered the world quietly at 3:45 am on Saturday, March 17, 2012. Once they said you were out and had whisked you away to clean you off and check you out, I strained to listen for you for the first time. For a moment I heard nothing and then you began to cry softly. I smiled with relief and happily breathed, "There she is!" They called out your time of birth and weight (6 lbs., 8 3/4 oz.) and soon after they had put a little striped hat on you and swaddled you snugly and carried you over to be near me. I got my first glimpse of you as the nurse held you next to my face as I lay on the operating table. I kissed your cheek repeatedly and said, "Hi, baby!" I couldn't believe you were actually here. They didn't let you stay long and off you were whisked again.
The night would go on to be surreal. One minute I was sitting with your daddy at home and the next minute I was somebody's mother, destined to be pooped on, puked on, yelled at, whined to, and given many an eyeroll. When I finally got a cup full of ice chips from a kind nurse, it was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted in my whole life. I sat up in bed answering doctors' and nurses' questions, munching my ice, and thinking, I wonder how my baby is doing? What are they doing to her right now? What is her take on all this? Oh my god, I just had a baby!
For the first 12 hours or so, when I looked at you it was with a mixture of intense love and fear. This little helpless person! Needs me! Counts on me to do the right things, to make good decisions! And you know what? I needn't have worried that I wouldn't feel enough for you right away. I quickly understood the mother who was in the news recently for covering her children's bodies with her own during an earthquake and subsequent building collapse. This...little person I grew in my body. Suddenly I physically need her.
One night during our hospital stay I followed the nurses advice to skip the 3am attempt at breastfeeding, allow them to feed you formula, and stay in bed and try to get a little more sleep. But I woke up missingyou and your babyness so intensely that I started to cry. I called for the nurse to take me in my wheelchair to the nursery so that I could at least sit near you. An ICN nurse was feeding you a bottle and looked startled to see me. "Everything okay?" she asked.
The tears that had been filling my eyes began to fall. "I just missed her," I explained, "and I needed to see her." She smiled and patted me and handed the bundle that was you over to me. I snuggled you close and sniffed your silky hair.
I know that I am biased, but honestly you're the sweetest little baby I've ever seen. You are so good! You smile easily, soothe yourself well already, and are so snuggly and warm and precious that I can hardly bear it. Today you have a stuffy nose but you rarely complain and are even patient with us as we suck the snot out of your tiny little nose.
Grandma has been with us visiting since before I got home from the hospital, and believe me when I tell you that you are absolutely adored. We dote on you. I will hate to see her go, because the social and emotional support (not to mention the extra pair of hands) has been a really lovely thing.
You are home, my sweet Sophia. You are healthy and perfect and (thank god!) not inside of me anymore. You will always be my little Frijole, and I plan to keep writing to you indefinitely here. I want to document your growth and milestones, and I want to be sure you have my words no matter what happens to me in the future. I want you to know how very loved and wanted you are.
Love always,
Mama
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
From an early age, you were transverse.
Dear Frijole,
I knew you had changed positions in there but good lord, girl! Sideways? Really? You need to stop fooling around and arrange yourself head down, because this show's about to get on the road and you've got them talking C-sections. Although I am strongly advising you to consider taking up a different position, secretly I am proud of you. May there be many boundaries you are willing to transverse in your life. And please don't let my rules make up the bulk of them.
During the last few days you've been in this position, your little bottom has created a serious hump in one (off-centered) part of my stomach that goes up and down as you wiggle around in there. I find it rather hypnotic to watch and rub. Plus, to be honest, it's totally creepy and alien-like. I hope to see a foot or a hand pressing out soon.
I met our doula yesterday morning. She's helping with your birth and one of the first faces you will see when you make your grand entrance from some as of yet undetermined orafice on my body and into this world. She is a very nice, earth mothery type of lady who wants to help me have an empowering childbirth, so I'm trying to calm the eff down and follow her advice for both of our sakes.
Love,
Mama
I knew you had changed positions in there but good lord, girl! Sideways? Really? You need to stop fooling around and arrange yourself head down, because this show's about to get on the road and you've got them talking C-sections. Although I am strongly advising you to consider taking up a different position, secretly I am proud of you. May there be many boundaries you are willing to transverse in your life. And please don't let my rules make up the bulk of them.
During the last few days you've been in this position, your little bottom has created a serious hump in one (off-centered) part of my stomach that goes up and down as you wiggle around in there. I find it rather hypnotic to watch and rub. Plus, to be honest, it's totally creepy and alien-like. I hope to see a foot or a hand pressing out soon.
I met our doula yesterday morning. She's helping with your birth and one of the first faces you will see when you make your grand entrance from some as of yet undetermined orafice on my body and into this world. She is a very nice, earth mothery type of lady who wants to help me have an empowering childbirth, so I'm trying to calm the eff down and follow her advice for both of our sakes.
Love,
Mama
Thursday, March 8, 2012
On doom
Dear Frijole,
One pleasant thing I've found through being pregnant is a small but significant and sensitive community of mothers/mothers-to-be and those who understand them. A group of women who remind each other that just because you don't feel miraculous and grateful for pregnancy and motherhood exactly 100% of the time doesn't mean you're wrong or not normal. Or that you are bad at it and shouldn't be doing it.
Awhile back, a long-distance friend (B.) mentioned that with each of her three pregnancies, she'd at some point felt a very real sense of doom about everything she'd ever hoped to accomplish. She wanted to reassure me that any and all mixtures of emotions I was feeling were valid. I have been finding myself grateful for B. and the other ladies who've shared their perspectives on these darker emotions that come with the territory of generating another life within your being.
The doom is kicking in a bit.
This morning I went to a pediatric clinic to interview a potential pediatrician for you at UCSF. She was absolutely wonderful and kind and supportive and concerned and I am proud to have her as your doctor. (Plus, I cried from a ridiculous overflow of emotions at least three different times during the appointment and she didn't seem the least bit fazed. Ahem.) As I was leaving, she said to me, "The next time I see you, you'll be with your baby!" Honestly, I felt faint.
I mean, it's no secret that you're in there and due to make an appearance soon, but...but it's getting to the point where it's...IMMINENT. And shit's getting REAL. Today I bought DIAPERS! I bought you sweet little striped sockies, too, but those diapers were like big, white smacks in the FACE! I can barely fathom B.'s aforementioned "things I want to accomplish in my life" because--at the moment, at least--I am wondering how I will ever manage to leave the house again let alone anything more complicated.
I find myself thinking weird things, too. Like with the tube of toothpaste I just bought for when our current one runs out. I find myself wondering, WILL THE BABY SEE THIS TOOTHPASTE?! And then the toothpaste becomes, like, this weird beacon announcing that this part of my life--this non-baby-having-allegedly-carefree-form I now inhabit--will be over within weeks. Of course, this week that has also happened with a bird cage, pack of razors, and a bottle of vanilla extract that I don't even own yet. But it's the last bottle of vanilla extract I will purchase as a non-parent! And surely that is momentous.
It's not just that kind of pressure, either. There is also a fair amount of expectation about when and how powerfully the maternal instinct kicks in that women have to reassure each other against constantly. And I appreciate it. Sometimes I hear dramatic things, like, "As soon as I lay eyes on my newborn son, I knew I would die for him."
Holy shit! Is there or has there ever been a person that I felt that way about? There have been a couple who were as close as it gets, I suppose, but if I'm honest...no. No, there has never been anyone for whom I would actually give up my life. But allegedly there will be soon! And how will I respond when put to the firing test? Will I look at the wrinkly, messy, squirming creature and feel that my life and its purpose have been affirmed? Or will I feel...something else? And how will the people around me think of me if I feel something else? How can one know how one will react to such a situation? Is it always so intense and predictable? It can't possibly be!
In the last week, my belly has really begun to pop out and, judging from the transformation taking place within my belly button, like a turkey I am done! I am washing your clothes and getting the last items I perceive that I need. Your daddy and I are spending our last days alone together. I am counting the days until I can have a glass of wine again. The home stretch is overwhelming. Sometimes I feel guilty if I'm not constantly a joyful, grateful earth mother. Which I'm definitely not. You should probably get used to that now.
Love,
Mama
One pleasant thing I've found through being pregnant is a small but significant and sensitive community of mothers/mothers-to-be and those who understand them. A group of women who remind each other that just because you don't feel miraculous and grateful for pregnancy and motherhood exactly 100% of the time doesn't mean you're wrong or not normal. Or that you are bad at it and shouldn't be doing it.
Awhile back, a long-distance friend (B.) mentioned that with each of her three pregnancies, she'd at some point felt a very real sense of doom about everything she'd ever hoped to accomplish. She wanted to reassure me that any and all mixtures of emotions I was feeling were valid. I have been finding myself grateful for B. and the other ladies who've shared their perspectives on these darker emotions that come with the territory of generating another life within your being.
The doom is kicking in a bit.
This morning I went to a pediatric clinic to interview a potential pediatrician for you at UCSF. She was absolutely wonderful and kind and supportive and concerned and I am proud to have her as your doctor. (Plus, I cried from a ridiculous overflow of emotions at least three different times during the appointment and she didn't seem the least bit fazed. Ahem.) As I was leaving, she said to me, "The next time I see you, you'll be with your baby!" Honestly, I felt faint.
I mean, it's no secret that you're in there and due to make an appearance soon, but...but it's getting to the point where it's...IMMINENT. And shit's getting REAL. Today I bought DIAPERS! I bought you sweet little striped sockies, too, but those diapers were like big, white smacks in the FACE! I can barely fathom B.'s aforementioned "things I want to accomplish in my life" because--at the moment, at least--I am wondering how I will ever manage to leave the house again let alone anything more complicated.
I find myself thinking weird things, too. Like with the tube of toothpaste I just bought for when our current one runs out. I find myself wondering, WILL THE BABY SEE THIS TOOTHPASTE?! And then the toothpaste becomes, like, this weird beacon announcing that this part of my life--this non-baby-having-allegedly-carefree-form I now inhabit--will be over within weeks. Of course, this week that has also happened with a bird cage, pack of razors, and a bottle of vanilla extract that I don't even own yet. But it's the last bottle of vanilla extract I will purchase as a non-parent! And surely that is momentous.
It's not just that kind of pressure, either. There is also a fair amount of expectation about when and how powerfully the maternal instinct kicks in that women have to reassure each other against constantly. And I appreciate it. Sometimes I hear dramatic things, like, "As soon as I lay eyes on my newborn son, I knew I would die for him."
Holy shit! Is there or has there ever been a person that I felt that way about? There have been a couple who were as close as it gets, I suppose, but if I'm honest...no. No, there has never been anyone for whom I would actually give up my life. But allegedly there will be soon! And how will I respond when put to the firing test? Will I look at the wrinkly, messy, squirming creature and feel that my life and its purpose have been affirmed? Or will I feel...something else? And how will the people around me think of me if I feel something else? How can one know how one will react to such a situation? Is it always so intense and predictable? It can't possibly be!
In the last week, my belly has really begun to pop out and, judging from the transformation taking place within my belly button, like a turkey I am done! I am washing your clothes and getting the last items I perceive that I need. Your daddy and I are spending our last days alone together. I am counting the days until I can have a glass of wine again. The home stretch is overwhelming. Sometimes I feel guilty if I'm not constantly a joyful, grateful earth mother. Which I'm definitely not. You should probably get used to that now.
Love,
Mama
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Breathe
Dear Frijole,
33 1/2 weeks. Almost 8 1/2 months.
It is early in the morning and I am up for the third time tonight. Aside from sleeplessness due to being uncomfortable and achey, you are pressed up against both my stomach and diaphragm which makes for lots of indigestion and shortness of breath. When I sit up in bed for the millionth time, your sleepy daddy murmurs, "You ok?" and falls back asleep immediately. I let him sleep because he has to go to work and I get up again restlessly.
We just moved in with your aunty Natasha and cousin Lucas for the next 6 months. This move was meant to help us all save some money and so far is working very well. I felt very fortunate that I was able to hire ladies to help pack up our old apartment as well as movers and cleaners to make my labor during the move much, much easier. Plus your father worked very hard.
One of the women who came to clean our old apartment, Marada, was also in her eighth month of pregnancy. At first we congratulated each other and happily admired that we were both about to have little girls. But after she got to work, I watched her scrubbing my bathroom floor on her hands and knees amidst strong cleanser fumes. I felt guilty thast she was working to make things easier for me when she also needed to be getting off of her feet and resting, plus I couldn't believe she was able to get down on the floor when I can barely bend over.
"How are you able to do this?" I asked her.
With her scrub brush in hand, she sat back on her heels, blew the hair out of her eyes, and shrugged, "I have to." I felt so unhappy and over-privileged and...white. When she asked shyly if she could drink from a four year old bottle of water I was putting in the recycling bin, I felt worse.
I tipped Marada and her assistant well but I can't stop thinking about her and wishing I could help more. We don't have much money, but I am so grateful for what we do have.
At any rate, the best news is that the move is over and all I have to do now is get ready for you. Your grandma is poised to jump on an airplane to San Francisco as soon as I go into labor. I think she is as impatient for you to be born as I am. You know, you bring a lot of smiles to her face and mine and you're not even here yet. Already people are lining up to hug and kiss you. My sweet baby girl.
Love,
Mama
33 1/2 weeks. Almost 8 1/2 months.
It is early in the morning and I am up for the third time tonight. Aside from sleeplessness due to being uncomfortable and achey, you are pressed up against both my stomach and diaphragm which makes for lots of indigestion and shortness of breath. When I sit up in bed for the millionth time, your sleepy daddy murmurs, "You ok?" and falls back asleep immediately. I let him sleep because he has to go to work and I get up again restlessly.
We just moved in with your aunty Natasha and cousin Lucas for the next 6 months. This move was meant to help us all save some money and so far is working very well. I felt very fortunate that I was able to hire ladies to help pack up our old apartment as well as movers and cleaners to make my labor during the move much, much easier. Plus your father worked very hard.
One of the women who came to clean our old apartment, Marada, was also in her eighth month of pregnancy. At first we congratulated each other and happily admired that we were both about to have little girls. But after she got to work, I watched her scrubbing my bathroom floor on her hands and knees amidst strong cleanser fumes. I felt guilty thast she was working to make things easier for me when she also needed to be getting off of her feet and resting, plus I couldn't believe she was able to get down on the floor when I can barely bend over.
"How are you able to do this?" I asked her.
With her scrub brush in hand, she sat back on her heels, blew the hair out of her eyes, and shrugged, "I have to." I felt so unhappy and over-privileged and...white. When she asked shyly if she could drink from a four year old bottle of water I was putting in the recycling bin, I felt worse.
I tipped Marada and her assistant well but I can't stop thinking about her and wishing I could help more. We don't have much money, but I am so grateful for what we do have.
At any rate, the best news is that the move is over and all I have to do now is get ready for you. Your grandma is poised to jump on an airplane to San Francisco as soon as I go into labor. I think she is as impatient for you to be born as I am. You know, you bring a lot of smiles to her face and mine and you're not even here yet. Already people are lining up to hug and kiss you. My sweet baby girl.
Love,
Mama
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