Politics Shmolitics

Bleeeeehhhh. I dread election season like I dread a root canal, but I'd do that every four years to never see another hateful shared Facebook post. I'm so grateful to live in a time and place where I have the right to vote. I believe in the notion, no matter how far reaching from reality, that each voice can be heard. Here's the thing, though. I see most political debate as nothing more than disgusting vitriol, top down. From Presidential candidates, to pundits, all the way down to some yahoo from Facebook who I haven't seen in twelve years, I hate it. It's not that I can't handle disagreement. Disagreement is my bread and butter as a lawyer. What I can't stand is the "us versus them" war of words. First of all, what a ridiculous fiction? The difference between the us' and the thems is de minimus. But mostly, I can't stand the idea that for one person to be right, everyone else must be an absolute idiot. I'll say this, many people that I love and care about deeply are very vocal in their beliefs that are polar opposite to my own. I know them in life to be kind, thoughtful people.  I believe that they are wrong. Absolutely wrong. But I also believe that life is complicated and that there is more grey area than there will ever be black or white. That's why there will always be different ideological camps. I don't, however, think that they are stupid, or naive, or unChristian, or (insert various insults here.)

I don't often spout off my social/political views. For one thing, I assume no one cares, but also because I have a job and I like it. I have to admit, I assume anyone who posts offensive or inflammatory political views, no matter which flavor, is either under employed or at the top of the food chain. It is a bad idea. It just is. It's my opinion that stating your views publicly is one thing, but going extreme or inflammatory conveys a whole host of negative qualities. It shows, I think, that you don't fully understand the issue. There wouldn't be a debate if there weren't at least two equally valid sides. Pick one. Have your belief and hold to it strongly, but don't undercut it with the complete inability to see past the tip of your own nose. If the strength of your opinion is dependent upon the degradation of opposing views, it probably doesn't hold water.

Again, I'm not hiding any of my views, but I will always keep my cards a little closer to the vest than to say something out right inflammatory in order to support my views. Why? Because I'm cool like that. Ok, maybe not, but at least because I value self-control. The mean kid on the playground doesn't win because he gets the sandbox to himself. He just ends up alone with sand up his shorts.

 Plus, I heard some kid peed in there earlier.

Springs of Water

I became a mother sometime in the last week.  Technically, I've been a mother since July 14th, but it wasn't the same.  Peter and I have been building a relationship this whole time.  I thought the first time I saw him the whole thing would make sense and I would be automatically transformed.  That's the way I've always been told that it happens.  That's just not how it happened for us.  I loved him right away, but I didn't feel like he was mine or that I was his.  Instead of some single life changing instant, we've bonded through hundreds of little moments and I think that's okay, too.  I'm way too cerebral to be a natural at much of anything, so I guess it isn't surprising.  Hopefully he won't mind too much.

Over the last week, I just get it.  And wow.  And ouch.  Wow because it's amazing to love someone so much.  Ouch because it's both liberating and absolutely crushing, and that push and pull is something I could never have been prepared to feel.  My dream for him since before he was born was that he would grow into a kind and independent person.  It didn't fully sink in to me until after he was born that this means he'll have to get hurt to become those things.  Intellectually, I know that's a good and natural thing.  At the same time, it breaks my heart in the most profound way.  I realize that nothing has or will ever hurt me like something hurting him and I can't protect myself from that at all.  I try not to think about it, but a few tears may have fallen on his sweet little head like some kind of home baptism, except this one is as ancient as mothers and children and washes away my former self instead of his. 

Birth Story

 As a warning, this post isn't the one where I talk about how I fell madly in love with my new baby, although I did and will write that post at some point.  This one is the story of how we got him here.  I probably wouldn't read it if I were someone about to have a baby, or someone squeamish about labor and delivery.  I'll say this, I was right about two things.  First, an easy pregnancy did set me up for a less than easy delivery and, second, trying to plan with any detail how a baby will come into this world is completely futile.  It was not the difficult, but amazing experience I'd hoped for.  To be honest, it was just difficult and, at times, traumatic.  As different as it was from my hopes, I would still do it all over again.

We got to the hospital at eight o'clock Friday night to start the induction.  We got to our room and the nurse started me on cervadil and hooked up an iv and two monitors around my waist.  This was my first surprise. I had no idea I'd be bedridden so completely, so soon.  In fact, I had to stay flat on my back for two full hours after starting the cervadil.  As someone with lower back problems, I don't ever lay on my back, and definitely not at 41 weeks pregnant. It was uncomfortable to say the least.  The nurse gave me an ambien for sleep and said they'd start the pitocin the next morning at 6:30.  The contractions started within an hour.  Between being seriously uncomfortable and being checked by the nurse every hour, on the hour, I only slept for two. 

The next morning they started the pitocin.  I can't speak about contractions that start on their own.  I can tell you that pitocin contractions slam you.  They are intense from the beginning and only get worse.  There is no gradual building. No ebb and flow.  There is a reason almost no one has a natural labor with pitocin.  The nurse came in every half hour to up the dose, so they got much worse very quickly.  Unfortunately, that was all they were.  They were extremely painful, but essentially ineffective because even with all the contractions, I wasn't dilating at all.  So, the doctor broke my water after several hours and one centimeter of dilation.  Again, I can't speak about things I've never experienced.  Having your water broken when you are more dilated may not be that bad, and I've been told that water breaking on it's own is painless.  Having your water broken at one centimeter is painful.  Full of pain.  Not uncomfortable and not pressure, but painful. 

Three or four hours later of contractions and many, many increases in pitocin, I got to four centimeters.  I had hoped to make it longer without medication, but at that point I was crying for an epidural.  After the epidural, I was no longer in pain, so they continued to increase the pitocin every half hour.  Two or three hours later, though, I only progressed to five centimeters and never made any further progress.  They turned off the pitocin and turned it on several times trying to get my body to respond, but it never did.  The baby started showing signs of distress, so I spent the next hour or so laying on my side with an oxygen mask to try and keep his heart rate stable.  By the afternoon, I had an internal monitor for the baby, a heart rate monitor for me, a blood pressure cuff, an epidural line, an iv, catheter and two external monitors around my waist.  The whole day went like this and by 7:30, the doctor made the call and let me know that I wasn't likely to deliver the baby on my own and that for my safety and the baby's, we would need to have a c-section. The surgery would happen within the next two hours.  At this point, I'd been awake for the better part of 48 hrs and hadn't eaten or had anything to drink since the night before.  I'd been in labor for almost 24 hours.  I was delirious.  I think I would have been disappointed to be told I needed a c-section under any circumstances, but after all that had already happened, I had full scale panic attack.  I kept telling Craig I was too tired.  There was no way I was going to be able to bond with the baby because I was just too physically and emotionally drained. 

They wheeled me into the operating room, simultaneously dozing off and shaking like a leaf.  The procedure started and Craig was allowed to come in.  I won't say that it was painful, but it is very unpleasant.  Whatever is in the anesthesia makes you shake uncontrollably.   I couldn't feel sharp sensations like the incisions, but I could absolutely feel my skin and organs being moved around and the intense pressure of the baby being pulled out.  I could feel the same parts being tugged and moved while being sewn back up.  The baby cried and I basically blacked out.  I don't remember much of the next twenty minutes. 

Once we got to the recovery room, everything started to get better.  I had my baby and Craig with me and we were all safe and healthy. The adrenaline and incredible moment of seeing Peter the first time pulled me through the exhaustion for the next couple of hours.  He nursed right away and we went to our post partem room.

Because of having the c-section, I wasn't able to be discharged until Tuesday.  We had wonderful care, but were so ready to leave.  The baby had a nurse and I had a nurse around the clock, so someone was in our room to check on us at least every hour for each day and night we were there.  Luckily, I had a really smooth recovery and was moving around pretty normally by Monday. 

I would never have chosen for things to go as they did, but I thank god things didn't get any more complicated for me or Peter.  Craig was an absolute rock and I definitely couldn't have managed without him with me.  After seeing how large he was (8lbs 9oz, 21 inches) and the size of my pelvis, the Doctor said that I most likely wouldn't have been able to deliver him vaginally even if everything else had gone well.  This will sound so dark, but one of the nurses said that I was one of the those women who wouldn't have made it through labor a hundred years ago.  I had already thought the same thing.  Instead of being completely terrified by that, I am just so grateful to be here at home with my precious baby a week later, happy and healthy, and seriously tired.

Just the Facts Ma'am: An Update

     My motivation behind this post is twofold.  First, to give an update to anyone interested in the expected arrival of He Who is Karmically Destined to be Trouble Due to His Mother's Easy Pregnancy and, second, I hope that by putting this information out there, the universe will do what it do and make me look foolish by sending me headlong into labor.

    This morning at my last appointment, the Doctor decided to schedule an induction date.  He's due on Sunday, but is evidently sitting most comfortably.  So, she said that we'd schedule an eviction in case he doesn't change his mind.  Apparently, though, there are lots comfy babies right now and the hospital is booked up for inductions next week.  So, I'm on the waiting list (are you kidding me?) for something earlier, but we are firmly scheduled for the 14th.  Say what?  That's right--the FOURTEENTH.  As in, we will go in next Friday night to get this show on the road and have a baby next Saturday.  If you didn't just shed a little tear like a pollution hating Native American on the side of the road, that can only be because you don't realize that that is a WEEEEEEK from now!  I know, I know.   A week isn't that long.  Think of how many weeks you've already completed.  Enjoy time with your husband.  Catch up on your sleep.

Stop it.  Just stop it, right now.

     There is some consolation, though, in this whole 'still pregnant, gonna keep on being pregnant' thing.  Like any modern pregnant person, I've learned how to bend Google to my will by asking a question three or four different ways until I get the answer that I want.  I needed to hear that there is some really great reason to go all the way to forty weeks and possibly beyond.  Lo and behold, there is.  Babies born at term, as in 40 weeks and later, are shown to, statistically, have lower risk of breathing problems and SIDs, and less trouble breastfeeding.  I didn't invent this stuff.  It was actually in reputable journals.  So, even though I threatened to change his name to Myrtle Suzette if doesn't come immediately, I guess he's making good use of his time.

This is Your Brain on Baby

I could list all the annoying questions about my pregnancy, or questions that become annoying just by virtue of their frequency, but that's no fun.  I've learned that there are equally annoying answers that I give to a lot of said questions.  Now that's fun.  I can't say that I get why these answers are wrong, but let me tell you, they are. 

First, everyone wants to know when my last day of work is.  My honest answer is (1)when the baby comes,(2) or when I can't do it anymore, (3) or I don't know, because all of those are the same answer in my mind.  This is the part where men look at you like they might be called upon to deliver your child, thus seeing your business end and possibly having to fashion a tourniquet out of their belts/shoelaces.  If only things were going to happen that quickly. 

Another one I get a lot is whether we plan on having more children.  My brain can't really process this one.  At this point, I'm not sure that I'll ever have this baby, so I don't know where I'd put another one.   

People also ask how I feel a lot, which is really sweet and I appreciate it.  I said this in my last post, but I tend to err on the side of less information, just out of courtesy.  Sometimes, though, I think this is irritating to people. Women, especially.  I just don't really have the words to describe it, which is mostly because I feel pretty good.  If I had to though, the end of the third trimester is kiiind of like...being a capsized turtle with the appetite of a fourteen year boy.

Another one I get a lot is whether or not I plan to have an epidural--the obligatory "birth plan," as it's called in my baby books.  My plan is to not be pregnant anymore and whatever way that can best be achieved is the plan I'm signed up for.  Honestly, I just don't know.  I've never had a baby!  If I need an epidural, I'll get one.  If not, maybe not.  So many factors go into it, that the question to me is, how does anyone ever have a plan?  As you might know, I am a planner.  I set aside time to plan.  I love a plan, but I'm not about to tell the nurses and doctor what my "plan" is.  That's like when my clients start telling me about what they found on Google to get their case "squashed."   Sir, let me be the lawyer before you talk your way into stripes and plastic sandals.  I don't want to end up with the labor and delivery equivalent of plastic sandals.

I guess that's what it boils down to. I just don't want to end up with prison sandals, you know?

37 Weeks and 5 Days...

Because now I count hours and days.  I'm in my 38th week.  Are you tired of hearing about my pregnancy?

Shut up.

I'm just kidding. 

I'm not kidding. 

I'm starving. 

Why is it 900 degrees? 

Where did I put my mind? It was just here.

Why are there never any cookies?

Here's some Aristotelian Logic for you: I am pregnant. I have always been pregnant. I will be pregnant for the rest of my life.

I wish that I was intuitive enough to think that I know when he'll come, but I have no clue. Every night when I go to bed I think he's coming soon, and every morning I think he may hang in there through the end of my twenties. Even though I think I've probably got another couple of weeks, when other people suggest it, I have to fight the urge to bare teeth. Truthfully, I don't whine that much except to you, three readers, and to my ever patient husband. I may look like a marshmallow and feel like poo, but I'm still hanging on to my pride, by God! When people ask how I feel, I usually say that I feel great or that I'm a little tired. In the grand scheme of things, those things are true. Besides, no one wants to know that my hair hurts...that I had an existential crisis during breakfast...that I'm doing rain dances for contractions...that I'm scared to death sometimes...that I'd hurt someone for a strawberry pop tart...or cherry...that I can't remember what it's like to button pants. But, you know, I can't complain : )

35 Weeks

    Okay, I'm saying Uncle to pregnancy.  It got me.  I've had a pretty easy time, but I am still dunzo.  I feel terrible saying that because I've managed to avoid almost every bad pregnancy symptom in the book.  No heartburn, hemroids, constipation, insomnia, nausea, skin problems, etc.  I know, right?  I hate me too.  Even still, I'm worn out.  My energy level hasn't been that big of an issue since the beginning, but I'm definitely slowing down now.  I've gained around twenty two pounds and I don't think I want to add another ounce to carry around.  I attribute my easy time to ninety-five percent luck and five percent refusing to take it easy.  I've stayed too busy to think about how I'm feeling.  I don't want to slow down and I definitely don't want to be the whiny pregnant girl.  I don't like her. 

    Baby Locke seems to be enjoying the life aquatic.  He's gotten too big for his hijinks of a few weeks ago. Now he's more into doing a one-man hokey pokey.  But, you know, that is what it's all about.  According the doctor, he's droppin' it like it's hot, which explains why my Summer home is the bathroom.  Also, he's head down facing left/back, with his legs bent and kicking my lower left side.  I know that's hard to picture, so I'll put it this way, that moving protrustion on my right side is a tiny rear end that is womb-mooning you.  At the last ultrasound, the doctor commented on how long his fingers and his legs are and every time we tried to see his face, he'd kind of grimace and cover it with his hands and move away.  So, basically, I'm due to give birth to my husband in around five weeks.  I'm excited to have two of him!  Max has been kind enough to try out all of the baby gear for us.  He's been in the rocker, the crib and the stroller.   He's even tested a few toys to make sure they aren't a choking hazard.  That's love. 

My mom has threatened us all if I don't show her more pregnancy photos.  So:

This is from our trip to Vicksburg, before I got enormous.

We finished getting the nursery together.  I had more of a directorial role.  See above.

I think it turned out beautiful.

And then, the enormous found me.  This is yesterday:

You see, the hand helps you see where the baby is.  Why do we do this?

Afraid, with good reason, that he'll be diapered.

We're just not sure if we're ready.