Sunday, January 22, 2012
The nature of things
I don't know anything. If I'm to be poetic about it, I can compare myself to a marionette whose strings are pulled by multiple and different people each day and I flail all over the place. Apparently, I need more knowledge. What of this dream: take the time and learn, truly learn, the science of cellular biology, what goes on inside us on molecular level. Where should I start?
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Birth of Tiger Lily
We just knew it was coming. Well, Chris did. Our babysitters took Christian Winter to play on Tuesday and Wednesday while we went on a cleaning spree -- setting up the bedroom, cleaning the bathrooms, dusting, vacuuming, organizing the basement... the works. On Thursday morning, we drove to Sunken Meadow beach. On our drive over, Chris brainstormed: "We could go to Jersey shore for a day tomorrow. We can drive in the morning, see our friends then come back in the evening." And "I think I'm about 70% done with all the cleaning. Still need to mop the basement and do few other things. I think you're done, though, it feels to me like you're done with all of what you wanted to do. It probably means the baby is coming."
He was right.
The beach was fun. I swam a lot, we played in the water with Christian Winter, collected rocks, got some sun. As they day was ending, I started feeling some cramps. I pointed this out to Chris who immediately started timing them (10 minutes apart). We started driving back home with an agenda. There were still few things left to do: pickup our farm share vegetables, buy some coconut water and snacks, cook up the pork chops that were marinating all day. Still, I was only semi-convinced that this stuff is for real and not some wishful thinking or a ploy to get Chris to miss rehearsal that night.
Christian Winter fell asleep in the car, but unfortunately, woke up just as we were within 5 minutes of home. Oh well. We drag him along for the errands, few stops in the car: vegetables, specialty store for packaged coconut water, corner bodega in hopes of finding fresh coconut (no luck there) and back home. We have to, just have to, cook those pork chops. It's a nagging thing in my head.
In the meantime, Chris is in touch with our midwife. Contractions are regular, though not very long or painful. She instructs rest and water. I might just be dehydrated. Ok.
At home, my awesome husband takes up the task of grilling the pork chops, I make a salad. The contractions aren't stopping, despite hydration. The three of us get to eat our dinner, set it up in the living room, and it's a nice, romantic feeling for the night. I drink few sips of wine. Chops are cooked perfectly and they are succulent. Christian enjoys them very much.
The problem at hand, of course, is what to do with Christian Winter. Do we call our friends to pick him up and he spends the night elsewhere? We attempt just that. Chris calls up our friend RJ who comes over. But Christian doesn't want to leave, instead, tearful, says: "Let's go to sleep mama! Let's do it!" So we do. Dad and RJ stay up, taking. It takes some 40-50 minutes before he's out. And it's true, the contractions did stop during the rest. As soon as I'm up on my feet, they are back. I find my leftover bone and chew off all the meat off of it. And do the same with Chris'. I'm not going into this hungry.
We decide to go to bed, RJ will go home and get a call from us should we need him. I'm hoping Christian sleeps through whatever might be happening. The thought of sending him away stresses me out.
The night is largely uneventful. The contractions continue being mild and 10 minutes apart, I just squeeze Chris' hand when they are happening. I'm still not convinced we're doing this, but the signs are unmistakable. The midwife thinks it's on, but needs to get these contractions to be closer together before she comes over. By 5am, they are 6 minutes apart, but somehow the midwife doesn't think it's time to come over yet, in part because the one she witnessed on the phone doesn't seem long and strong enough. Typically, as soon as we hang up the phone, they start getting stronger and more painful. But we don't want to call her again with some iffiness. So we trudge on, still trying to sleep a bit, though, by now, I'm writhing in bed as they come on. Of course, there is the constant need to go potty. I'm up from bed quite a lot, laboring in the bathroom for one go, and in bed for another. I don't know what time it is anymore but I do know it's time for the midwife to come over. (I'm still hoping she can get the birthing pool to me but the hope is dwindling with every minute.) Chris calls her up and she arrives, I swear, within 10 minutes. Christian, on cue, wakes up as soon as she arrives. Wants to nurse, wants to sleep with me. I'm doing my best to be calm so he can go back to sleep, but the contractions are pretty serious by now and I struggle. The midwife peeks at us, wants to know what the plan is (if the kid stays, then we can make it work for him too). I tell her that Chris is in touch with our babysitter but she already knows more than I do. Kori is coming over to pick him up. Ok then.
Things kind of blur from now on. Christian doesn't really want to leave but Kori is amazing, talks him into it. The four of them disappear upstairs (I'm in and out of bathroom), the midwife gets back to me. Christian comes back to say goodbye (I'm duking it out with the birthing ball) -- he is really sweet, gives me a kiss and leaves (I'm having hard time not getting heartbroken over this, the next contraction is amazing at keeping my mind off of it). They come and go and they are strong, these contractions. I start remembering them from the last time, how much I hated them -- I thought I was hating them because of the breech -- and how much I still hate them. It hurts hurts hurts. I'm questioning why in the world am I here again, giving birth. I do not want the pain, I don't want to hurt myself. I have no choice, though. I'm not faking this, my body is doing stuff to me and I'm in it for better or for worse. And now I have to puke, too. I mention to midwife. She says "transition" and I know it too. Things are about to change. BUT Chris is still not back! He's trying to get Christian out and I hope hope hope he's not stuck on something stupid, like trying to figure out how to install the car seat in Kori's car. I need to got bathroom again, then back hugging the ball. "Where is Chris?" I ask. "Do you want to call him?" she asks. I do. He says he's coming back, 5 minutes. I'm starting to get an urge to push but it's halfhearted. Chris walks in the room, thank goodness. He resumes his normal place, holding my hands. The ball feels icky and plasticky to me. I ask Chris for a towel -- where? -- between me and the ball, I muster. He fumbles for it, I direct him to the basket where I keep birth stuff, he puts it under me, but midwife needs that one, they are almost arguing over this. He gets another one to swap it out (it's a nicer, white plush towel I like). I'm good now, it's more pleasant on the ball, Chris is here and I NEED TO PUSH. I do another misplaced go at it, but realize I'm pushing the wrong way, in the wrong place. I need to let go of everything (including any sense of modesty) and push. So I do. It feels wrong at first, but then I realize it's right and I'm on it now and in it. I remember someone mentioning the "ring of fire" and yes, bloody 'ell, I feel it. Big, impossible thing is about to happen (how, how, how can this be, how can a baby come out of me?!). I feel the head, water breaks, another push. I hear "the head is out" and know there's not much more to go. Another push and it's out. The whole little body is out. I give my self a moment of rest on the ball. We don't know if it's a boy or a girl, midwife asks Chris to look. "I think it's a girl," he says. I move from the ball onto my knees. There, indeed, is a little baby girl on the floor. "Can I pick her up? Does she need a clean up?" she looks way too slippery to me. "No clean up, that stuff absorbs back into the skin. Pick her up, if you want!"
And I do.
He was right.
The beach was fun. I swam a lot, we played in the water with Christian Winter, collected rocks, got some sun. As they day was ending, I started feeling some cramps. I pointed this out to Chris who immediately started timing them (10 minutes apart). We started driving back home with an agenda. There were still few things left to do: pickup our farm share vegetables, buy some coconut water and snacks, cook up the pork chops that were marinating all day. Still, I was only semi-convinced that this stuff is for real and not some wishful thinking or a ploy to get Chris to miss rehearsal that night.
Christian Winter fell asleep in the car, but unfortunately, woke up just as we were within 5 minutes of home. Oh well. We drag him along for the errands, few stops in the car: vegetables, specialty store for packaged coconut water, corner bodega in hopes of finding fresh coconut (no luck there) and back home. We have to, just have to, cook those pork chops. It's a nagging thing in my head.
In the meantime, Chris is in touch with our midwife. Contractions are regular, though not very long or painful. She instructs rest and water. I might just be dehydrated. Ok.
At home, my awesome husband takes up the task of grilling the pork chops, I make a salad. The contractions aren't stopping, despite hydration. The three of us get to eat our dinner, set it up in the living room, and it's a nice, romantic feeling for the night. I drink few sips of wine. Chops are cooked perfectly and they are succulent. Christian enjoys them very much.
The problem at hand, of course, is what to do with Christian Winter. Do we call our friends to pick him up and he spends the night elsewhere? We attempt just that. Chris calls up our friend RJ who comes over. But Christian doesn't want to leave, instead, tearful, says: "Let's go to sleep mama! Let's do it!" So we do. Dad and RJ stay up, taking. It takes some 40-50 minutes before he's out. And it's true, the contractions did stop during the rest. As soon as I'm up on my feet, they are back. I find my leftover bone and chew off all the meat off of it. And do the same with Chris'. I'm not going into this hungry.
We decide to go to bed, RJ will go home and get a call from us should we need him. I'm hoping Christian sleeps through whatever might be happening. The thought of sending him away stresses me out.
The night is largely uneventful. The contractions continue being mild and 10 minutes apart, I just squeeze Chris' hand when they are happening. I'm still not convinced we're doing this, but the signs are unmistakable. The midwife thinks it's on, but needs to get these contractions to be closer together before she comes over. By 5am, they are 6 minutes apart, but somehow the midwife doesn't think it's time to come over yet, in part because the one she witnessed on the phone doesn't seem long and strong enough. Typically, as soon as we hang up the phone, they start getting stronger and more painful. But we don't want to call her again with some iffiness. So we trudge on, still trying to sleep a bit, though, by now, I'm writhing in bed as they come on. Of course, there is the constant need to go potty. I'm up from bed quite a lot, laboring in the bathroom for one go, and in bed for another. I don't know what time it is anymore but I do know it's time for the midwife to come over. (I'm still hoping she can get the birthing pool to me but the hope is dwindling with every minute.) Chris calls her up and she arrives, I swear, within 10 minutes. Christian, on cue, wakes up as soon as she arrives. Wants to nurse, wants to sleep with me. I'm doing my best to be calm so he can go back to sleep, but the contractions are pretty serious by now and I struggle. The midwife peeks at us, wants to know what the plan is (if the kid stays, then we can make it work for him too). I tell her that Chris is in touch with our babysitter but she already knows more than I do. Kori is coming over to pick him up. Ok then.
Things kind of blur from now on. Christian doesn't really want to leave but Kori is amazing, talks him into it. The four of them disappear upstairs (I'm in and out of bathroom), the midwife gets back to me. Christian comes back to say goodbye (I'm duking it out with the birthing ball) -- he is really sweet, gives me a kiss and leaves (I'm having hard time not getting heartbroken over this, the next contraction is amazing at keeping my mind off of it). They come and go and they are strong, these contractions. I start remembering them from the last time, how much I hated them -- I thought I was hating them because of the breech -- and how much I still hate them. It hurts hurts hurts. I'm questioning why in the world am I here again, giving birth. I do not want the pain, I don't want to hurt myself. I have no choice, though. I'm not faking this, my body is doing stuff to me and I'm in it for better or for worse. And now I have to puke, too. I mention to midwife. She says "transition" and I know it too. Things are about to change. BUT Chris is still not back! He's trying to get Christian out and I hope hope hope he's not stuck on something stupid, like trying to figure out how to install the car seat in Kori's car. I need to got bathroom again, then back hugging the ball. "Where is Chris?" I ask. "Do you want to call him?" she asks. I do. He says he's coming back, 5 minutes. I'm starting to get an urge to push but it's halfhearted. Chris walks in the room, thank goodness. He resumes his normal place, holding my hands. The ball feels icky and plasticky to me. I ask Chris for a towel -- where? -- between me and the ball, I muster. He fumbles for it, I direct him to the basket where I keep birth stuff, he puts it under me, but midwife needs that one, they are almost arguing over this. He gets another one to swap it out (it's a nicer, white plush towel I like). I'm good now, it's more pleasant on the ball, Chris is here and I NEED TO PUSH. I do another misplaced go at it, but realize I'm pushing the wrong way, in the wrong place. I need to let go of everything (including any sense of modesty) and push. So I do. It feels wrong at first, but then I realize it's right and I'm on it now and in it. I remember someone mentioning the "ring of fire" and yes, bloody 'ell, I feel it. Big, impossible thing is about to happen (how, how, how can this be, how can a baby come out of me?!). I feel the head, water breaks, another push. I hear "the head is out" and know there's not much more to go. Another push and it's out. The whole little body is out. I give my self a moment of rest on the ball. We don't know if it's a boy or a girl, midwife asks Chris to look. "I think it's a girl," he says. I move from the ball onto my knees. There, indeed, is a little baby girl on the floor. "Can I pick her up? Does she need a clean up?" she looks way too slippery to me. "No clean up, that stuff absorbs back into the skin. Pick her up, if you want!"
And I do.
Friday, July 08, 2011
Resurrection Attempt
My wordpress blog that so carefully tracked my pregnancy has expired, but I managed to save the posts. When the tot is asleep and/or husband can watch him, I'll recreate it here. In the meantime, I have another belly to love and care for, albeit, that should soon be over too and we will become a family of four.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Local fauna
On Saturdays, we go to Grand Army Plaza Greenmarket. It’s some 20+ minutes walking for us, so I sometimes count it towards my daily exercise. We are there to get our free-range milk and eggs and peek into the grass-fed meat coolers (‘next week’ – we usually say. My overwhelming hunger and distaste for tofu has me contemplating eating a cow, or at least a small part of one). Sometimes we go home with some apples, tomatoes and swiss chard (that just ends up wilting in our vegetable crisper next to all the beer Chris will drink over the next few days and complain how he can’t get to it because of the greens).
Chris, again, has me doubled over with laughter: I have to hold my belly in fear I’m shaking Twitchy too much. It’s Park Slope at its quintessence. A couple is walking towards us.
- Here we have a sample of our species, Slopus Impregnatus. This specimen is a typical sample, looking like a beautiful woman in a sun-dress who apparently swallowed a basketball accompanied with a man with a dumbfounded expression on his face. And over there, it’s a cousin of it, they are in the same genus: it’s the popular Slopus Contraceptivus. Sometimes it will turn out that what you thought was Slopus Contraceptivus is actually Slopus Impregnatus, but it’s best not to make any assumptions.
How can I possibly be grumpy, hormones messing with me or not?
Friday, June 20, 2008
Week 17
Belly looking bigger. Less and less variations from day to day though. Maybe it's not just being bloated, maybe the avocado-sized baby needs a melon-sized uterus?
Sunday, June 15, 2008
My blog has moved to my website, even if I do enjoy this design...
www.wonder-ing-land.com
Maybe this becomes something else soon.
Alisa
www.wonder-ing-land.com
Maybe this becomes something else soon.
Alisa
Sunday, May 25, 2008
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