He's here! That little wad of Critter baby that I'd been cooking finally arrived, at 41 weeks, exactly, on August 9, 2013. Weighing in 7 lbs, 6 oz, THE CRITTER met the challenge of birth and fought me for a good 11 plus hours from our arrival at the birthing center, but contractions actually started about 6 hours before that.... But rather than repeat myself here, I'll just paste the email I sent to family (with some edits and additions) after labor was all said and done and the next challenges had set in.
Hi all,
Please forgive the mass email, as it just makes the update easier.
To
start, baby boy Critter has, by all outward appearances, been
thriving. He was born at the hospital soon after we got transferred from the
birthing center, where we'd initially planned for a completely natural birth. Yup, due to decelerations in his heart rate at the end
of each contraction, we ended up one of those rare cases that was too
risky to stay the course without hospital monitoring. Turns out, his
cord was wrapped around his neck, so kudos to the midwives for making
that call! Admittedly, at the mention of the need for hospital transfer while
I was in what seemed to be an eternal transition period (PAIN), my thinking
was split (much like my body was feeling): "What?? Huh?? Really?? But..." (read into this as worry,
concern, anxiety, and most definitely panic). Simultaneously, the other
half of my thinking was "Yes, DRUGS!"
So I got my first ride in an ambulance, complete with oxygen
to address hyperventilation that I couldn't, for the life of me, get a
hold of on my own. Deep breathing and zen, my ass. I was shaking
uncontrollably and losing it. Cheeks and hands were numb, and talking myself down seemed a whole lot more possible in the imaginary, fictional easy birth realm. All the while, the poor paramedic, just
trying to do his job kept asking me impossible questions: "When's your
birthday? What's your social? What's your address?" In that moment, he
might as well have been asking for the precise number of hairs on my
head or to recite lines from obscure Shakespeare. Somehow, I must've
spat out the needed information though, because he did let me out into
the capable hands of the hospital upon our arrival. He did not give up
and chuck me out the back of the vehicle for being difficult.
From there, I was wheeled to my first very own hospital bed
where my water FINALLY broke as soon as they got me on it. There, they
told me it was probably "only a couple more hours." No. Body was trying
to push, staff was telling me not to. Impossible not to push, but
nothing was happening except, you know, pain. "Um, just so... (ouch)
you... (wheeze) all know, I'm no longer... (grunt) opposed... (OOOOOUCH)
to drugs. What are... (whimper) my options?" A lifetime later (probably
more like 20-30 minutes), I received an epidural. It didn't take long
for the clock to no longer feel like it was submerged in thick molasses.
Time was back to normal, I couldn't feel my butt or anything else for
that matter, and within literal minutes (rather than the hours the staff was quoting) our little pink, slimy, slippery
baby boy finally made his debut into the world and into my arms. Seven
pounds, six ounces. Nineteen and a half inches long. RED hair! Our
perfect little boy, of course, melted both Sunshine's heart and mine. He, by
the way, was amazing the whole way through. Augustus and I are very
lucky to have him.
A little about my wonderful husband through the process: He stayed up with me from 2:30 am, on, timing my contractions and contacting the birthing center when my contractions started piling up on each other. He was the only person I wanted with me, other than the midwives (and what turned out to be a whole team of hospital staff). He held my hair when I puked. He offered to help me go to the bathroom (somehow my modesty remained partially in tact when it came to attempting to poop on the toilet!). He patiently held my IV bag while I slowly dosey doed endless circles around him in the birthing room. He tried to make me laugh to take my mind off the pain. He whispered sweet, encouraging words. He held me. He dealt with staff. He kept me warm. He tended to my mother, and held the ground for me that no one else--including her--would be permitted in the labor room and in the hospital. And, not once then nor since then has he made a single comment about the multitude of hideous faces, noises, smells, leakages, crying, and panic he experienced while holding the world together for me. And then, as our sweet boy was nestled into my arms, I got to look up and see the most beautiful tears in his eyes as he looked down at what we'd just brought into the world.
Although, I think he's still adjusting to the shock that our perfect little guy is a ginger. We're thinking, if he maintains the red, we'll get to give him his granduncle's (grandfather's brother?) nickname: BRICK!
Fast forward to today, and we're all a little worn out after
an emergency appointment with the pediatrician yesterday. He's been
eating well, he's growing like a weed (already up to 8 lb 1 oz, 20
inches) no jaundice, and seemingly normal everything else too. But, his
enzyme and DNA tests came back positive for a rare genetic disorder
called galactosemia, so... well... we're trying not to freak out. Adjusting our hopes and dreams and expectations to account for
possible developmental delays and health issues has hit us pretty hard
, but
we're
hopeful that little man, given the distinct lack of symptoms, has a mild
version and can therefore be spared the more severe potential lifelong
challenges and effects related to it. We've been doing our own research
online (for better or worse), but we'll also be calling the specialist
on Monday to make an appointment to learn more about what we might
realistically expect for now as well as in the long run.
In the meantime, we have been well informed that the only
"treatment" for him is soy formula. No milk of any kind from any source.
Needless to say, with as much as he was eating before, Augustus and I
are both pretty torn apart with the shutting down of the 24 hour boob
diner. We're adjusting though. He roots. I cry and attempt words of
encouragement for both of us. I give him his bottle of soy swill. He
scowls, spits it out, and wears more of it than he drinks. Then we're
crying together. Yeah, mother-son solidarity! I will say, though, he
sleeps really well when he finishes crying, and my skin has that
special, puffy glow only achieved through excessive weeping. So there's a
silver lining? And then, of course, there's Rand. He's just as worried
as I am, and still just as wonderful as ever. I think his silver lining
is that now he doesn't have to give up holding his son just 'cause he
can't offer him a nourishing boobie when he's hungry. He can feed
Augustus just as... ahem... easily as I can.
So, that's it in a large nutshell. We'll keep you posted on
little man's prognosis. In the meantime, the pediatrician we saw was NO help at all, as she just responded to my questions with "you'll have to ask the specialist," and the specialist was probably going to take at least weeks to see! So, I'm still pumping to keep milk
production up, just in case his condition is mild enough to continue
with some breastfeeding. I mean, not to be too uptight or anything, but what would have been so hard about informing me that it COULD be mild and I should keep milk production up, just in case? I had to decide to keep it up, based on my own research because I'd rather keep pumping and have to dump it all
than stop only to find out that I could've still fed him a little.
Anyhow, perhaps this email is filled with TMI,
but it's where we find ourselves right now. Hunkering down and holding
it together 'til we find our footing and effectively adjust our
expectations.
Thank you all for your well wishes and support, we hope
everyone is doing great; and, Wedgie, I want to drive out to see you
first chance I get!
Lots of love and gratitude,
hatchetface
P.S. Here's one of the websites with some good info:
http://ghr.nlm.nih.gov/condition/galactosemia
Current update: I'm going to do my best not to see that particular doctor again. Nincompoopery! As it turns out his condition IS mild. As in, super mild. As in, he's ONLY A CARRIER and they don't think he has the active form of the disorder. I'm SO grateful to the specialist's office for being so prompt in analyzing his test results and getting back to me. I talked to his scheduler and told her I'm still pumping, and it seems she immediately jumped on top of getting me the info I needed. I haven't even seen the specialist she works for yet, but they've got me back on partial breastfeeding to test his system before going full boob again. The way things are looking, we probably won't even NEED to see him. Hooray! 24 hour boob diner is back in business!
And then there's this pic with Grandma. A picture can speak a thousand words, right? We're pretty sure this is more or less how Critter was positioned most of his time in the womb. What you can't see is the other knee sticking up; and he usually has both hands up at his face, one of which I frequently felt graze, tickle, and even seemingly squeeze the hell out of my bladder.
A few weeks before Critter was born, Sunshine asked me for a candid response, once little man arrived, to a question about love. Even though he already has a daughter with his ex wife, he wanted to know if, in fact, the love for partner (him) really does diminish when compared to the new, overwhelming love of a child. I've heard from other women before that the partner/husband essentially becomes chopped liver once the baby arrives, but, honestly, I think there's probably something amiss in those relationships. Critter has, in fact, given new light and a never before experienced overwhelming love to my world, but it has in no way negatively impacted my feelings for my husband. Rather, it has intensified my feelings toward him. Before Critter (can we call this BC?), I feel like I fell a little more in love with Sunshine every day; and now that Critter is here, the rate at which my love and gratitude grow seems to have an exponential acceleration.
That's not to say I haven't been dive bombed by insecurity birds or had the irrational, fearful hobgoblins scratching around chaotically in my mind, especially when dead tired. It doesn't mean we won't have our challenges and disagreements.
It DOES mean I miss him when one or the other of us can't come to bed because we're tending to our son. It means we're navigating a major shift in family dynamics. It also means I adore and respect him for being my partner in this amazing, and sometimes challenging, journey.
With the exception of the momentary terror that my son might be sick, and all that would have gone with that possibility, I have to say it's not a bad way to pass go these days.
