preparing for birth

things got very real at my 36 week visit yesterday when the midwife asked if i had already thought about a plan for if baby comes early. it's not uncommon for the second child to be born before their due date, so i didn't think much of her question and casually replied that yes, i know how to recognize early labor symptoms. but that's not what she meant. "no, have you discussed what to do if the baby comes before we get there?" ummm. i knew that labor can progress a lot faster with baby no. 2, but so fast that andy and i might have to go at it entirely alone? i had NOT thought about that.

the decision for a home birth came late in my first pregnancy and was (surprisingly) met with only a little resistance from andy. it hadn't occurred to me until the dozenth trip to the birthing center for my regular prenatal visits that those 45+ minutes in a car might be especially tedious once i was in labor. and when a tour of the birthing rooms at the center revealed that they weren't much different than my own bedroom, a home birth just seemed to make the most sense to me.

that is not to say that deciding to have a home birth was an easy choice to make. to be honest, i actually felt a bit self-conscious telling people about my decision, weary of the assumptions they might make. i feared that it put off an air of superiority or projected some sense of privilege (but that was just me projecting my own insecurities). the truth is that i've always had a holistic approach to living and a home birth seemed to fit so well in line with that philosophy. as it came to be, august's birth was a positive experience and so solidified that the next time, there would be no decision to be made. 

as i approach these final weeks of pregnancy, i am acutely aware that labor and birth is imminent and i would be lying if i didn't admit that i have anxiety about it. in moments of doubt and fear though, i find comfort in the memory of my previous birth experience. it was a long and laborous (ha!), but it was also one of the most empowering and enriching experiences. knowing that i will be in my own home environment, surrounded by the people and things that i love and that this baby will come to know and love, makes birth seem so much less intimidating. 

april 25th

last weekend was gripping and emotional and completely joyous. on saturday evening, another bright soul joined the world: my nephew, francis aaron.

the *plan* was for me to be there for his birth as i was for his sister, ada's. i was supposed be the one who was going to support my sister through the early stages of labor and provide relief to her husband whenever he needed a break. i had spent weeks imagining myself applying counter pressure to her lower back, giving her sips of cherry juice for energy, and coaching her through every contraction. i day dreamed about that moment when she'd bring light to another little life and what a privilege it would be to witness that miracle again. but babies do not operate by time tables or estimated due dates and as my mother's obstetrician always used to tell her, "the apple will fall from the tree when it is ripe".

instead, i spent the weekend working on a gift for little francis and before i could even finish sewing the bodice to the pants, he was already swaddled and nuzzling his mama's chest. i'll get to meet the newest addition to the family in another week when i'll take the time off i requested months ago and hop the flight i scheduled weeks in advance. my role will not be as supporting birth partner, but will instead be to make sure my sister is getting the rest she needs, that she is giving her baby the attention and nurturing only she can provide, and helping her other two children feel just as special and loved as they've always felt.

in honor of this exciting news and mother's day, which is quickly approaching and coincides so well with francis' birth, i will be featuring a few of my favorite and most inspiring mamas over here next week. new, veteran, future, hopeful, single, or surrogate, i think it's important to recognize all the amazing women out there with mother's hearts. in this life, we are lucky to have such incredible female role models all around us.

good work, claudin and welcome baby francis!

happy birthday august

i had to use our son as leverage to get andy to agree to share his take on august's birth story. "c'mon," i told him "it could be your brithday gift to him. PLUS, in [my mother's home country] bolivia, we celebrate mother's day on the 27th of may" {two birds, one stone. you know?} appartenly my argument was compelling enough to result in the tale below.

For a control freak, I’ve lost anything that might resemble sure-footing. Where could I possibly start... well, first, August’s birth. Luci wouldn’t let me plan the birth that I wanted. I clearly recall saying, “you know we’re right in the thick of baseball season, and, while the Tribe can’t win the division in May, they can certainly lose it. What do you say we put the ballgame on in the background?”

Crickets.

Secondly, Luci planned the mixed tape - a 10 hour barrage of Abba, looped, with calming whale noises that were sliced into the more subdued anthems. “What about J.T., Lorde, Shakira or Pit Bull,” I said. “I want our son to get his bearings right away - “Yeah Dada, this issss 2013, isn’t it?”” (yes, that’s a double quotation mark).

Crickets.

Third, there was no pinata. Hmmmmm... I’m just curious, but what kind of celebration is this?

Crickets.

Now that I’ve got that out of my system, I’d like to tell you about the birth of my son August, through an already fading memory of a new dad, a year to the day he was born.

The day really started the day before, when Luci woke up to light contractions and I thought I’d be a father by my second whiskey (roughly noon). Claudin had been with us since the night before, and I recall looking toward her for signs that this was really it. If she thought it was going to happen that day, her calm disposition never suggested it. That day unfolded without anymore contractions; it was a good “false-start,” allowing me to line up again and prepare for the race.
I woke up the next morning, which was truly the day, to my wife shuffling around the living room and kitchen - the way that a Duck-dog does - which we named “clicky-clacky” from the noise her nails make on the faux wooden floors. Luci had been clicky-clacking for an hour or so and I roused to see what she was up to.“I’ve been having light contractions for the last few hours” she said. This was not another false start, this was to be the day.

August came one day prior to his official due date, and I’d like to take a moment here to applaud him on the timeliness of his very first task in life. My mother says that “being early is being on-time.” When we were children, my father would invariably show up at the airport at least two hours before the flight time, and this was before the heightened security after 911. I still try to abide by the virtue of such timeliness, a gene that was surely passed on with my Y chromosome. As for Luci's family... lets just say there is a distinctive lack of a timeliness gene.

Claudin got up and I got up. Luci drew a bath and put on the music she’d planned for the day. I made Claudin a coffee, one for myself as well, and she began to set up for the midwife and doula.

I called the midwife to alert her to Luci’s condition, and I could tell that I woke her up. I guess I was a little surprised when she sounded non-enthusiastic and tired, I mean come-on, another perfect stranger is about to have a baby!! She told me to look for the signs of progression, and give her a call back when Luci started to get nearer. She hit the snooze.

The next two hours reminded me of when Luci and I first started dating. I always wanted to call her, but didn’t want to come off as needy or pushy, so I wouldn’t call her... call her much that is. I did however always have the phone in my hands. Like then, I was walking circles around the house with the phone in hand, just waiting to call the midwife, or for her to call me. Finally, I saw a change in Luci’s demeanor. I called the midwife.

Luci jumped into a next stage. She became quasi-despondent, and get this: she wouldn’t laugh at my jokes?? I knew things were progressing. I felt it.

When the midwife and doula arrived, we made our introductions, and then got to work. They did their thing with Luci, and Claudin was cooler than any cucumber I’ve every met, all clicky-clacky around the house just doing her thing. They all made me feel like my wife is taken care of, and I adopted their coolness. So, I made coffees for the new company, I cracked a beer for myself, ohhhhh baby, I get it, this is a celebration!

Then Luci received the midwife’s assessment from her exam, and, the news was not well received. She was only 2 cm dilated. I know my wife, she’s got a very high threshold for pain, and she was already in a lot of pain for just 2 cm!

Well, the party pooper just came through the door and pooped all over my party, the celebration was OVER; and what happened over the next few hours meshed into one solid memory of nerves, exhaustion, exhaustion, and exhaustion, but above all, I wished more than anything, I could take the pain for Luci.

Referring back to the opening sentence, I am a control freak, and I was fully out of control.

For the next few hours, we were on our bed, rolling back on our sides between contractions -  the final stage. I’d stroke her damp hair out of her eyes and tell her what a job she’s doing: an amazing wife. As the next contraction started, we’d pop back up like “tip-up” ice fishing flags and start all over again. 90% of the time I’d lie to her and tell her what great progress was made with that last push, and then 10% of the time, I’d see actual progress, which was just enough to keep me from “going off the deep-end.”

During the last stage, I forgot the end-game. I forgot that my son was on the way. The effort to try to do whatever Luci needed, the effort to quash my emotions, and the effort to “think happy thoughts” made me forget.

But after seeing the top of his head for a half-an-hour, August was born a healthy baby. Luci was healthy too, and all was right in the world.

August slept on my chest for the first night. I would look at him and think of so many things that not a single clear thought actually prevailed, they just all bumped into each other as my mind buzzed. It all came to a head, and I was, and am now, a proud father.

Happy Birthday August.

don't be fooled, what andy decribes with light-hearted humour could only be told this way with the buffer of one year from when the event took place. in my vague recollection, he was more nervous/excited/anxious/supportive than i've ever known him to be. in the six years prior to our son's birth, i thought i'd seen all there was to andy, but the love and pride that he's shown to both august and i in the last year has surpassed even my wildest dreams. thank you, andy for indulging me and sharing your story.  

memorial day {and the anniversary of a birth}

some time soon after august came into the world, i heard music. not like choirs of angels singing, but actual music streaming on pandora radio.

the station was probably playing throughout the entire labor {"a chill ambiance" was part of my birth plan}, but i don’t remember hearing anything other than my own low rhythmic moaning until after august was born. once everything was still and i was holding my new baby though, music became apparent and the first song i remember hearing was the neighborhood's sweater weather.

it’s incredible how the senses are tied to memory. they're just basic triggers set off by a smell, a taste, or a sound, but they can conjure up the past in an instant. what is really amazing about the link between sense and memory is that while details of the past are vague, the recollection is inexplicably real. there is this feeling of nostalgia and emotion that takes your mind back to that place in time in a way that is indescribable.

a lot of my memories are connected to music. sam cooke, for example, brings me back to the summer before middle school, when my sisters and i had to whitewash the fence that perimetered our house. citizen cope, on the other hand, sparks emotions from the winter andy and i started dating, when we'd stay up talking late into the night while sitting on this ugly faux-fur covered futon he had. ryan adams vividly reminds me of when we lived colorado and regularly took weekend drives into estes park. and the neighborhood, well, the neighborhood will always be the day august was born.

when i think about that day, i almost forget about the labor and birth. instead, i think of a grey cashmere sweater. nay, i feel that sweater, cozy and warm on my skin {obviously some of the song's lyrics influenced my association with the day}. i think part of the reason sweater weather stands out in my memory is because of how the "mood" of the song fit the atmosphere of that moment. everything was soft and quiet in the first hours of august's life: the evening light that filtered through the bedroom window, the downy hair that covered his body, the cotton muslin swaddled around him, his tiny dinosaur noises, and the music that slowly streamed throughout the house.

memorial day is this coming monday - august was born on that date last year - so in honor of his birth and to help kick off your holiday weekend i've linked the song here for your listening pleasure.

have a great time celebrating the beginning of summer and i hope that wherever you are, it's warm enough that you won't be needing a sweater. ha!

On Nursing

Hi. So this post is a bit, um, revealing.  I want to be open about the topic of nursing because well, it's totally natural. But it can be a taboo issue. I know, in this day and age? Yup, a woman's bosom still makes some people squeamish. Unfortunately, I think the association will always be sexual; "breasts" are "boobs" and boobs are lusty. Despite that, I'm willing to write about my experience breastfeeding (with a certain amount of modesty, of course). I mean, I hardly know you. bat, bat, bat. *blush*  So please go easy on me as I bear my, er, soul and please avoid the temptation to direct conversation to my breasts next time we have a casual run-in. 

When I was pregnant, breastfeeding was not something I really thought about. More weighty on my mind were the day-to-day changes going on with my body and, of course, the actual childbirth. I knew that I wanted to nurse and for as long as possible, but that was about it. For me, it was an afterthought that didn't require attention until my baby had already arrived. One step at a time. Get through delivery, then worry about how you're going to care for him. "Mother's instinct" should get you pretty far on your own, I reasoned.  Kinda backwards, I know. We did cover newborn care in our birth classes, so I had a bit of that knowledge. And I did have resources in the way of my older sisters, who had all nursed their children. So with the combination of those two, I figured I had the elemental information needed to make my way through the rest.

I knew that there were loads of advantages to breastfeeding, that went beyond basic nutrition. I also learned that in addition to providing baby with the essential vitamins and nutrients required for early development, a mother's milk also can also protect her baby from a long list of illnesses. Breastfed babies are also less likely to develop allergies or become obese. Nursing also lowers the baby's risk of SIDS and reduces the chances of a woman developing postpartum depression, as well as some types of cancer. As if those benefits weren't enough, it is also cheaper than buying formula and way easier than preparing bottles(as long as you're with baby). Plus, I'm an organic kind of gal and it's all natural so, you know. What I hadn't considered were the logistics. I had the what and why but was missing the how, when, and where (listed in order of complication).

HOW: Things were tenuous at first. It was a case of the blind leading the blind with 'little a' and I. You know that party game where one player has their hands tied behind their back while the other player is blindfolded and has to spoon feed the restrained one? That was us in the beginning: him, voraciously rooting and me clumsily attempting at a latch. We made a meager connection though and, much to my peace of mind, it was validated by soiled diapers. But then, at his first pediatric check-up, 'little a' had lost nearly 12% of his initial birth weight. Clunk. My heart fell to the bottom of my stomach. Clearly, I wasn't doing something quite right. It wasn't for lack of milk that he lost the weight though - I was engorged from an oversupply (which, by the way, ranks right up under the actual birth in terms of pain). Our challenge was in the delivery and consumption of the goods. I was like one of those Hula Girl Dashboard Dolls with a coconut bra, only I couldn't enjoy the connotation of that analogy because my little, weak-jawed baby didn't have the strength to crack the hard shell containing the sweet, sweet life-sustaining milk. I'm not going to put it all on him though. It was, after all, my cups that runneth over. I just had NO idea how to handle the spillage. We needed some help. Enter my multi-talented pediatrician/lactation consultant. (A twofer!) She was attentive and encouraging - all essential traits in the kind of people you want to surround yourself with if you plan on nursing. I was ready to abandon my convictions about exclusively breastfeeding because let's face it, when it comes down to your child's safety or health, all goes out the window. But thanks to her and the rest of my support-group, I didn't have to make that compromise. Turns out the solution was simple: the boy needed a straw. Let's just say that the puzzle pieces weren't fitting quite right, anatomically speaking. So we left her office armed with a breast pump and a nipple shield and, long story short, 'little a' was not only back to his birth weight in five quick days, but well beyond it by his follow-up visit. 

The next challenge was ensuring 'little a' was getting the nourishment he needed. Since breasts don't come with ounce measurements tattooed on the side, I had no idea how much he was consuming. As long as he was healthy and gaining weight at his checkups, I knew he was getting enough. But what about between doctor's visits? It's hard to quantify how much he's getting when it goes straight from the source into his mouth. I had to rely on other indicators. I already mentioned how output is a good, tangible measurement. If your trashcan is overflowing with little stinky packages, then baby is probably getting the food he needs. Mood is another reliable indicator - a happy baby is usually a satiated baby. A baby's animations are another thing to pay attention to. If he's still hungry, 'little a' will cover my chest with drool while his open mouth desperately searches for more food. If he's had enough, I'm covered in milk that has dribbled out the side of his mouth or he's spit up. Either way it's a sticky mess. When energy levels begin to run low, 'little a' will also give warning signs like dinosaur noises. Ignore them and he resorts to crying out his demands. That's what's amazing about babies; they're actually GREAT communicators. We adults just need to learn to speak their language and pick up on their cues, which can be subtle at times. Fathers should be at an advantage because women expect men to read our minds all the time - you guys should be used to it. 
 
WHEN: Again I have to give credit to my pediatrician here. She suggested an aggressive feeding schedule during the day and one that was more strung out at night. That way, 'little a' would learn to differentiate between night and day. When it's light, we're up and eating; when it's dark we're tired and sleeping. But that mean nursing every two hours during the waking hours, which gave me all of forty-five minutes detached from the little sucker (a term I now endearingly use, but which may have been said with the slightest hint of sarcasm at the time). On the flip side, I'm pretty sure 'little a' was more than annoyed by my constant disruption of his napping. But it was a very logical schedule and an effective one too because he was sleeping 4.5 hour stretches at night as a two-week old. Baby thinks; Good God, Woman. Can't a baby get some sleep around here? I'm DONE with your milk. Get off my grill.  And so, at the end of the day, baby is happy to finally be left alone to sleep. Now that 'little a' is more sturdy, we're at 3.5 hours between daytime feedings and a full seven hours at night. What's more amazing is that his and my bodies have synced up too. In other words, supply meets demand. I can tell the time of day merely by groping myself. Squeeze, squeeze. Yup, it's 7 o'clock. The boy must be getting hungry. As he continues to grow, he's become more efficient too, so what used to take us 45-60 minutes, is now accomplished in twenty. 
 
WHERE: I defer to Hollie McNish who says it more poetically and poignantly that I ever could. Her delivery was so well done, it gave me goosebumps. Watch it. 

The stages of milk induced coma

There is SO much more I could write about with regards to breastfeeding, which would probably make for an obscenely robust post so instead, I highly recommend Start Here: Breastfeeding and Infant Care with Humor and Common Sense, which was written by my pediatrician. (I know, I thought the same thing: Geeze, she's published too?) I read it cover-to-cover during a couple of nighttime nursing sessions and now I unabashedly endorse it. There are so many commonsensical pearls of wisdom in there, that it's sure to address any situation.

3 months

 
So we've been having this ongoing debate at home about when to celebrate Auggie's monthly milestones. I thought it should be counted by number of weeks, so twelve weeks = three months. But Andy has firmly held to using calendar months, e.i. May 27th, June 27th, July 27th, etc. My argument is based on the unspoken rule that you're supposed to continue using weeks to count a baby's age until they're one and then it goes to months until age two, and then you can simplify to just years. I have to admit though that even though my pregnancy was tracked in those increments, I still have a hard time thinking in weeks. Funny side story: a women stopped me at the grocery store to ask how old my baby was and I fumbled over my words before saying "Two and a half..." And she looked quizzically at me before I clarified, "Months!" Then she furrowed her brow and corrected, "Ohhh, ten weeks". Yeah, I'm a new mom. Cut me some slack, Lady. Anyway, I have finally conceded to Andy - not so much because he's right but because I've been in over my head lately and last week, I had nothing. His logic bought me more a few more days. Be that as it may, here's what's new with Auggie-baby:

• He's starting to seem less like a baby and more of a little boy - I can hear it in his voice. That quivering wail of a new born is gone from his cry. He's got stronger pipes and he's trying SO hard to use them to speak. We get your classic "goo" but even more than that, he's rolling his tongue around in his mouth like he's trying to form actual phrases. And he focuses so hard on our mouths when we speak that sometimes I think he's almost got it.
• On that same note, he's said his first word! Yes, our three-month old is a genius. He said his name: Ah-gheeee
• He's got great neck strength and can pretty much hold his head up, but just like any rigorous workout would do, it wears him out and then, his head starts to bobble and droop. He's also started stomping his feet when you hold him on your lap so, pair the two and you've got a spot-on imitation of the "Weekend at Bernie's" dance.
• There are moments throughout the day when he's just totally content and quiet. No talking, no arms or legs flailing, no snoozing. Instead, he's intently staring at his hands, inches away from his face, with fingers tip-to-tip. He's scheming, I know it. What sort of devious plan he's devising, I do not know, but I don't trust it one bit.
• He is TOTALLY crushing on his fist. The boy just luuuvs to stick it in his mouth and slime it up with drool. I'm not hurrying to see him with a girl or anything, and I certainly don't want him getting all lovey-dovey with one any time soon, but he better get that slobbering under control lest he scare all the good ones away for being a bad kisser. Just saying.

The Bradley Bunch

We went on a trip down (short-term) Memory Lane this week when Andy and I were invited back to our birth instructor's house to share August's story with her new class of soon-to-be's. If you're thinking, Psht! Brownnose. To that I say, "Why yes, yes I am." I will very proudly own that title if it gives me the opportunity to impart some wisdom on future parents and "share the wealth" (if you can call my knowledge that). Mostly though, I'm so freakin' jazzed about my whole experience that I can't shut up about it. You guys, it was the most empowering, challenging, intense, emotional, and awe-inspiring thing I've ever done. And what's the point of doing something if you can't share it with others? Personal fulfillment? Maybe. But my thinking is that this stuff is so good, you've GOT to try it.

It wasn't so long ago that I was scared out of mind about the physical act of bringing a child into the world and now that my baby and I have triumphantly come out on the other side (him, literally and me, more figuratively), I am happy to provide any information that might make a couple more comfortable about the whole shabangabang.

So quick back story: In the years between marriage and conception, I was so uninterested in babyhood. Call it youngest child syndrome - which is just a euphemism for immaturity - but, I considered myself too selfish yet for the job and needed more time to ripen. It wasn't an anti-children thing; I had six nieces and nephews at the time. Loved 'em all. But I could always hand them back to mom and dad when I was done. Can't do that with your own. 

When my twin sister had her first child it hit me, Well, it's not like I don't want children and I AM almost thirty... Besides, Claudin is doing all right. One perk of being the youngest (and less confident) twin is that she's been my "Guinea pig". Seriously though, I've always admired Claudin's courage and am often inspired by her. It should be of no surprise then that when I witnessed the birth of her second that my fascination with pregnancy was also born. By the time I was expecting, I was all in. I was fanatical about researching my condition and with each bit of knowledge I became more fascinated with the whole process. I admired what my body was doing and steadily grew curious of what else it was capable of. 

Right on point, Claudin recommended taking a course in the Bradley Method of childbirth, which suited the nerd in me because it is twelve weeks long - aka an ENTIRE trimester. (Andy about lost his shit when he found that out.) I kid. But only about the former statement because, at first, Andy really did raise a stink about three months of baby classes. The real reasons I chose the Bradley way were because 1) it's based on the thought that childbirth is a normal process and with the proper preparations, most women are able to avoid medical inventions during labor and delivery and 2) it emphasizes teaching partners on how to be effective coaches. Ding, ding, ding! Preparation and Coaching. What could be more appropriate for a former student-athlete? What we learned during those birthing sessions not only contributed to my physical and mental confidence, but put me in the running for "Most Likely to Succeed" (along with "Teacher's Pet"). Coach Andy, by the way, was a shoo-in for "Class Clown."

When my teacher contacted me about the guest appearance, I was all about it. Part of the deal was: "You get to tell your tale and then we get to lambaste you with questions." Deal! I'm down with making everyone privy to our experiences as new parents. Full disclosure. After a quick introduction, I took off with my lengthy narrative, which was then followed by Q&A. The first couple of questions were about laboring techniques and pain management. I gave a list of positions I used to manage the labor pains, along with my take on what was effective and what wasn't. Basically, you want gravity working in your favor to get baby traveling in the right direction, so walking, squatting, slow-dancing are all good examples. Also, as a woman progresses through the stages of labor, some positions may feel better than others. That's why it's good to keep trying different ones and switching things up. For example, I loved being on all fours and swaying in the early part of labor, but once the contractions were strong and I was ready to push, it was the last thing I wanted (and I emphatically let the entire birth team know when they tried getting me back into it.) Communication is key.

Another question I got was on the physical recovery from birth and postpartum activity. My stance in that regard is that you should work backwards out of pregnancy for nine months, they way you worked into it. In other words, the things you were doing in the third trimester, you should continue doing in the three months following birth (the fourth trimester); what you do in the fifth trimester should mirror what you were doing in the second; and the sixth will be like the first. That includes diet, physical activity, rest, etc. It just makes so much sense to me that way and it's what I've been doing. I hardly ran the last two weeks before Auggie was born and after he came, I didn't do a thing for two weeks. Then I started walking and after a month, I worked runs in a couple of times during the week. Now that we're nearly four months removed, I'm comfortable and strong enough to get five short runs in weekly. Nutritionally, I'm still taking my prenatal vitamins and limiting the consumption of certain things like caffeine, alcohol, dairy, and nuts. And I'm doing the best I can with sleep, taking naps, and getting to bed early. Luckily, I've got a cooperative baby who lets me have six hours uninterrupted at night. By addressing the FAQs I felt like we weren't leaving those couples to re-invent the wheel. If I had developed the clunky solid wheel, then they could improve it by adding spokes.

We addressed so many of the pregnancy questions that we barely got to touch on postpartum issues though and since that's where I'm at right now, it's more fresh in my mind than the birth stuff. There's some valuable material that I really wanted to share, particularly regarding breastfeeding. Then I thought that if I couldn't do it in class, then I could, at least share it here. With that said and at the risk of losing a bunch of you dear readers in the next couple of posts, I plan to finally get some things off my chest so peep back soon! (Unbelievable, double pun!)

"Where do babies come from? Well. I think a stork, he umm, he drops it down and then, and then, a hole goes in your body and there's blood everywhere, coming out of your head and then you push your belly button and then your butt falls off and then you hold your butt and you have to dig and you find the little baby." -Knocked Up

This post is not endorsed and I'm not trying to push the Bradley product on anyone. I don't mean to idealize natural childbirth and don't claim it to be THE way for all women. I know and totally appreciate how each woman is different and every situation (even when pertaining to the same woman) is unique, but by being open and honest maybe there could be something for everyone to take away for their benefit. These are just my humble thoughts and should be taken with a grain of salt. Most of all it's been provided for your entertainment and probably a bit to my husband's embarrassment.

Back to school, I mean, work

Alas! After twelve glorious weeks, my maternity leave has come to an end. Once I got all my worries and complaints out and off the proverbial chest, I felt much better about returning to work. So I brushed the dust off, smoothed my shirt down, and with a deep breath, took my first assertive steps out the door: Baby care instructions for grandma, check! HR paperwork, check! Clean and press clothes, check and check! As I prepared for my first day back, marking boxes off the good ol' "To Do" list, I started to feel more and more ready. Heck, I was almost even excited. Kind of like when I was a kid and summer sizzled to an end; although it was sad to see those lazy, hazy days go, I was sort of, well, over it. At a certain point, you become numb to the monotony, you know? And this is exactly how I was (not) feeling about staying at home with my son. Remember, I'm trying to pump myself up and that sometime requires delusional coercion. 

But in all seriousness, I got some great advice and encouragement from family and friends, which helped me to realize everything will be fine. I felt mentally and emotionally prepared. And I was totally fine... until this morning. Everything was set to go and as I bent over his crib to kiss his sweet little forehead goodbye, I almost lost it. That's when I felt the vice grip around my throat tighten. Holy crap. I. am going to. cry! For the love of all things, keep it together, woman! Back away from the baby. I slowly retreated, fighting back the tears. It was touch-and-go there for a minute, but I stayed cool - until I went psychotic. I went through the list with grandma for the dozenth time, her nodding all the while, as if to say "Yes, yes. I know. You've already gone over this. I've got it. We'll be fine." Then, I proceeded to say good by to anything and everything in the house... twice. I think even I turned to wave goodbye to the house. It was a sorry sight.

Once I was finally on the road to the office, though, my brain switched into cruise control. I took the regular route, walked the familiar sidewalks, and rode the elevator up; just like I had hundreds of times before. And you know what? After the initial shock wore off, I fell right back into things, like time had never passed. There were even a few moments throughout the day that I forgot about the baby boy at home. Almost as if the last thirteen months never happened. It was weird. But it was oddly habitual and, in that way, comforting. It wasn't so bad after all. And since I'm only working part-time for now, the day FLEW. Before I knew it, I was giddily skipping to my car and heading back home.

When I got home, Auggie was napping,  which I was kind of relieved to find because when he's sleeping, my absence sort of doesn't count. (At least, that's what I've told myself to feel better about the six hours I was gone). Anyway, he woke up soon after I walked through the door and we had our time while I nursed him. Here's where the whole quality vs quantity idea kicks in because now I realize how valuable that time is. And not that it wasn't special before, it's just that we had SO much of it, I thought it was alright to squander it a bit. I recently came across this article though and it was a great reminder of being present in our children's lives. A reminder to unplug.  And not just from the hyper-connected, digital web we're so easily ensnared in but from all the distractions we let get in the way of real life. So those days of me sitting at the computer while nursing? They are gone. Or, at least, severely limited. I'm not going to promise there still won't be some multitasking going on  - it's inherently part of the mom thing.

So, the best part of today? Having that full-bellied, happy baby on my lap, chatting my ear off with the most zealous "goos", telling me all about his day with grandma. Instant flash-forward to an enthusiastic little boy on his first day back from school. All that was missing was a backpack strewn at the door and an empty lunchbox on the counter. Aaaaand fade out into a nostalgic Harry Chapin soundtrack: And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon... Oh boy, here come the water works again.

My boy, already in the arms of another woman.

A letter to Ada

I'm writing a present to my littlest niece, Ada, who turns one year old today. Hada [ah’-dah] means "sprite" in Spanish - though that's not why her parent's picked the name - her namesake derives from Charles Frazier's leading lady. It's translation is just a fitting coincidence because this little one is about as fanciful as something out of a fairy tale. I was there the day she was born and it was one of the most magical days of my life. I was so enchanted, in fact, that my son was conceived soon thereafter and born nine months, sixteen days later. Too much information? Shoot, I just realized that my brother probably reads this blog too. Awkward. Anyway, here's my gift to you, Adita: your birth story, as I remember it.

Ada Melisa Mangum was due to be born August 11th, 2012. That day fell on a Saturday, which couldn't have been better for me because I could only afford to take one vacation day from work to drive down for the event. Not having ever been pregnant myself, I didn't know that due dates were just estimates, so pursuant to my schedule, it meant that this little babe could not be more than two days late or my trip would have been made in vain. No pressure, Mama. Determined to ensure my niece's timely arrival, I spent all Friday going through a list of natural induction techniques with my sister: a morning run, spicy mexican for lunch, a reflexology foot massage, a walk around the mall, a glass of wine with dinner... After each one I eagerly asked, "Anything yet?" Too bad pestering wasn't on that list because otherwise she would've surely gone into labor then. The night ended uneventfully though and we each went off to bed with hopes for better results the next day. 

Apparently one of the tricks worked, though, because the day dawned early the following morning to the news that Claudin was in labor. It must've been around five a.m. when Nick came in to wake me because the first blush of day was just barely lighting the sky. It took me a minute to put everything together: Where was I? What time was it? Why was Nick's face inches away from my face? Luci, this is it. Claudin's been having contractions for an hour now. The pieces still hadn't quite connected but I jumped out of bed just the same; ready to take on whatever role was required of me. Nick told me she was in the shower so I went to their bathroom to keep her company while he made calls to the midwives and to family. I announced my presence, but Claudin didn't waste time with pleasentries and instead responded by asking me to time her contractions. There was earnestness to her voice that implied her mood: don't disturb me, I'm trying focus here. just do what I say. The contractions were already steadily coming every four minutes and lasting about 60 seconds, which would suggest she was in the later part of first stage labor, but you wouldn't know it by her poise. Now, had I already had taken birth classes, I would've recognized the emotional signpost. According to the Bradley Method, the situation was text book: her seriousness, the concentration - all the indicators that meant active labor was eminent and that we should get in the car to head to the Birth Center. But I was clueless and Nick was distracted with other tasks so the cues went unrecognized.

I helped pack Claudin's bag and scrounged around for all the ancillaries I felt we're essential to fostering a serene birth environment: scented candles, mood music, camera, snacks, a cute outfit... Nick got Charlie dressed and fixed him breakfast, going through the usual morning routines until his grandfather arrived to take over. Meanwhile, back in the bedroom, things were evolving quickly because Claudin had barely gotten out of the shower before calling me over to show a bloodied towel. Like I said, I didn't known a whole lot about labor then, but I did know that this meant that the water would break soon (if it hadn't already). She was pacing around the room and swaying at this point, trying to manage the contractions. Leaving Charlie in front of the TV and in the capable hands of Bob the Builder, Nick came back to check in. Claudin was in her own world now. She was trying to control her breathing, humming low and long on each exhale. "Um Nick, I just saw the bloody show. Doesn't that mean we should be leaving?" Almost as if on cue, Nick's dad walked through the door. We threw everything into the car and loaded up. Curious and a bit concerned, Charlie asked where we were going. I tried to explain that it was an exciting day and his little sister was coming but the promise of Bojangles biscuits and a day at O-Gandaddy's proved to be the perfect distraction, so Charlie just gave Claudin a kiss and said, "See you later, Mama".

Nick took the driver's seat and sped down the I-540 in concentrated silence, while I sat in the back with Claudin, applying counter preassure to her sacrum. If she had any energy to speak it was to tell me to push harder. I was practically vertical, with my feet against the car door, putting all my weight into her low back with the heel of my palm, all the while coaching her through the contractions which were now coming with greater frequency. Having no basis for comparison, I treated this part of labor like a long interval track workout. "Great job, Claudi, you're halfway way done. It's only going to getting easier from here and then you'll get a good rest before the next one". I'd tell her as she tensed and groaned during a rush. I could only imagine what Nick was thinking as he heard me. I hated it when people used running as an analogy for other life events and here I was, doing it. Strike One. 

We arrived at the Birth Center just in the nick of time because Claudin had hardley stepped through the threshold before one contraction in particular knocked her over. She's going to have the baby right here! I thought, but when it let up she rose and we rushed her into a room. Nick took over the supporting role and I unpacked her bag while the midwives finished preparing the room. I took out the candle and cursed myself for forgetting matches. Then I took out the CD with our carefully selected playlist and asked one of the midwives where the player was. "Let's get this baby born first", she said in a reticent tone. Strike Two. I sheepishly put it back in the bag and traded it for the camera. I still didn't get it. 

The room was odddly calm and the midwives and I practically watched in silence as Claudin and Nick so beautifully orchestrated the second stage of labor. They were professionals with all but white gloves and coattails, scooting up to the keyboard to play this beautiful masterpeice. It was like standing over Bethoven while he composed one of his famous sonatas and felt like a rude intrusion watching the two of them perform in one of life's most intimate moments. But I stood in a corner of the room with my clunky digital SLR and it's huge flash, trying to discretely capture it. Click, click, click. With each shot, I got more comfortable and soon was right up on the couple, snapping all kinds of artistic angles. "That's enough, Lu" Nick admonished. Strike Three. 

Lucky for me, it was time to push and everyone was too focused on Claudin to kick me out of the room for my insolence. She was on the bed now and Nick was supporting her from behind. I watched in awe as her muscles bulged with each contraction and the veins in her neck popped. "Breath, Claudi!" I couldn't help but say - I was so nervous she'd pass out from a lack of air. Her pushing was so effective that it only took a few efforts before we saw the baby's head. It was amazing how, despite the obvious pain, Claudin had totally yeilded to it and had opened herself up to grant passage to this new little life. In an instant, I saw the baby descend from the top of Claudin's belly, low into her pelvis, as if she had rode down a slide into the birth canal. "She's coming, I just saw her move down!"  I said with dumb excitement. Claudin made one more big push and out came Ada; less than 45 minutes after our arrival and nearly five hours from the first contraction. The sun was well up now and working its way higher into the sky, painting the day in bright colors, as if to celebrate this new animated little being. Charlie was brought to the birth center a few hours later and as I watched him crawl up on the bed to join his parents and baby sister, I was overwhelmed. And they lived happily ever after.

My friend, Renee Skelly, is obviously an excellent photographer because she's the only person who's come so close to capturing this little girl's beauty. I mean, those eyes!

Apples and oranges are still both fruit

A reader recently asked me to address the common comparison between childbirth and running a marathon now that I have done both. Well, off the bat, I can say it's a fair analogy. Both events require preparation, endurance, and optimism. And having been a runner almost all my life, the parallels were instinctual.  So I approached labor the only way I knew how: treating the nine months of pregnancy much as I would a marathon build up. Training for baby is what I called it.

The concept was particularly fitting to a person like me because I am inquisitive and assiduous by nature. I thought that if I educate myself,  "train" mentally and physically, it won't make birth any less painful, but at least, I will have done everything in my power to prepare for it. Like a diligent student, I completed each day's homework and built upon the small, yet incremental growth from the previous trimester. Like any life endeavor, it's a cumulative effort. 

I also appreciate the importance of training the mind in addition to the body. They work so cooperatively together, I'd be remiss to neglect one or the other. I knew then, that it was important to maintain a positive attitude. Like with the marathon, pregnant women encounter so much negativity and fear. Movies only ever show us woman screaming in pain, grabbing their husband's by the collar, reviling, "You did this to me!" in accusation. If we were as pessimistic about marathon running as we are about childbirth, we'd see a lot more DNFs in race results. How can you hope to do a thing if your already doubting its success before you've started?

Now, I'm not saying that trepidation is a sure route to failure. In fact, when I stood at the starting line of my first marathon, I knew it was going to be hard work and that it even might hurt. But that's a lot to bite off before twenty-six-point-two miles. So the best thing to do is just take it one step at a time. Same thing with pregnancy. You can't expect take those nine months in all at once and not be overwhelmed. Instead, you take it one day at a time because what you feel one day may be completely different the next.  

What makes the two ventures equally amazing in this is that because your body is undergoing such a drastic transformation, it communicates to you better than any other time in your life. Senses are heightened. Now whether or not you listen  to what it says is another challenge.

Of course the two are not identical and at a certain point, the analogy breaks. In all honesty though, that didn't happen until the actual moment my baby made his entrance to the world. I'm not going to sugar-coat that one. It was a whole new level of hurt. But you somehow dig deep to go beyond it. And more incredible still, is that you almost immediately forget the pain.

To me, labor was the epitome of running a marathon - every contraction was like a hill that burned on the way up but once crested, I had the other side to recover. And each "hill" brought me one step closer to my goal: my baby boy out of my belly and into my arms. Although I was exhausted and aching when I crossed the finish, it was the sweetest and most thing precious thing.


For those of you that have done both, what are your thoughts? Did having the experience in one help you in achieving the other?

A Baby Story

I wasn't going to do it. I wanted to keep it private - greedy girl that I am. I'll hide a pint of Ben & Jerry's in the depths of my freezer just so that I don't have to share with my husband, for Pete's sake. But This isn't about delicious ice cream. This about the birth of my son. One month ago to the day, actually.

It was a very intimate experience and I was only going to allow my very closest of close insight to the event. And I'll go a step further to admit that at first, I wanted to keep it hidden - like I was part of this exclusive group of mamas and ours was a secret society. I realize that reads a bit elitist and am ashamed to have even considered withholding the story because  then I got feedback from a couple of the women I sent it to - some already mothers and others far from it. In either case, these women told me that the story - in all it's honesty - made pregnancy birth less intimidating.

Hold up, wait a minute. I had a natural, med-free home birth, peoples. This is crunchy hippy stuff by most standards. In fact, during my nine months of pregnancy I got crazy-eyed stares and dubious remarks whenever I mentioned my birth plan. And now, ex post facto, I was receiving praise? Yes! Maybe it is possible that despite a lifetime of believing that childbirth required medical intervention, people can recognize that it is actually a natural human act. If my story was empowering to these women, could it do the same for others?

It was decided: every woman (that I can reach, at least) whether she is or ever wants to be a mother needs to know just how amazing our bodies are and what they're capable of. And not so that I can impose my personal choices, but so all the information is out there for her to make her own informed decision. As trusty Wiki defines "Natural childbirth is a philosophy of childbirth that is based on the belief that women who are adequately prepared are innately able to give birth without routine medical interventions".

Now, for fear of neglecting any of the fellas who might be reading, don't leave just yet. This is for you too. The whole production begins with you playing the supporting role after all ("It takes two to Tango", and what not). And its nothing to be squeemish about. Understanding how your legacy personified in this little being, gets from point A to point B, gives you the opportunity to contribute in essential ways. See, despite our belief that we can do it all, women need your help. It makes US better and gives us strength - more on this later, if anyone's interested.

In the end, each of us deals with things differently and there are many paths leading to th same destination. As long as you have a happy, healthy mama and babe when all is said and done, the rest are just details. So, without further ado, please tab on over to the Baby page for the telling of my son's birth.