I tore Mommy a new one

Apparently you can get onesies that say "I tore Mommy a new one." I thought it was cute -- well, cute in the "I can laugh about it now because my episiotomy stitches have healed" kind of way. Her father tore me apart emotionally. Michelle did physically. At 9 lbs 4 ounces she definitely made a grand entrance and they had to widen the door for her...Trying to pass a camel through the eye of a needle almost seems like it would have been easier. I was afraid to look at the stitches afterward. It was pretty terrifying the first time I had a bowel movement after labour. Being constipated just added insult to injury. It was almost like having a baby again. I was afraid to push. It really felt like I was going to tear the stitches. (Sorry, this is probably WAY too much info but these are some of the things that you don't think about before you have a baby! It's a lot to go through.) As difficult as delivery was, a very wise person warned me "Labour is the easy part. Wait til you have a new baby to take care of!"

Nothing could have prepared me for what was to come. When I first brought her home (actually my sister was kind enough to let us stay at her place so I wasn't completely alone for the first week or so) she barely slept and was feeding about every hour or so. I was beyond exhausted, depleted, sore, spent. Breastfeeding was far more difficult than I could have imagined. My sister said that most of the women she knew who gave their babies formula had given up on breastfeeding because they couldn't stand the pain. Someone told me that your nipples toughen up eventually, I guess the same way that fingers become tough and callused after playing guitar for a while. My poor nipples went through Hell in the first few days. I was bruised, bleeding, scarred. They were so sore that nursing was excruciating but I stubbornly kept going. I didn't even know if she was getting any milk but I refused to give up. I went to a breastfeeding clinic where they told me that Michelle wasn't getting enough milk and I'd have to supplement with formula. I was devestated. It was like calling me a failure. They tried to talk me into buying a hospital-grade $400 breast pump. I looked at the woman like she had smoked a little too much crack. "Um...I'm a single Mom on a tight budget so that is NOT happening." Instead I went to Walmart and got a cheap single breast electric pump for $40. It's not fancy and is kind of slow but it does the trick. I was able to pump milk and see that yes I actually was producing milk. It was bright yellow at first, a mix of colostrum (pre-milk) and milk. As discouraged as I was on my first visit to the clinic, I was thrilled at my next visit. Michelle had gained weight and was feeding well. I supplemented her with a bottle of my own breast milk for a couple of days until my milk was in full force.

The best thing about the breastfeeding clinic was that they introduced me to a nipple shield which was the greatest invention ever and saved my poor nipples from being chewed to bits. They also told me that far from being a failure I had actually done the best thing -- by feeding Michelle so often when I first brought her home (as painful and difficult as it was) I had stimulated my milk production and now that my regular milk had come in (it takes about 3-5 days for the actual milk to come in) I had plenty. I was glad I hadn't just given up. Colostrum is supposed to provide enough nutrition for a newborn baby for the first couple of days. Some women panic that the baby is starving and turn to formula out of desperation. Then their milk never comes in. I was determined to breastfeed. I had many very good reasons to do so. First of all it's the healthiest thing for the baby, it's also a bonding experience and hey, it's FREE! When you're on a tight budget, you just can't beat free.

For five months or so, breastfeeding was going well. The nipple shield was a godsend. I even bought an extra one just in case and it's a good thing because I lost it a couple of times and had to break open the spare. Michelle was feeding often (usually every two hours or less) but at least my nipples were protected. Then at around 5 months it started to get uncomfortable. Michelle was getting a little rougher on me. It almost felt like she had teeth. It was hurting, even through the nipple shield. She was chewing on me like I was a teething toy. My nipples were becoming red and raw. By six months it was even worse. Before I knew it, my nipples looked like they had been through a war -- scarred, bleeding, much as they had been before the nipple guard. The shield wasn't protecting me anymore. Michelle was chewing me to bits. My Mom said she must think it's a bottle because she's sucking on a rubber thing. I know she doesn't mean to hurt me but she knows I'm not a bottle. She looks up at me mid-feeding and smiles sometimes.

My nipples were becoming so sore and so itchy that I finally asked my doctor about it. All my appointments had been for Michelle but I finally scheduled a brief one for myself just to show her my poor breasts. I was worried it might be a rash or something. I had heard about "thrush" but that's something that the baby gets in her mouth as well. It wasn't a rash. The doctor said they were just sore from the friction. Michelle was just sucking too hard. (My baby vampire!) The doctor prescribed a recipe that Dr. Jack Newman created -- apparently he's "the" breastfeeding guru. How a MAN knows so much about breastfeeding, I'm not sure but he is a GENIUS! My doctor said that some pharmacists may not "like" making the cream but most would do it. She also said that according to Dr. Newman you don't wipe the cream off, "even if the pharmacist tells you to." When I went to the pharmacy to get it I was perturbed that the cream took an hour to make (the pharmacist had told me it would be half an hour) and that I had to pay a hefty dispensing fee. I didn't even know if it was going to work. It turned out that it was well worth the investment. After just one day using the cream I was so much better! I wasn't in pain or tortured by itching. My red, raw, peeling, scarred nipples were suddenly soft and pink again! It was a miracle. I don't know what Miconazole and Mupirocin are (ingredients on the label) but they are AMAZING. I just put a bit on after each feeding (obviously the ingredients are safe for the baby to ingest though the rubber shield is still between us) and my nipples are almost completely back to normal. In just a day or two they went from looking like something out of a horror movie all scarred, red, raw, scabby, rough and peeling to being soft and pink and new again. Dr. Newman, I love you! I don't know how this guy knows so much about breasts when he doesn't have any, but thank you!

The doctor and my mother also suggested that I cut down on the frequency of breastfeedings. Every two hours is common for a newborn but she's over 6 months old now and even having solid food. While I was worried about Michelle's weight I certainly wasn't going to cut back on breastfeeding but now that she's a healthy weight and doing pretty well on solids I figured it couldn't hurt to try it. So I have been trying to stretch her out to 3 hours between feedings, giving her food for breakfast, lunch and dinner at the two hour points and then nursing her another hour after that. She resisted at first. She became cranky and complained and didn't want to eat her food but I managed to distract her enough that I could postpone her nursing by an hour or at least half an hour. It's easier on me because it means fewer feedings. Aside from Michelle complaining about the change, my breasts noticed too. They knew it was time for a feeding and became engorged and sore. Little by little though it's getting easier. I figure it's better to wean her gradually so I'll keep feeding her every three hours for a while then go to every four or so. The more food she eats, the less milk she'll need. Eventually it will be cut down to two feedings a day and then when she's safe to have cow's milk I can stop. I may still try to pump some breastmilk to give her even after she's weaned because I know it's so good for them. I've seen some attachment parents carried to the extreme that are still breastfeeding their children at 7 years old. I'm not going there! I am an attachment parent but I have my limits. I do believe in feeding on demand though. I want my baby to be happy. I think it builds a strong bond and a healthier, happier child in the long run. Michelle still wakes up every couple of hours to nurse during the night but I don't mind. I'm certainly not going to deny her then. It's easier to just nurse her back to sleep. That way I actually get some sleep too! I figure that eventually when she's eating a lot more food she won't need the milk. Part of it is probably habit and a comfort thing too when she wakes up in the night.

Aside from the pain of labour and breastfeeding, Michelle seems to find new ways to inflict injury on me day by day! I know she doesn't do it on purpose (well, I'm pretty sure anyway) but sometimes it is hard to take. She loves swinging her hands and arms around so sometimes I get a smack in the face. Occasionally she even knocks my glasses off. Then I say "Oopsie poopsie!" and she laughs her head off. She also kicks me in the stomach. Her legs never stop going so if I'm carrying her or nursing her, I get the brunt of it. I try to wear her out in her Jumperoo and Jolly Jumper. If only there were a way to harness her energy. I could power my house for about two years without using hydro. Then there is the pain in my left arm from carrying her around. Sometimes she will play nicely while I try to get dinner, do dishes etc. Other times she whines and I have to pick her up and try to do everything with one hand. It's hard enough on my sore wrist now that she's heavier than ever but to make matters worse she does this new thing where she twists around in my arms and leans over putting that much more pressure on my already sore arm. Sometimes my shoulder feels like it's being torn from its socket. I have neck and back problems as well. Then there are the claws...Sometimes it's like trying to take care of a baby tiger. It's very difficult to cut her nails and unfortunately she likes to dig them into me. She's so intense she'll grab my arm full force and dig her nails in or she scratches my chest. While I'm nursing her I have to guard the other breast with my hand or sometimes she reaches up and grabs almost ripping off my nipple! I can't believe how strong she is. She's got a death grip like you wouldn't believe. She even winds up hurting herself sometimes -- accidentally scratching herself, hitting herself in the face when she's flailing her arms. She even gave herself a hickey on the arm when she started sucking her wrist one day. She's started sucking her thumb occasionally now too. I can't imagine the damage she can do once she has teeth.

Having a baby can be dangerous! It almost reminds me of MadTV's "When Babies Attack" skit...Here's the video from Youtube:

 

Like many things in parenting, keeping your sense of humour is a must. Love hurts. It's just part of it. The joy is worth the pain. Your baby will cause you more pain than you ever felt in your life but you will still love her more than anything on earth. It's weird. I guess it's a maternal instinct thing. We can take an unbelievable amount of abuse and still love and protect them. Luckily the sweet moments more than make up for the rough ones. The times when she smiles or laughs at me. The times when she reaches up to touch my face gently. The times when she looks at me lovingly. The moments when she plays nicely, sleeps peacefully, acts like a little angel. Lately she's even started hugging me really tight. She squeezes me with all her might and shakes, the way she clenches her fists and shakes when she's really excited. I love it. That's one time I'm glad she's so intense. I love those bear hugs. I can't wait for the day she can say "I love you Mommy" -- that will be more than worth all the pain I've been through. 

My Left Arm

I woke up one morning to find that my left arm was in agony, from my fingers up to my shoulder. The pain was so severe it almost made me throw up. For an instant I thought, maybe I'm having a heart attack. OMG. My mind started to spin. How could I go to the hospital? Who would watch Michelle? Then I calmed myself down when I remembered that "numbness" in the left arm signals a heart attack, not pain. The pain was more likely the result of holding Michelle (who is somewhere between 12 and 13 lbs at this point) for a solid four hours the night before. I was carrying her around, singing to her, dancing with her and even when she fell asleep I left her resting on my shoulder because I didn't want to disturb her during my show. My shoulder was hurting at the time from the pressure but I guess, as with any workout, I didn't feel the full effects until the next day.

Photo by James Harvey

It's tough because my left arm is the arm that I usually hold her in. It just feels more natural to support her on the left so I still have my right arm free to do things. I could not lift her while my arm was that sore though. I had to give it a rest. So I tried to take it easy. Luckily Michelle complied and slept more than usual that day. I carried her around on the right, even though it was awkward (especially when I tried to eat with my left hand.) When I tell some people about how much I hold her they look at me like I have two heads. "You CAN put her down, you know." But I can't let her cry. At least my arms get a bit of a break for a few moments while she sits in her Bumbo, or her swing or her jumperoo, plays on her play gym or has her tummy time. But there is no substitute for Mama. Especially when she's tired and cranky and only walking and rocking and singing can soothe her.

My doctor had told me it was safe to take Tylenol while I was pregnant but I was nervous to and managed to survive without it. I still don't have any in the house. I should get some just in case I ever wake up with that kind of pain again. I would assume if it's safe to take while pregnant then it would be OK while I'm breast-feeding as well.

My left arm had already been through the ringer before I even held Michelle. I actually had carpal tunnel in my left wrist while I was pregnant. My doctor said it was common in pregnant women. I wondered how on earth I would manage holding an infant. It is a challenge. At least after giving my left arm a break it didn't hurt quite so much. I will try to use both arms so that I don't have a flare up like that again.

Some days it feels like she's in my arms from morning until night. She just won't let me put her down. She has good days, not so good days and horrific days. She had one of her worst ever recently. I don't know why some days she wakes up and decides to make my life a living hell. I guess it's not her fault. But it's brutal. She is a force of nature, like a storm. Hurricane Michelle. You never know when she'll strike.

She awoke at 5 a.m. which you might say is normal for a baby. Usually she doesn't get up until about 7 a.m. Now don't misunderstand. It's not as though she sleeps through the night until 7 a.m. But on a good day she wakes up every few hours to feed but doesn't start to make a fuss and demand to get out of bed until about 7-ish. I often don't get to bed until about 3 a.m. so on less than two hours sleep, I'm a zombie and it's tough to lift myself, let alone Michelle, out of bed. On a bad day, she gets up at 5 a.m. and fusses and doesn't go back to sleep at all and doesn't nap more than two minutes all day. Sleep deprivation has been used as a form of torture. Every mother knows it's not fun. Usually Michelle eats every two hours during the day and every 3-4 hours at night. Then once in a blue moon on a hellish day, she goes on a hunger strike and won't feed. Two hours go by, three hours, four hours go by. I keep trying to feed her because she's showing hunger cues (chewing her fist, moving her head around as though looking for the breast, crying a desperate cry) but then she rejects me, turns away from me, pushes me, at one point even punched and kicked me when I tried to feed her. It was so frustrating. I didn't know what to do. I started to panic. What if she just never fed again? Finally I would give up but she'd keep crying. She had been changed so it wasn't that. She'd been burped. She wouldn't be soothed with rocking, singing, playing, wouldn't let me read a story or do anything. She was hungry but wouldn't eat. It made no sense. Finally, thank goodness, though she was still crying I tried yet again to feed her and she latched on and fed voraciously. My impossible girl. The next day she was back to her normal feeding routine as though nothing had happened.

She started rejecting the bottle I'd been using for breast milk (the one that came with the pump.) It really worried me because I refuse to breastfeed in public and rely on the bottle when I have an outing or appointment to attend. If she wouldn't drink from the bottle I was doomed. I decided to try another kind of bottle. Maybe she just didn't like that one. I picked up a Playtex nurser one for $5 (for $5 it couldn't hurt to try it.) My Mom had suggested Playtex. She thought they were the best. Thank Heaven Michelle actually went for it. It's a huge relief to know that once in a while I can actually take her out somewhere or leave her with my Mom and know that she'll still be fed.

I met several other mommies with young babies recently and it was an interesting experience talking with them. On one hand it was nice to speak to other women who could relate to having a new baby (getting no sleep, breastfeeding, trying to clip their nails so they don't claw themselves to bits, etc.) On the other hand it was difficult realizing that there aren't too many people that can relate to my situation as a single Mom. Many of them were complaining about their in-laws -- about how much they bud in, how they want to hold and feed the baby and do things for the baby and the Moms just wanted them to back off. Then I shared with them that I'm a single Mom and that I never get a break and what a treat it is when I visit relatives/friends and they offer to hold the baby for a few moments. I got a few "deer in the headlights" looks. It was awkward. They seemed shocked or ashamed as though they were complaining that their shoes were too tight and then realized I had no legs. I didn't want them to feel bad. It didn't really bother me. But on some level I thought, they really have no idea what it's like to be the only pair of arms. They say that they "want" to do everything for the baby but they know that they don't have to. They have help, financially, physically, emotionally. Someone else to get up in the night with the baby. Someone else to do the grocery shopping etc. And two sets of grandparents eager to take the baby any time they want. Now of course as I mentioned before I know that even a lot of the dads who stick around aren't a whole lot of help. Some have never changed a diaper. Many take a hands-off approach and let their wives handle all of the childrearing. But there are some who help. And the fact that they are there at all (presumably earning a living at the very least) is still a help. To go it on your own is really a challenge. There are disadvantages to having in-laws as well. They try to tell you what to do -- "Go on, give your baby pablum at 3 months, I did." and can cause friction and stress in your life when you don't see eye to eye. At least I have complete control and don't have anyone to bud in and undermine my parenting. (Other than my Mom throwing in her two cents now and then.) Still, sometimes I think it would be nice to have help. An extra set of arms, or three. But it's all me. And sometimes it feels like the weight of the world.

After my announcement about being a single Mom, one woman just shook her head in disbelief and said "I don't know how you do it!" I smiled and said "I don't know how I do it either!" But I don't have a choice. I have to do it. I love Michelle more than anything. And I'm all she's got.

Of course I do get awesome support from my family and visiting with them means the world to me but it's not the same as having someone there day in and day out.

Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one of my kind. I wish there were a Mommy and Me group for single Moms of young babies. There may be somewhere, in a bigger city. I doubt there's anything like that in my neck of the woods. I'm a bit of an anomaly in my suburban neighbourhood. Even before I was pregnant, I was the only single woman on my street. I'm surrounded by married people, young families. I'm the smallest family now. I know that there are a lot of single moms out there but they don't live on my street or in my city. Or if they do, they probably don't get out much. They're probably too busy.

Of course I'm busy myself. Sometimes it feels like I'll never be caught up. Still so many things to do and organize, so many occasions coming up (anniversaries, birthdays, not to mention Christmas) and I don't know how I'll prepare when Michelle doesn't always allow me time to do things. That's one thing since having the baby, I'm never bored, never lonely. I'm never alone. I remember I used to always want to be out on the weekends. Now Michelle is my date on Friday and Saturday nights! And honestly, I'd rather spend a weekend with her than out partying and dancing anyway (although I do plan to go dancing again someday, somehow.)

Michelle is officially three months old now! I can't believe it. How time flies. She's grown so much just in these few months. She's really trying to talk now. While I'm reading to her she makes little sounds as though she's reading along as well. She chatters in babyspeak. She's even started doing this new sing-song whiney thing that isn't a cry it's just an extended weak little sound between a hum and a whine. It's like she's finding her voice, realizing she can make sounds and wants to be heard. She does a high pitched squeal now too, sometimes out of joy and excitement and sometimes out of frustration. It's so cute I have to laugh, even when she's mad. I'm hoping she'll be talking soon. She seems so determined to communicate. Sometimes she looks into my eyes like she's really concentrating and tries to talk but it just comes out as a vowel sound "aaaa" "i." She has accidentally said a few words already including "Hi" "Mama" "I" and "Meow." I always echo her back so that she really feels like she's talking and she smiles in delight to feel like we're having a conversation. The way she reacts to things I say sometimes makes it seem like she actually understands but it may just be a coincidence.

She grabs onto me a lot more now. She'll grab my shirt, reach for my hand. The other day she even wrapped her legs around my arm while I was changing her, with her toes curled in clinging to me as if she was a monkey climbing a tree. It was adorable. I have been singing "There was a little monkey, climbed up a tree" to her. She loves when I sing her silly songs and rhymes as I'm changing her. She laughs and coos and talks. Then I run to get the camera to capture it and she stops. It's so frustrating. It's like they get camera shy, though I have been lucky enough to catch a few smiles from her I don't seem to have any luck with video. My sister tried to capture my nephew dancing in the summer on the deck. He was doing all these hilarious moves and then as soon as she had the camera ready he froze up and wouldn't do anything. Maybe the trick is to have a hidden camera somehow.

Many months ago, while pregnant, I had written a post called "My Left Foot" when my foot swelled up to three times its size. The right one eventually became swollen too but not as severely as the left, I guess because of the heart being on the left, all that extra blood to pool. At the time I thought I had it so rough. I didn't realize how easy it was. My time was my own. I could sleep in (theoretically, though I made many trips to the bathroom in a night!) I could spend hours gardening. I could sit on the swing and read a novel. I could go shopping (for more than 15 minutes at a stretch), have daily showers or long luxurious candlelit bubble baths, do some painting, play guitar and write songs. Now it's hard to steal a few moments for myself. Michelle doesn't let me do much. I don't always get to shower and when I do it's a rushed couple of minutes hoping she doesn't wake up and cry while I'm in there. Shopping is a race too. I'm always rushing, stressed out, trying to get done before she has a meltdown. Between feedings and pooings and everything else there is precious little time left for me. And then "me time" is usually spent getting caught up on laundry, dishes, etc. That's why this blog is so important. Though it's hard to find the time, it's something I need to do. Something creative, something for myself. I give her 99% of my time and energy. I still need that 1% for me.

Some people tried to tell me that pregnancy is the easy part, that even labour was easy compared to the work of caring for a new baby. I didn't believe them until now. Yes this is the hard part. Raising a baby on my own. Taking care of her 24-7. It is an exhausting, back-breaking (and arm-breaking!) job. But this is also the best part. Sharing each day with the most amazing little person I've ever met. Discovering who she is. Each day a new surprise -- a new little quirk, or expression or sound or gesture. Every day a new adventure. Learning patience (something I never had before) when she's at her worst. Enjoying her when she's at her best. Feeling more love and more joy than I have ever experienced, even the times I thought I was madly in love. It's a different kind of love now. Deeper and more true. And there are times when I'm snuggling with her or when she smiles at me and I think I'm the luckiest person in the world. And yes, I'd give my left arm for this. I'd give everything I have.

Pushed to the limit -- NINE POUNDS FOUR OUNCES!

I was afraid that baby going late meant that she would be a little bigger...Apparently my fears were well-founded. How on earth I managed to pass a nine pound baby out I don't know! I can tell you it wasn't easy! She tore me apart (literally. I refuse to look at the stitches from my episiotomy. I don't want to know. I just know it's a world of hurt down there!) Anyway, I've been wanting to write about my labour/delivery experience but it's hard to find time these days with the baby! She's asleep at the moment so here goes. I'll start at the beginning...

It was Sunday. I was due for my induction on Monday at 8 a.m. One week past her due date. The doctor had told me that it would be much better for baby and me if she came naturally but what can you do? I discussed it with Michelle (yes I'd been talking with her, reading to her, singing to her for many months in utero.) I told her that this was her last chance to come out before they came in to get her. I had asked the doctor if there was anything I could do to bring on labour. Her reply was sex (not a possibility!) and MSG (how much Chinese food can you eat?!) Other people had told me that walking might help. It made sense. Being on your feet may push baby down a little, with the force of gravity and all.

I had been staying with my sister (she and my Mom were going to be with me during delivery. I sure didn't want to go through this alone!) She needed to pick some things up anyway and suggested we go to the mall. It was a distraction if nothing else. I was getting very nervous about the induction on Monday. While at the mall I had some pretty severe Braxton Hicks contractions (at least I thought that was what they were. It couldn't be labour I reasoned because there was no set pattern. They just came randomly.) I also kept experiencing the need to run to the bathroom only to be frustrated that I couldn't go when I got there. Constipation usually isn't a problem for me. Usually it goes the other way. I got tired of running to the washroom and pushing for nothing. Then as we were leaving the mall, I got the grandaddy of all Braxton Hicks contractions. I must have looked a sight. 41 weeks pregnant, massive belly, swollen legs, heavy breathing, grasping my abdomen, a pained look on my face. A kind man held the door for me "Are you OK?" he asked, with genuine concern in his eyes. "Just Braxton Hicks" I said. He thought I was going into labour. I wasn't convinced.

We headed back home. I was trying to keep busy. I sewed a stuffed seahorse (I had a nesting urge. Some people knit booties but I don't knit. The mobile was done but I figured I'd make a couple of little stuffed seahorses. It gave me something to do with my hands aside from gnawing my fingers to the bone.) We watched TV. I kept feeling like I had to go to the bathroom, the way I had at the mall. It was happening more and more frequently. At around 8:30 PM when I hit the washroom, there was blood. The bloody show! I had read about it. OK. It seemed like something was happening. Maybe my water would break. Maybe my baby was going to come naturally without induction. But my water didn't break. The blood was just a few drops, not much of a show, really. I asked my sister if contractions feel like really bad menstrual cramps mixed with feeling like you have to run to the toilet with diarrhea but when you get there you're constipated. She said that wasn't how hers were. I didn't know what to think. But something was happening. The pain was getting worse and more frequent each time I ran to the toilet. I finally thought "This is ridiculous! I might as well start timing them." So I wrote the time down. It was just past midnight. 12:09. The next one was 12:19. Then 12:29. "Holy cow!" I thought. "I'm really in labour! The contractions are 10 minutes apart." I told my sister. She asked if I wanted to go to the hospital. I said I'm not supposed to go until they're 5 minutes apart or my water breaks. Each time the pain was a bit worse. It would last a minute and go away. Then things started to accelerate. The pain got worse still after 1 a.m. and the contractions were 5 minutes apart.

I called the hospital and told them what was happening, that I was due for induction in the morning but that baby had beat us to the punch. They said to come in. My sister tried to call my Mom and couldn't get her! Really?! Your daughter is pregnant, could give birth any minute and you don't have the phone by your bed?! (As it turned out, her ringer didn't work. My brother drove her to the hospital later.) My sister called her mother-in-law to come watch the kids and we headed to the hospital.

The contractions were really bad now. I couldn't wear a seatbelt. I faked it by pulling it over me when we passed a cruiser (I thought if someone dares to pull us over he's going to get an earfull!) The ride was brutal. Every bend, every bump in the road was excruciating. My fantasy of labour pains being "just like menstrual cramps" was being shattered.

We got to the hospital and they told me I was 2 cm dilated. It was around 2 a.m. The nurse was very nice and supportive. She told me that I could elect to stay at the hospital and could get the epidural but it would be ideal if I could wait a little longer. She suggested I go home, take a bath, have a tea and come back when I'm 4 cm dilated."I think you can handle it," she said. She had more faith in me than I did.
"How will I know when I'm 4 cm dilated?" I asked.
She explained that the contractions now lasted about a minute and in between them there was a break without pain. I would know things were bumped up a knotch when there was no break from the pain, when even between contractions was uncomfortable and painful. Great. That didn't sound pleasant but I decided to tough it out. The idea of sitting in a warm bath for an hour or so was preferable to sitting in the hospital. So we headed back home. I hoped my sister could grab a little sleep.

It was soothing being in the bath. The contractions kept getting worse. With each one I would think "this is as bad as it gets" until the next one would be even worse. I realized that until now I had no idea what pain was. Nothing could prepare me for this. No one can tell you. You have to experience it yourself to understand. I had heard so many stories ranging from "the pain is unbearable" to "it's not so bad." One thing the nurse had said stuck with me "Remember that the pain is natural, that it's necessary, that it's for a good cause -- your baby. She'll be worth it." It kept me going. When I'd have a contraction, I'd breathe through it, huffing and puffing like they do in the movies. I clenched my fists. I kept thinking "It's just for a minute and it's over." When it would end it was such a relief. I prayed to God for strength to get me through this. I tried to use affirmations, positive energy, meditation. I was proud of myself. I was toughing it out. I didn't have a clock. I didn't know how long I'd been in the bath. I wanted to give May a chance to sleep a little. I wanted to impress the nurse that I could manage the pain and come back when I was at 4 cm. I cheered myself on. You got this. You're doing great.

And then everything changed. The worst pain yet, the worst pain of my life, beyond description and then after the minute was up, there was still pain, not as severe but still no picnic. Oh my God. I can't do this anymore, I thought. There's no break. I could endure anything for one minute, looking forward to the next break but when there is no break, when it's just endless suffering, I can't take it. I was done. Get me to the hospital. Give me an epidural. Please!

So I woke my sister, who had had about 1 minute of sleep, to drive me to the hospital.

It was 5 a.m. "Good girl!" the nurse said "You're 5 cm dilated!"
I was proud of myself. I had overshot the mark even. Great. Now please get me an epidural. I'm dying here.

It's ironic given the fact that I've had a phobia of needles my entire life that my salvation from pain would come in the form of a giant needle to my spine. I couldn't wait. I had heard that the pain would cease instantly. That from then on I would feel pressure but no pain. I couldn't wait. I didn't know how much longer I could take these contractions. Which now just felt like one cruel horrendous never-ending wave of pain.

Then she arrived, the epidural goddess. I had to sit up, at the edge of the bed, my hospital gown open. I didn't want to see the needle and luckily couldn't since it was behind me. I was a little nervous but mostly just anxious for the pain to end. She told me that it would sting a lot. When she stuck the needle in me, the sting was so negligible compared to what I was going through that it didn't even bother me. I realized I would never faint at a needle again. I realized that anything I ever went through in life now would be a cakewalk compared to this. And just like that, the pain was gone. Beautiful, delicious, pain-free moments. My butt started to feel really warm. I started to feel itchy. I asked if I could scratch. They said no. I didn't care. I'll take itchy over pain any day! Even my face got itchy. I scratched when no one was looking.

I wasn't a fan of the IV or the catheter but I was feeling no pain so nothing mattered anymore. I was happy. My Mom made it to the hospital just in time to see happy, mellow, pain-free Ann Marie. She admitted that she was relieved she didn't have to see me suffer through the worst of the labour cramps.

Now I was hungry. I hadn't eaten anything since before 8 pm the night before. I'm used to eating every few hours. I was starving. I figured I wouldn't be allowed to eat during labour and I wouldn't want to poop on the table (it was something I'd heard could happen. Frankly I didn't want it to happen to me) but I felt so weak I didn't know how I'd make it through the next several hours. I was eating ice chips and pretending they were freezies. A nurse brought me some toast and jam. It was the best toast and jam of my life. She offered a banana popsicle and it was like winning the lottery.

The next time they examined me (which wasn't fun but really just pressure rather than pain in there) they said that I was 7 cm dilated. I thought this was great, I'm really progressing quickly. I knew that 10 cm is the point where you push though they said that you don't push right away, they like to give the baby a chance to wiggle out on her own. Does that really happen?!

Unfortunately I was stuck on 7 cm dilated for a long time. Several hours later I was at 9.5 cm dilated. So close! And then I hit 10. We were getting so close now. I wondered what it would be like when I had to push.

They had a button for me to press when I wanted more epidural juice. It locks you out though once you're at the limit so you don't OD. It makes a little ringing sound. I heard that sound a few times. When I started to feel a little something I was hitting that button like a fiend. I didn't want to risk running out. I made them assure me that there was no way I could run out. When another bit of it dripped through it made a little squeak like a mouse. I mentioned it to the nurse. She said one of the patients was convinced there was a mouse on the windowsill. I trusted that it was just my lovely epidural machine.

Then it came time to push. They described it as pushing through my butt as though I had to go #2 really bad. I was an expert in this area. Having suffered from constipation the day before and having suffered from IBS for years and spent an inordinate number of hours on the toilet, I was a pusher extraordinaire! Unfortunately, as wonderful as the epidural is, the problem is that it paralyzes you so that you can't actually feel yourself pushing. You can't tell if you're pushing or not. So when I held my breath and pushed, the place I felt it most was in my face. It felt like my head would implode. I wasn't sure I was even pushing down there. Apparently I was and they said I was doing a great job. A nurse was holding one of my feet, pushing my leg up to help with each push. My Mom was at my other foot. My Mom was too gentle. She wasn't pushing my leg hard enough so I was yanking the back of my leg myself to help things along. My wrist was aching. I had had carpal tunnel before this so this wasn't helping. Later my sister stepped in to help and she was a lot stronger and more forceful than my Mom.

Then they called in another doctor. The baby apparently needed to be turned around a little. In walked Dr. Marquis de Sade. He reached in, up to his elbows I think, and was twisting things and doing God-knows-what. It hurt. I was not happy. Nothing was supposed to hurt. What about my epidural? I was just supposed to feel pressure. This wasn't pressure, it was torture. I decided I hated this man. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't like you!" I told him. "This is the first pain I've felt since 5 a.m.! I'm not a fan!"
"I'm just trying to deliver your baby," he said.
"Yeah. I know. It just figures that the one man in the room is the one to hurt me!" Yeah. I have men issues...

On top of Dr. Pain twisting my insides, he'd brought with him a little tour group (my sister explained it was just one student/intern and the rest were a group of nurses) to gawk at me at the most harrowing moment of my life. I wasn't impressed but I had more important things to worry about than strangers seeing my cooch. I kept pushing. It seemed we were getting close but no cigar. Then Nurse Ratchet, accomplice to the Marquis de Sade started pushing on my leg so hard she nearly folded me in half. Even the doctor scolded her that she was going to damage one of my body parts. I hated her.

The doctor got out a plunger (vacuum?) and salad tongs (forceps) to try to pull the baby out as I pushed. Gone was my fantasy of having a pain-free, easy delivery via my lovely epidural. This was scary now. The doctor even started to threaten me "If you can't push hard enough, we're going to have to do a C-section." That was the last straw. I didn't go through all this just to have a C-section. I would push harder and longer than ever. I would strain to hold my breath as long as possible. This had to be it. So I gave it everything I had and then some. Like my life depended on it, because at that moment it did. And then, she was out!
"That's it!" they said.

It was 18:19 and my baby was born! I saw her being carried away. But where was the cry?! She wasn't crying. I started to panic. The nurses had her off to the side. I was so relieved when I heard her cry. But it was a weak cry of distress. They said there was a problem with her breathing. I was terrified. Please please please let her be OK.

I started to cry. I was so scared. So overwhelmed. One nurse (possibly the dumbest human alive) asked why I was crying. Ummm...I just gave BIRTH you friggin idiot, it's a bit of an emotional time. Not to mention my baby may not be BREATHING! Not to mention I'm on NO SLEEP, NO FOOD (except a popsicle and a piece of toast) for a day.

They were checking her out. Weighing her etc. She was 9 pounds, 4 ounces. Holy crap! No wonder there was tearing. They had to do an episiotomy. He told me the stitches would dissolve. In the end I did thank the male doctor for his help in delivering my baby.

They brought me my little girl and lay her on my chest, to calm both her and me down. It seemed to work. She stopped crying and her breathing settled down. She was a healthy, pink, blue eyed, redhaired baby girl. I was beyond grateful, beyond relieved. I had my baby and all was well with the world.

A little redhead like her Mama. I had been hoping she'd be like me and not like her father (who, as you know if you've been following my blog won the coward of the year award by disappearing when I was 4 months pregnant).

"We made it, baby," I said to Michelle. With tears in my eyes, I started to recite the words to Goodnight Moon. I had been reading it to her every night since February. Now I could talk and sing and read to my baby and hold her in my arms. I had loved her so much before I even met her. Now it was even more intense having her here. And the pain I'd endured was more than worth it. I would do anything for her.

I've never been a fan of hospitals. Staying in them is far worse than visiting. Most of the nurses were nice. I got stuck with a clueless one unfortunately. She kept calling the baby "he" even after I'd corrected her 15 times, even when I put a pink sleeper and blanket around her. Apparently a lot of women gave birth on that day but everyone else had a boy. I had the only girl. So the Absentminded Nurse couldn't keep track. She also admitted that she was distracted since she'd just sold her house. She was getting on my last nerve though. I'd ask her for pain medication (the stitches were pretty sore) and she'd forget to bring it. She'd snap at me about going to the bathroom and get annoyed that I wasn't moving quickly enough (excuse me! I just gave birth! Have some sympathy. I'm a little sore!) She snapped at me when I asked questions like I was an idiot and should know (about meconium coming out from the womb for the first few days etc). "Sorry if I ask stupid questions" I said "this is my first baby. I'm not an expert."

The only thing worse than my nurse was my room. I was bunked in a semi-private with a couple who also had a newborn baby that screamed every hour or so. So even when I had Michelle settled down, the other baby would cry and wake her up and then she'd be crying. Even when both babies were miraculously silent for 5 minutes, the father of the baby snored all night. I was in hell. Plus, I like my privacy. Especially when I'm trying to nurse my baby. People kept moving the curtain and I wouldn't be able to get up to pull it back across so people could just saunter by and see me in my bed. I was so frustrated.

The food situation wasn't much better. It was pretty awful. I ordered chicken on a kaiser and they gave me a hamburger. I ordered a banana and they gave me apple sauce. I guess placing the order was merely a wish/suggestion and they just substituted whatever they had in that category.

The hospital must have been pretty hard up because they didn't even have supplies for the baby. The nurse was relieved that I had brought my own diapers, baby wash, lotion etc.

By the next day I was fit to be tied. I begged my doctor to let me go home. She said there was a series of tests that they had to perform at the 24 hour mark but if all was OK then I could leave after that. Thank God. I couldn't wait to get out of there. One much more helpful nurse taught me the proper technique for breastfeeding. It felt like kind of an awkward position. I really didn't like any of the positions I'd been shown. None of them felt natural. My baby was much more powerful than I expected. It felt like she had teeth! My nipples were raw! My sister explained that it does hurt in the beginning but your nipples toughen up and get used to it (like getting calluses on your fingers when you're learning to play guitar, only much more painful!) The nurse commented about the baby's suction power. I joked that her father had been a vampire, so maybe it was partly inherited. "Be careful when her teeth come in!" she warned.

After they'd done the tests and everything was fine I was so relieved to be given the OK to go home. My mother had said it's terrible how the hospital kicks you out after only a day now. They used to keep you in for a week. I said I'd never survive a week. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I couldn't wait to get home and get some sleep.

Not that I would get a lot of sleep. The first day home was difficult. The baby barely slept at all. I tried to feed her and my nipples looked like a war zone.My baby literally drew blood. I would do anything, go through anything for her, but I was feeling overwhelmed. It was so much harder than I thought.

Luckily after a rough first couple of days, I started to get into my groove. She actually sleeps a little now and I've managed to catch some sleep. I've been wanting to write a new post but never had the time or energy. Now it's been a week since I had her.

I love her so much. I can't even explain it. I am mesmerized by her. There are times I just lay next to her and stare at her in awe. She's like an angel. She smiles. When I say I love you or touch her cheek she gets this beautiful adorable smile (someday I'll actually capture it with my camera! I'm determined!) They say that babies don't smile that early and that it's just gas but I don't buy it. My baby smiles. And she said Mama on her first day (in the midst of her crying, she very distinctly said "Mama." My Mom heard it too. Of course it was probably coincidence. Or maybe she's a genius. When I recite Goodnight Moon or sing her the lullabies I've been singing to her for months in utero, she does calm down, she gets a look on her face of recognition. On some level maybe she remembers, she realizes I was that voice all those months before she came out. I'm her Mama. I love her more than anything and I'd do anything for her.

I didn't know what pain was until I went through labour.

I didn't know what love was until I looked into my baby's eyes.

Welcome to the world, Michelle! It's been quite an adventure so far, for both of us, and I know there is much more to come.

You and me, little girl!

xo

Labour of Love

July is sneaking up on me. I kept telling myself I had plenty of time before the big day but we're into April now. I'm almost into my third trimester. And I'm scared to death.

A creature of habit (and admittedly, a bit of a control freak) I've always had a hard time dealing with change. This is by far the biggest change in my life, EVER. This is a new life, a new me, a future that I never expected. Physically, emotionally and in so many ways, I have already changed so much. My lifestyle bears no resemblance to what it was. I can't do the things I used to. My priorities and dreams have changed so things that used to seem important don't matter so much now. The flat tummy I worked so hard to achieve last year is now turning into a beach ball. No matter what, even when I feel emotional, exhausted, stressed, out of breath, with swollen feet, numb legs and a belly that feels like it may burst, I know that it's all worth it. The baby is worth it.



My 25 week belly



My pre-pregnancy belly



The biggest metamorphosis of all is coming. Sometimes it's overwhelming. This isn't something I ever imagined for myself. Now it's happening and the closer I get to the day, the more the reality of it starts to sink in. Any milestone in life -- embarking on a new relationship, moving to a new home, starting a new job -- brings with it a mixture of excitement and fear of the unknown. Having a baby is so far beyond any of that. Life as I've known it is going to change completely. I am going to be a Mom. I am bringing another person into this world and it is up to me to make sure that she has the best life possible, that she has everything she needs, that she grows up healthy, happy and lives to her full potential. Talk about pressure! An enormous responsibility. And if that isn't scary enough, then of course there is the fear of actually bringing the baby into the world -- the pain of labour and delivery. A terrifying prospect for someone like me!

I'm not a fan of pain and I have a phobia of blood, needles, hospitals -- anything that might involve pain. I'm a huge wimp. I faint when I get a needle. Every. single. time. It's embarassing. It runs in the family. My father is squeamish and turns green at the sight of blood or a needle. My sister and nephew inherited it too. I can even "hear" about something (if I read something or if someone goes into a little too much detail about a medical problem, blood, pain, surgery, etc) and start to feel lightheaded. I have a vivid imagination and am so sensitive, so sympathetic to the pain of someone else that it's like it's happening to me. I turn my head away at the gross parts in movies. I can't bear to watch, even when I know it's not real. Of course it's that much worse to see or hear about someone in pain when it is real. I fainted in church every Good Friday hearing about Jesus being nailed to the cross. Obviously there are people who aren't grossed out by anything. Doctors, paramedics, morticians. I have a cousin who not only loves gory movies but enjoys watching real life surgeries, etc. She even watched a videotape of a friend's surgery without flinching. I can't imagine it.

I've read enough about it and seen it depicted in enough movies to know that labour is a world of pain. I picture the scenes of shrieking women, moaning, screaming and writhing as they struggle to get the baby out. It's like an exorcism. Whether it was a drama or a comedy, those scenes have always frightened me. I didn't plan to have kids (subconsciously maybe half the reason was to avoid the pain!) so I never thought it would be me on that table screaming. Now here I am counting down to July 23rd when it will be my turn. How on Earth will I get through this?!

The last time I had a needle was at my first doctor's appointment in November to confirm I was pregnant and to check that I was healthy. I warned the nurse (as I always have to warn them) that I was a fainter. She just shook her head. "Afraid of a little needle? Honey once you go through labour, you'll find needles are a piece of cake. It'll toughen you up. You lose your dignity. More people see your cooch than you ever thought possible. And you don't even care anymore."

Somehow her down-to-earth perspective was comforting. I'd never heard anyone use the word "cooch" before. I cracked a smile. It almost distracted me from what was coming. My worst fear. The dreaded needle. She was very encouraging and tried to coach me through it. "You won't faint," she assured me, "Relax. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth." Following her instructions seemed to help a little. The needle was in and it hurt but I just kept breathing through it and tried not to think about it. "Mind over matter," I thought, "You've got this. Piece of cake. Breathe in. Breathe out." Maybe I was getting stronger. Maybe this would be the first time I wouldn't faint like a dork. Or maybe not...

"There you go! You did great. We're done," she said.

I was done, all right. Despite her encouragement, all the familiar feelings came flooding back. There was a ringing in my ears. My vision was fading. Everything went sparkly and yellow. I felt light-headed. I was sweating. The room was spinning. My legs were buckling. "Oh dear. Sorry. I need to lie down." I took off my sweater and lay down waiting for the feeling to pass. I felt as though I'd disappointed her. It was so embarrassing. I couldn't even deal with a little needle and I was going to give birth in 9 months? I drank some water. She gave me a cold damp cloth for my forehead. I kept breathing like she had told me. After a couple of minutes, I started to feel OK. This time wasn't actually as bad as usual. The time before this, when I went for a needle a year previous, had been the worst. I fainted of course, as always but it took a long time for me to come out of it. Maybe because I wasn't allowed to eat before that blood test. I'm borderline anemic with low blood pressure, so going without food and then losing blood, on top of my fear and phobia, is a recipe for disaster. When I finally thought I was OK, (I couldn't lay there all day) I got up, left the building and started to drive home. Then suddenly, in the middle of heavy traffic, I started to black out behind the wheel. Not good. It was terrifying. I could barely see. Luckily I didn't have far to go. Just one more traffic light. Two more right turns...I made it home alive. I collapsed on the couch in tears and swore I would NEVER subject myself to another needle as long as I lived. Little did I know I'd be pregnant a year later and have no choice.



So, understandably, labour will be the scariest thing I have ever had to face. It's called labour for a reason. You just know it's going to be hard work! Delivery doesn't seem a very appropriate term to me though. I picture a guy at the door with a pizza. If only it were that easy! 30 minutes or it's free! The whole thing sounds like science fiction to me. It still boggles my mind that it's physically possible and that women have been doing it for thousands of years. It just sounds far-fetched. It's like someone telling you you're going to pass an apple through your left nostril in a few months. Sure. Could happen. For a control freak, it's tough not knowing what to expect. Yes I have read about everything that could go right and everything that might go wrong. I've talked to friends and acquaintances who have had children and every story is unique. Some endured a long difficult labour lasting more than 24 hours! (Dear God, I wouldn't want to do something that I ENJOYED for 24 hours let alone be in pain that long!) Others had a relatively quick and easy birth. One friend I talked to apparently had each of her three kids in less than an hour! Popping them out like a Pez dispenser! If only I could be so lucky. Some can't deliver safely and have to have their babies by Caesarian section. Some go into labour early and have premature babies. Some go longer than 10 months and have to be induced. Some have their water break, others don't. Every story is different. There is no certainty. You just don't know until the time comes how it's going to go. One close friend I knew rushed to the hospital to find she was only a centimetre or two dilated and was sent back home, a few times. Another nearly didn't make it to the hospital in time. She was 10 centimetres dilated already! They had to run and grab a doctor to catch the baby.

I hope I have a quick and easy labour but if my periods were any indication, I may be in for a rough time. Some lucky women never get menstrual cramps. Then there are poor schleps like me who suffered from excruciating cramps every three weeks. Sometimes it was so bad I'd be on the toilet for hours, gripped by waves of pain and a burning through my intestines like molten lava. One time I even started making out my will on the toilet. I read that Catholic girls tend to have worse cramps. Something about all that Catholic guilt. We try so hard to be nice girls, we're a little too uptight. Sounds about right. The doctor gave me muscle relaxants that helped ease the pain. I guess the key was to loosen up, literally. My concern is that if I went through that much pain every month just from a little blood flow, then how, in the name of all that is holy, am I supposed to pass a kid through there?! I still can't imagine it. It seems physically impossible. I've done the math. I know it stretches, but I still have a hard time seeing how anyone survives the ordeal. Still, they must, or none of us would be here, the human race would cease to exist!

One thing is for certain. I'm getting the epidural! No question. I told my doctor on my second visit to her after it was confirmed that I was pregnant. She laughed. As much as I hate needles (and as terrifying as a gigantic one injected into my spine might be) it's a necessary evil to numb the pain down there. I can't take any chances. I'm going to need all the help I can get. My sister had a natural childbirth for her first and it sounded like a horror movie. I'm not going there. I am not strong. I am not brave. The less it hurts, the better! Another certainty is that I want my sister and my Mom to be there with me when I deliver. They have been so supportive I don't know what I would do without them. Knowing that they survived this (my mother four times and my sister three times) is encouraging. They will help me through it. The original plan (when it seemed like my ex, the monster, was going to be sticking around) was to have the baby's father in the delivery room with me. He is not the squeamish type at all. In fact he can't get enough blood and gore. The horror movie scenes that made me cringe and turn away had him leaning in for a closer look. He probably would have delighted in my torment, watching the whole ordeal in macabre fascination. He'd probably want to pull up a chair, crunch on popcorn and enjoy the show. It's for the best that he's not around. I need someone with me who will be sensitive, sympathetic, supportive, caring. Someone who has been through it and survived.

I don't know what my labour experience will be like. Maybe I'll be one of the lucky ones and deliver my baby faster than a pizza! Miracles can happen. People try to tell me that you forget the pain anyway. I don't see how you could but women must on some level because a lot of them have more than one child which means they willingly subjected themselves to labour again and again, even knowing what it was like. So that's a good sign. Every painful experience you go through, every severe test, every time you stare fear in the face and survive it, you grow as a person. You become more powerful, more resilient. It stretches you. You become more than you thought you could be. You transform. From caterpillar to butterfly.

My sister used to be afraid of needles before she had kids. She's over it now. Maybe I'll get to that point too. Maybe after this experience, anything else in life will be a cakewalk.

The bottom line is that no matter how long it takes and no matter how hard it is, the end reward is well worth it -- to bring my baby into the world. It is a miracle. A gift. The most powerful experience a human being can have. It is a labour of love.



My Left Foot

No this post isn't about the 1989 film starring Daniel Day Lewis (which was brilliant by the way!) It's about my latest pregnancy symptom -- my big old Fred Flinstone club foot! It's official. I have cankles.

Well I have cankle. It is just my left foot. Granted, my right foot is no Kate Moss either, but it's not nearly as ghastly and gargantuan as the left. The photos don't actually do it justice. It's much scarier in person. Sometimes it's even a little bit brown-ish purple and shiny. With veins bulging out.

It just started this week. I'm 24 weeks pregnant now.  I'd had the odd leg cramp here and there but this balloon foot was new. At first my socks and shoes just felt really tight and my foot felt a bit puffy. When I looked at my bare foot I realized just how big it had gotten. When it was at its worst, I couldn't even fit into any of my shoes. I had to settle for wearing sandals (though the weather had gotten wintry again and was down to about 1 degree) or ballet slippers which stretched a little.

I don't think my feet are particularly attractive at the best of times. Still, seeing them like this came as a bit of a shock. I actually used to have ankles. With bones and everything. These photos show my normal pre-Baby legs/feet last Summer. 

Seeing my monster foot all of a sudden, I was worried at first. My Mom was always a bit of a hypochondriac, a chronic worrier. I suppose I inherited her tendency to be a little neurotic sometimes. (Though my mother will go so far as to read medical dictionaries and stress herself out by highlighting all the symptoms and convincing herself she has everything. She's actually quite healthy and looks great for her age. She's also obsessed with watching doctor shows and reading articles that she should avoid. The last thing she needs is more fear-mongering from the media. I believe much of it is just a ploy to sell products. Keep the people scared and make them buy stuff to feel healthy!) When I saw my foot blowing up at first I worried it might be something serious like a blood clot. Especially with my veins bulging out and with the swelling being only in one foot. But then I was relieved to hear from several people who had been through the same thing during their pregnancies and assured me it was normal. For whatever reason in most people, the left foot did end up being more swollen. Maybe we carry more weight on that foot somehow or maybe because the heart is on the left side so there is more blood flowing, or in this case pooling, on that side. I did a little extra research on my own as well just to put my fears to rest. I will ask my doctor about it next time I see her but I'm not rushing off to the emergency room or anything.

During pregnancy, we naturally retain more water. I discovered that the body actually produces more than 6 LITRES of extra blood and fluids for the baby!

That's like 3 large pop bottles full! No wonder I have to go to the bathroom so much! With all this extra liquid, naturally the force of gravity will make most of it settle in your legs and feet. So your extremities can become swollen. It's called "edema" when excess fluid collects in tissue. Also the added weight of your growing uterus puts pressure on your pelvic veins and your "vena cava" the large vein that carries blood from your lower limbs back to your heart. The pressure slows the flow of blood from your legs, causing it to pool. Hence the puffiness. Almost all of us go through this. Apparently 75% of women experience swelling during pregnancy, though mostly in the third trimester (so I hope it doesn't get worse in the coming months! I will be at my biggest in the hot summer months so hopefully the heat doesn't make it worse. I don't even have air-conditioning...)

There are things you can do to reduce the swelling: put your feet up, avoid crossing your legs, stretch, avoid tight socks, exercise, drink lots of water, eat well, try to avoid junk food. When I told my Mom about my bigfoot she accusingly asked me if I'd been having too much salt. I don't really salt anything (other than asparagus which I LOVE fried in oil and sea-salt. I figure the asparagus is so healthy that it should be OK even if I salt it. It's just so tasty! I don't add salt to anything else but of course a lot of foods are high in sodium without adding any.) She also told me to drink a lot of water, put my feet up and put something cold on my leg. So I forced myself to take a break, lay in bed with my left leg elevated on a pillow, a bag of frozen veggies on my leg and drinking a massive flask of water (I have to force myself to drink water. I don't enjoy it. It's so blah. Squeezing a little lemon juice into it at least gives it a slight kick. The only time I really like drinking water is when I'm really hot in the summer or exercising and dying of thirst. In a perfect world, water would taste like Coca-Cola! I love the sweet stuff. Then again in a perfect world money would grow on trees, men would be trustworthy, carrots would taste like french fries. Not that I'm knocking the world we're in. Hey, I admit, it's beautiful for the most part. It's just not always EASY.) Anyway, listening to Dr. Mom worked and my swelling actually did go down. I could see my ankles again. Unfortunately putting my feet up isn't always an option. I work at a job where I am sitting for 12 hour shifts. I do try to stretch a little, stand up for a break and elevate my feet slightly for a while at least but it's a challenge. At least I have gotten out of the habit of crossing my legs. The worst is when I have to walk around on an already swollen foot. I was shopping in a department store yesterday when all of a sudden my whole left leg went numb. My fat foot became a fat leg. I had to take a rest on a garden swing in the store and try to hold my foot in the air for a moment. I got a couple of strange looks until they got close enough to see my 6 month belly and I watched their surprised faces become more of an "Oh. Ok. She's pregnant. Carry on, freak foot." 

If I had someone to help with chores around the house etc, it would mean I could give my feet more of a rest but being single and on my own, it's all me. I work a long day and still have to do the shopping, cleaning, cooking and everything else. Of course being on my own, there is less to clean and only one (well, make that two including baby!) to cook for.

I've heard the second trimester referred to as the "honeymoon phase" of pregnancy. It has been a treat not to suffer the bouts of nausea I had in the first trimester. I was also much more stressed out, moody and depressed back then although I can't be sure how much was because of the pregnancy and how much was affected by the bleakness of winter and the fact that I was living with a dufus. Now that Spring is here and my life is decidedly dufus-free, I am feeling more peaceful, more stable, stronger and happier overall.

Aside from being a little tired, I was feeling quite healthy until this foot business. While it is a bit of a nuisance, I apparently got off pretty easy because I heard about an acquaintance who was swollen EVERYWHERE when she was pregnant. Her feet and legs were like balloons, her fingers were like sausages. Even her face puffed up and her lips looked like she'd had 10 collagen injections. Somehow she made out OK, even though she looked like the Michelin man. Facial swelling would especially be a concern though because it could be a symptom of "pre-eclampsia" -- a disorder which tends to occur after 20 weeks gestation and is characterized by excessive swelling, high blood pressure, rapid weight gain, protein in the urine, headaches, changes in vision, etc. Thankfully I haven't really had those symptoms, aside from my big foot. My weight gain has been pretty gradual and my blood pressure at each checkup has been on the low to normal side. My doctor did say I'll have to do a urine test at every check-up now so I guess they are always watching for things like that. My sister had "gestational diabetes" during one of her pregnancies -- high blood glucose levels, no real symptoms, mostly in the third trimester and affecting about 3-10% of pregnancies.

I never really liked feet. I'm afraid I took them for granted. Considering how much they do for me, I shouldn't. Our poor feet carry our weight around all the time. During pregnancy they have to work even harder. Before I got pregnant, I used to do yoga, including a headstand, every single day. Headstands are so good for you because the inversion gives your feet a break and allows blood to rush to your head, instead of away from it for a change. You wind up feeling more energized, able to think more clearly. It is also very good for your spine and gives you an amazing feeling of balance -- physically, emotionally and spiritually. It is relaxing. It is my zen. I stopped doing the exercises pretty early on in my pregnancy because I didn't feel up to it physically, especially the headstand. I didn't feel it was safe anymore and my balance wasn't the same anymore with the added weight. I was too front-heavy and didn't want to risk toppling over. Plus the last thing you want to do when you're feeling queasy is to be upside down. There are less strenuous exercises I could still do but I admit I'm a creature of habit and once I get out of the habit of something it is hard to get back into it. So I went from yoga every day to not at all. I will get back into it after I have the baby and I'm hoping I can get back to last year's weight again eventually. Just having the baby drops many of the pounds instantly. I've also heard that breast-feeding helps you to lose weight and speeds up the process of your uterus shrinking etc.  

I have been eating healthy at least, for the most part. Lots of fruits and vegetables, healthy proteins, dairy. I make sure to have a balanced diet including all the food groups every day and I've been taking pre-natal vitamins to make sure baby is getting all the nutrients she needs. I am however, human! I do need a treat now and then. When I work a long day especially, I don't always have the time or energy to make a big meal when I get home. Sometimes it's just too tempting to grab something easy. Yes I have succumbed to the lure of McDonalds! But I make sure to follow my Big Mac and fries with a bag of baby carrots, a banana, a glass of milk. A treat for Mama chased by good stuff for baby. Though I suppose the baby is getting a bit of everything, good and bad. which is why you have to be careful what you take in while pregnant. I wish I could send a memo to my digestive system! "Please send the healthy veggies express shipment to baby and divert the burger and fries AWAY from my little one!"

I haven't really noticed any "cravings" while I've been pregnant. I always heard the cliche of pickles and ice cream. I haven't really had that. The only things I've found myself really longing for were asparagus and mustard dill salmon which was my favourite dish long before I was pregnant. Unfortunately I'm limiting my fish intake to once per month because of the possible mercury pollution in the fish. Too much fish during pregnancy is supposed to be dangerous. It's a shame really because on one hand fish is so healthy -- it's brain food and full of OMEGA-3 fatty acids but because of possible pollution we have to limit our intake. My mother tried to tell me I shouldn't eat nuts in case the baby was allergic. I told her I don't think it works that way. Maybe being exposed to nuts would actually help a child not to be allergic. I know that when I was a kid in school NO ONE was allergic to nuts. Now it seems to be so common in schools that kids aren't even allowed to bring peanut butter sandwiches in case someone in the class is allergic. Could it be that kids today are too coddled and aren't exposed to enough things so they never develop an immunity? Just a theory. Anyway, to me, nuts are healthy and a high protein snack. Now when I buy them I actually get to eat them (instead of having them highjacked by a 6 foot 2 squirrel. Yes, the dufus ate everything in sight but he was particularly fond of nuts. You are what you eat...I am going to try not to mention him but I can't resist a little dig here and there. After what he put me through, it's hard not to! Still, I am grateful to him for the gifts he gave me -- the baby, most of all and the gift of his absence.)

Ok well, it's been a long day. My feet and I need a rest! Going to go have a nice candlelit bubble bath, with my feet up and then get to bed. Actually come to think of it, my main craving during pregnancy has been bubble baths! I've taken more now than ever before. I look forward to them. So relaxing. Baby seems to enjoy them. She always moves around a lot when I'm in there. I like when my ears are underwater because I imagine what it's like for her in her amniotic fluid. The echo of my heartbeat, breathing and my voice as I softly sing us lullabies. Baby and I  floating together. I hope she's going to love the water the way I do. Maybe we'll live on the beach someday... 

Footnote -- (couldn't resist the pun! Tee hee!) I guess my right leg was feeling left out of the discussion. It was begging for attention the following morning. I just woke up with excruciating pain in my right calf. It was a stiff solid ache. Perhaps I was a bit dehydrated because having a big glass of water seemed to help. I'd been lying on my right side because I was trying to keep the pressure off my left. It's still a little sore but nothing like when I first got up. I have had leg cramps the odd time, even before I was pregnant. It always seemed to happen in bed. Must be the way I sleep. I have a low pain threshold. Not actually sure how on Earth I'm going to get through labour! But that's a blog for another day...