An Open Letter to the Lactation Consultant I Almost Saw

Dear Ma'am,

The incident I'm about I am about to describe took place almost 9 months ago, during the second week of October 2014. At the time, I was too overwhelmed by being a mother of a newborn to process what I was feeling, but now I have more clarity and wanted to write this so that, in case you or any of your colleagues across our nation or even the world came across this, maybe it would help you improve your services.

When I called you, my baby was 16 days old. I hadn't been able to breastfeed my older child, but wanted to try with this one. We'd gone through the colostrum stage and had all of the expected diapers for a newborn, but then once we moved on to the milk, he had not had a "regular" dirty diaper.

Days passed. I heard everything from, "It's nothing; lots of breastfed babies use up everything in the milk and only wet" to "He's constipated; use a suppository" to "Something could be very wrong." In my mommy heart, I wasn't concerned. But I trusted my midwives, and once we were closing in on one week with no dirty diapers, they strongly suggested that I call you.

They said that, if nothing else, we could have the peace of mind that he was eating enough, as you had a very delicate scale that could indicate as much. So Friday afternoon, I called you to see if you were available on Monday.

You suggested that you come Saturday, because you said that in all of your years of doing this, you'd never heard of such a thing. After I agreed to that, you said, out loud, "I have plans with my family all day tomorrow, but I could come out first thing in the morning and probably not miss too much."

ITEM #1: That was unprofessional. This is your job. When you suggest a meeting time, either make it work or don't and tell me you misspoke. I don't know you; we're not friends. I don't need to know that you might be blowing off things you promised your kids to fit me in. Incidentally, I would have been fine with Monday. I would have preferred Monday, as I take much more of a "wait and see" attitude with this kind of thing, unless something "tells" me otherwise. As it was, I was full of postpartum hormones, and whether you meant to make me sound like a burden, or like you were doing me a huge favor, your thinking out loud made me very anxious. And I was already feeling pretty icky, what with people telling me that I was being too complacent about my child's care. Again, this is a lot of "new mom" emotional stuff, but these are the women you chose to serve. You're getting paid. Please treat me with professionalism.

You suggested that you would come out at 8:30, and that you'd need about thirty minutes to set up your scale, so we'd do the weigh-in at 9:00. Then you said, "Don't feed him for about two hours before I get there." I almost laughed. At that point, pretty much all of my time was spent feeding him. I said, "I'll try! He wants to nurse around the clock, no set schedule, and he wails if I try to put him off" to which you responded, "If you feed him fifteen minutes before I get there, there's no point in my coming. I need to get an idea of how much he's getting during a full feeding." I didn't go into the fact that every fifteen minutes *was* pretty much a full feeding, as we were doing it. That wasn't really important. If you'd stopped there, I would have understood you, and it would have been fine.

But then you said, "Besides, you're the parent. At some point, you're going to have to let him cry, so you might as well do it now."

ITEM #2: When he's just over two weeks old? You're a lactation consultant! If anyone were down with demand feeding, I would have assumed it'd be you. Here's what was going on: 1) My son might or might not be getting enough nutrition; the last thing I want to do is make him fast for two hours if he genuinely needs nourishment. 2) He is crying about 60-75% of his waking/non-feeding time, no matter what I do. Even when I intervene. Even when I'm holding him. So when I can soothe him to keep him from crying, that's what I need to do. 3) Did I mention the postpartum hormones? I did not need a lecture. I know I'm the parent. And now that my baby is 9 months old, I do let him cry when he wants to nurse but it won't work, especially when I have other snacks to offer and know he's very well fed. But during those first few weeks, it's hard enough without someone taking a peremptory tone, especially because I tell you I want to feed my baby. Not smoke around him. Not leave him in his crib while I run across to Taco Cabana. I know this is what you do every day, but you need to remember that I'm a new mom. I need gentle care. Not scolding.

However, then you offered to do something kind. You said, "Tell you what, if you wake up around 6 and feed him, go ahead and text me, and I can come earlier."

I appreciated this, especially the next morning when we woke up at about 6:45 and, because we were co-sleeping and nursing all night, couldn't really remember when we'd fed last. I figured it'd probably been within the half hour to hour before that, so I texted you. I also wanted you to know that, guess what, he'd had his first dirty diaper that morning! (I cried. Seriously.)

You said, "Okay. I'll come at 8:30 instead."

Uh.

ITEM #3: Our appointment was supposed to be at 8:30. So coming at 8:30 wasn't early. It was on time. I thought, "I'm glad I texted her! I wonder if, because she told me 8:30, half an hour to set up, and we'll weigh in at 9, she thought or wrote down that the appointment was at 9. Whew!"

Then I thought, "Oh! Maybe she means we'll weigh at 8:30, so she'll get here at 8!"

I took Mal outside to sit on the porch with me, so that the rest of the family could get some rest. It was raining that morning, and cool enough to be nice. I don't remember there being any mosquitoes.

Mal started fussing around 7:45. I walked with him, and I bounced him. I assured him you were on your way. As the minutes slipped by, I realized you meant you'd actually arrive at 8:30, but I felt like we were so close, I could do this. You'd be there soon. You'd talk to me and maybe it would distract him. It was going to be fine.

Mal started crying for real at about 8:15.

At 8:25, I thought about our housing situation and texted you where you could park without having to pay. Then I watched, looking up and down the street, waiting for you. I didn't know what you were driving, but there were not a lot of cars out. I started waving and smiling to cars inching by like they were looking for something.

ITEM #4: At 8:38, you texted me, "I'm running about 15 minutes late."

I knew we were done.

I texted back, "Don't bother, then. I have to feed him."

Because, frankly, if you said you were 15 minutes late, at this point I was assuming you were half an hour late, and it was already late and my baby had been fussing for an hour, and I was done.

You texted me, "I'm driving in the pouring rain. Are you telling me to turn around and go back home??"

ITEM #5: I just told you I didn't want the consultation. You don't need to "verify" it by putting a guilt trip on me. I can see that it's raining. I've been out here for over an hour. You should have texted me before you ever got into your car. Clearly, you realized you weren't on time. Why not text me when you realized there was no way you'd be there at 8:30, even if it were just 5 minutes before?

In a few minutes, you texted me that you'd pulled over and were ready to talk. You highly recommended that we go ahead with the appointment, but I told you I'd already fed him. He was quiet. He was sleeping. He was content. I did the right thing.

And yet I felt bad.

So I offered to pay you something for your time.

Later, you texted me that your charge for cancellations was half of your fee, and that was a lot more than I'd planned to send you. But I was tired, and I was frustrated, and I didn't need the drama, so I had Chase send you an $85 check... for nothing.

You did tack on an, "Okay, well, feel free to call me if you have any questions."

Doubtful.

ITEM #6: If you're late for an appointment that involves something like withholding food from a newborn, your clients should be able to tell you that you need to reschedule without having to fork over cash for your tardiness. You weren't just late for the early you promised, you were late for the actual appointment, which you knew was going to be difficult enough for me, anyway. YOU were late. And I paid you. Bad form.

In conclusion, I'm sure you're great at what you do. I came to enjoy and, I suppose, expect a certain level of care because of my awesome team of midwives. They would not have affiliations with you if you were not competent and their clients did not like you. Maybe you were just having a bad week. I don't know.

But, again, you have chosen to perform a vocation in which you deal with new mothers. New mothers are emotionally as sensitive to their new world as a baby is to his. Everything feels over the top and scary and discombobulating. I did not want or need tough love at that point.

So, what was the problem?

In the end, I don't think there was one.

I know my kid's latch sucked (or didn't suck?... properly?), and that's probably one reason we had to feed so much and so often. He's still really bad at it, but whatever we're doing is apparently working.

Hope whatever you're doing is working for you, too.

Then and now. Think he's doing okay! Oh, and he likes vanilla almond milk!

A couple of thoughts a couple of days later (weeks, actually)

I started this blog post on Friday, September 26. Now you can see how much time I've had both for organizing my thoughts and for writing. But I'll finish these thoughts as much as I have the time to do, then go on with some other stuff if I can. Clock's ticking!

I've been thinking about two things the past two days (again, this was the Friday after Wednesday's delivery), and thought I'd share them while I have a moment...

1) I've read a lot about different venues and philosophies when it comes to birthing babies. And I've read a lot about how ultimately, the way you give birth doesn't affect anyone or anything in the long term. What I've realized having now had two distinct birthing experiences is that it definitely does matter. I don't think it's too important whether you choose to go to the hospital or have lovely pain-blocking drugs or do it at home with no help except your family, just that you are heard. I wanted something very specific, and even when it looked like I might not get it, I knew, at the bare minimum, that I had a team who had listened to me and tried to make it happen. I walked away from that experience feeling hugely different than I did after fleeing the omniscient, condescending doctors with whom I dealt before, during, and after Daphne's birth.

That said, I am out of the business of having babies (James is having a medical procedure done this week to ensure that), but if I had to do it again, I'd definitely go with a midwife and birth center birth again. The only thing I had at the hospital was an epidural, and I LOVED it at the time. But I ended up feeling like it put a wall not only between me and my pain, but the actual delivery of my daughter. I don't think everyone is like me, so I don't hold what I experienced up as gospel. I am just not a "baby" person, and I think I needed all of the endorphins and hormones I could get in that moment, in order to start an early bond with the kiddo. And birthing naturally did that.

THAT said, if my true labor pains had lasted 4 hours or 18 hours or even one hour instead of 9 minutes, I might feel differently. But altogether, it was blissful. Not having to fight to go home was a plus, as well.

2) I don't remember the second one. Sorry.

But here are a few random things:

The first couple of nights, I'd wake up, see Mal's head, and think/say, "That's my sweet little girl." Then the night I was dozing off (due to no caffeine) and he was so fussy, I asked James to take him for a drive. James stood there while I dozed off and crept out of the room, not realizing that Mal was about to come back into full-screaming consciousness after three or four seconds. I called James back in and said, "So, is that a 'no'?" He said, "I thought you'd fallen asleep." I said, "I DID. But I need you to take her out for a few minutes, because even if she dozes off, she's uncomfortable... and I KNOW he's a boy. I know it's a 'he.'"

When James and I talked about it later, I think I decided that in that particular brand of exhaustion, my brain goes to the only other time I've felt that tired, and it was when Daphne was a baby.

Mal has had two non-meconium dirty diapers, both on Mondays. He might be a once-a-weeker, and as long as he's comfy, I'm all for it. Our cloth diaper laundry duty will be so much simpler.

I have had to stop dairy. I don't eat much, mostly cheese, but it seems to upset him a lot. I'd stopped caffeine, too, because I was worried it'd given him a lot of energy the night I was worried he might be colicky. I don't think it was affecting him like that, but now that I've been off of caffeine for 5 or 6 days (and, yes, I'm still sleepy but no more headache), I figure I might as well go with it. I like caffeine. I don't think it's harmful. But when you have to take caffeine gum with you to Haiti because you're afraid they won't have enough for you, you might have a problem!

James is awesome. He is doing everything that he can do, and being so gracious about the fact that I sit on my backside for hours on end. Mal has only in the past couple of days let me put him in the bassinet to nap for an hour or so; until then, I (or someone else) had to hold him or he wouldn't sleep. We're out of groceries; I'm making ridiculous things for breakfast and lunch. James is stepping up his chore level, and getting things for me, and dealing with a baby we didn't plan to have in our bed, and is just generally wonderful.

Also, my sister and my friend Jana have been invaluable. Sarah came over yesterday and cleaned, and today she's going to pick up some stuff for me at the grocery store (but don't worry, Nana, I'll have a FULL list for you next week!). Jana has brought us two meals and took pictures of a sleepy (therefore not-as-cooperative-as-ideally) Mal so we'd have some newborn shots while he's still a newborn.

When James' mom and Pat were here, Patsy held Mal a lot and I was able to get some things done (apparently overdoing it, according to the midwives). And Pat also picked up supplies a couple of times. But it was at Trader Joe's, and I don't think she considered it much of a chore. :) We loved having them here.

There's a lot more, but Mal is waking up. Gotta go hold that baby boy.

The Birth Story (thankfully, it's a short one!)

After a tense last week, and staring into the eyes of having to go to the hospital for an induction if I didn't go into labor by noonish on Wednesday, September 24, I woke up at 6:00 AM with some lower back pain. I got up, and the pain kept cycling, starting in back and eventually being like a ring of discomfort around my entire lower abdomen.

Since James and I were to be at the birthing center by 9:00, I kept a "journal" from 7:40 until 8:40 and found that these contractions, different than but also including the Braxton Hicks contractions I'd been having for weeks, were coming about every 4-7 minutes and lasting for 30ish seconds. They weren't getting stronger, but they weren't going away, either.

At 9, we walked up to the Birthing Center. Natalie, one of the midwives, gave me a very delicious shake made out of orange juice, ice cream, and 2 ounces of castor oil, just to keep the contractions coming (they did weaken on the way up there, and then hit again pretty hard an hour later). She and Stephanie, another midwife, monitored the baby's heart rate, and then we waited.

I was uncomfortable enough that I couldn't lie down, so spent time on the yoga ball and birthing stool. James' mom and her best friend got there a bit after we did, so we visited and hung out. Then my sister and her two girls showed up, so we had a little party.

At around noon, the practice was in session and women were coming in for appointments. I was continuing to have consistent contractions without too much progress, and thought aloud that maybe they would let me go home to labor a bit. I'd already been told to feel free to move around the neighborhood, so Sarah went on a walk around the block with James and me. It was a gorgeous day!

Mackenzie and Hannah stayed with us most of the day, minus trips to McD's for food, and TJ visited with Daphne at the house. I didn't know it, but my parents had also come into town and were at the Nuthaus with D for a while, as well.

This was good, too... until it wasn't. I spent several contractions on my knees on the yoga ball, then realized that I was progressing very quickly. I was in enough pain that I told Stephanie the thought of an internal exam (which I hadn't had since last Friday when we did the membrane sweep) made me want to cry, but she told me we'd time it so that she'd set up and then I'd have a contraction, immediately lie down, and she'd do it super fast.

I was standing there and had a contraction while she was setting up, then she left the room as that contraction was waning. She came right back, but I started to have another contraction, and during that one, my water broke. I hurried up and lay down, she told me I was at 8-9 centimeters and still had a little way to go, so I asked if we could fill up the tub as I knew the pressure was going to become a lot more intense. Stephanie started the water, said it'd be about fifteen minutes, and I did the next three contractions or so on the birthing stool.

The tub wasn't full at that point, not even quite half way, but I HAD to try to get the gravity away as much as possible. Sarah told me that it was deep enough that I could submerge my belly, and it did feel SO much better.

But also, the next contraction I had was very down low and I could see why women say they feel like they have to use the restroom when they're contracting (I had consumed mass quantities of Castor Oil and did not have this problem).

It was 1:10 when I got into the tub, and it took another 5 minutes or so for the water to fill and someone turned it off. I had three increasingly-intense contractions, yelling out while thinking, "I'm not a yelling person! This is crazy!" And Stephanie would see me tensing up and remind me to relax, so I'd answer back snarkily, "I'M TRYING!" And she'd have to say, "I know. Just reminding you."

Here's the deal: I was only in the tub 9 minutes before I had the baby. I wonder if I'd known that going in, whether it might have been easier not to freak out during the pain. What's funny is that once he started crowning, it wasn't as bad as when the pain was further toward the back. Also, I was very fortunate in that, while my contractions were painful and exhausting, causing me a complete lethargy in my muscles, which were shaking with the strain of supporting myself even while buoyant, after every third contraction, I'd have a minute or so where they would abate enough for me to go back into my "sane" brain and relax before the next one started up.

The WORST contraction I had was probably the 4th to the last. Stephanie was getting things ready as fast as she could; I'd progressed super fast in like half an hour, so she'd run out into the hall to grab something, and I said to James and Sarah, "You need to go get her and tell her he's coming."

Stephanie came back in with a Doppler she could use in the water, and she said she was going to see if she could feel the baby's head. Well, I did not like that AT ALL and started screaming not only "the" word that got the kid in "A Christmas Story" in so much trouble, but "Please don't touch me! Stop it!" Like literally screaming hysterically.

Stephanie got very serious and shushed me. She said to stop screaming because it was a waste, but to keep that in and push it down to help the baby get out quicker. She also told me that I might want to lean back to help the baby slip under my pelvic bone; since I'd gotten into the pool, I'd contracted leaning forward on the side of the tub.

I was skeptical that I'd be able to move, but I did, and was able to balance on the edge of the stair/seat so that there was no pressure on anything sensitive. This is, I believe the second to last contraction.

I could tell (but not see; I had to close my eyes against the pain) when his head came out. I begged James and Stephanie to "take him out, please! Get him the rest of the way out!" but it was already better. His shoulders were intense, but not as bad as the head. The rest of him was no big deal. James got to grab him, pull him out of the water, and hand him to me. Enter Malcolm Khrystopher Gatannah at 1:19 PM on September 24. 2014... after 4 hours at the birthing center and probably just under an hour of what felt like work, but only 10 minutes or so of "I can't control my own actions and sounds and words" labor.

My James was an awesome birthing partner. He was right there if I needed him, but didn't do more than I wanted him to. He asked about everything and listened if I said, "I like that, but not this right now." I couldn't look at his face between my really heavy contractions because he was so concerned. I could see it in his face, and I could hear him sniffing. My sister said she gave him a little reassurance that she knew it was hard to watch, but that what I was doing was exactly right. 

Of note: Mal was blue when he was born, and was wrapped up in the cord (which stands to reason; his heart rate reading was usually somewhere behind the cord pulse), both things that might have gotten him whisked off to NICU in a hospital. But he was fine. His APGAR score at 1 minute after birth was 8, and at 5 minutes after birth was 9. His cord was clamped 13 minutes after he was born, and James got to cut it... but not easily. I guess he really REALLY didn't want to leave his mommy, and we might have gotten him out, but he was still kind of holding on.

We stayed in the water until I'd finished the complete delivery, and then when it was time to get out, James took the baby and I hosed off and was treated like an Egyptian princess. Nikki, a midwife intern and a doula, dried me off while my sister prepared my gown and put it over my head. This morning's after-shower routine by myself was a real letdown after all of that.

We got to sit and hold Malcolm for about an hour before Stephanie did the newborn exam.

Grandma Patsy and Aunt Pat were in and out, so they missed a lot of the more colorful and nudity-filled moments. (Although I suppose they were in the entry of the building and actually probably heard more than they're bugging me about.)

8 pounds, 2 ounces! 21 1/4 inches long. Everything checked out great, the only note on his physical was that he was still blue at the extremities when we left.

First diaper. Much less disturbing than changing him, 'cause, you know, meconium. 

My sister took all of the pictures, and she finally got into one! I'm glad she was there, and not just to document everything.

The birth ended up being everything I'd wanted, and we got to go home three hours after Mal was born. We walked home; James carried the baby and Hannah carried my stuff. It was so nice to start and finish the day at home, and to get to hang out with Daphne for the afternoon and evening instead of being tied up at the hospital for 24-48 hours.

I know that there were hundreds of people praying for me to go into labor so I wouldn't have to be transported to the hospital for any emergency intervention. Thank you, people! I am SO grateful! Also, Stephanie said he only looked 41ish weeks, which surprised me not at all. It was a great experience all around. I highly recommend Birthwise Birth Center and Family Services. Such great midwives and laid-back but thorough care.

Today when I looked at my delivery progress notes, they were recording everything I ate, the stuff I was saying to indicate my tolerance of labor, etc. But they also did not insert themselves into the delivery in a way that said, "I'm the boss; you're going to do what I say, and don't ask questions." They will tell you as much or as little as you want about progress, they will conduct as many tests as you want, and not pressure you if you decline.

So happy to be home with our family and looking forward to whatever is to come! Mal had a peaceful (except for my yelling, then his) entry into the world, which hopefully bodes very well for his future.

It's Time!

The midwife has our room ready, and it's time to make our way to the birthing center!

Oh! But we need the diaper bag!

That'd be the breast pump.

*sigh*

Seriously, I could get the bag myself, but James really wants to help.

Yea! He found it!

Daphne tells us to call her when something exciting happens.

And we're off.

It's a short walk; less than 1/5 of a mile. But there is quite an incline.

James happily leads the way, making sure there's no traffic or anything dangerous on the sidewalk.

He flags a little on the way up, but I'm able to help him.

But we *don't* have time for a reading break!

Sometimes, you just have to do whatever works.

Finally here!

We'll let *you* know when something interesting happens, too! :)

Thanks for the pictures, Jana!

Acupuncture Roller Coaster

This morning, I had a check-up/check-in at the birthing center. Again, we listened to the baby's heart rate, and as the baby moves, the heart speeds up, just like it's supposed to. They don't even care about me anymore, as we didn't take my blood pressure or pulse, and I didn't weigh or do the urinalysis. I guess it's obvious that I'm fine, although Stephanie did tell me my "energy" is different than it was two weeks ago. Jayme had told me the same kind of thing last week, only she had said, the day after we returned from Schlitterbahn, "Yeah, I don't think you look like a mom who's going to call us in labor tomorrow. Your face doesn't look like it." And Friday, she told me that my face looked ready. I didn't ask for too many details. I don't want to be self-conscious.

Tonight, after bringing Daphne home from her 4-H classes, I had a second appointment with the acupuncturist. She didn't make me do stairs first this time (oh, but I had to do them!). First, we did the needles in kind of the same position as before, except more this time, and lower on the back.

When she put the ones in my left forearm and hand, they hurt quite a bit, especially the one in the hand. I mentioned to her that this weekend, I stopped feeling the little tags they gave me except for the one on my left hand. I told her it had really bothered me when I pressed on it, so I spent a lot of time over the weekend concentrating on that, figuring that if it hurt, it needed attention.

She said, "That's interesting. We associate the left side with emotions, and it reminds us of movement. Both physically and that things are always changing. But since you're overdue, and you have a daughter who's trying to process the baby changes, and your mother-in-law is about to visit... it would make sense that that side would be disturbed."

When she left, I started thinking about it... about how our dinner tonight is likely to be the last dinner that's just the three of us. Things are going to change forever, and although I know that's good, it's a HUGE change, and it's okay to kind of mourn that. Even if I don't go into labor tomorrow (and I'm going to spend most of the day at the birthing center doing "natural" stuff to try to get it going), James' mom will be here (we're totally looking forward to that, by the way; she's never seen where he lives in his adult life!), and at some point during the week she's here, we will have the baby, and then more family and guest and noise and... change. And the fact is, the status quo is pretty awesome.

Pondering this made me cry, and I wondered if my resistance to usher in a change of this magnitude (as opposed to, "Well, it's happening whether we're ready or not!" which is what I wish would happen) is keeping hormones bound up that would otherwise release and start the process. So I tried to surrender any latent/subconscious control or barriers... And, yes, I KNOW how this sounds, but it's very difficult not to get all esoteric when you've spent as much time around alternative providers as I have lately.

After ten minutes, I was mercifully interrupted by the assistant who, I had been told, was going to shock me. Literally.

She put the electrodes at the base of my spine and then this little iPod-looking thing cycled through a series of "stimulations" that started with what felt like a quick knocking and ended up feeling like I had a strongly-vibrating phone stuck in my waistband. Right when it would get to the, "Ick, this is a little too intense" level, the cycle would cut out and restart.

After several repetitions of the cycle, the baby started moving more, and I asked if Rooby liked it or thought it was ridiculous. I think I thought it was ridiculous, because I started laughing about how silly the picture was of my sitting there, back exposed, needles sticking out of my arms, legs, and torso, electrodes iPodding my spine with low-level electricity... Just goofy.

Ten minutes later, I got dressed leaving the Palm Massager in place, and did the stairs again. This was enough movement that it distracted me from the current, which was starting to get irritating, just sitting there.

When I left, I got 4 more mini-acupuncture tabs and we didn't schedule anything else since I'm going to spend Tuesday at the birthing center, doing all sorts of things that can hopefully "naturally" induce labor. I've done all of the stuff I can do at home, so they're going to help me and monitor me all day. I did draw the line at consuming castor oil because 1) I have a hair-trigger digestive system (hello, spinach gives me regrets) and do not wish to be in pain that is not specifically baby-related and 2) everything I've read says it really doesn't seem to work, anyway.

However, I was thinking about it last night, and even though stuff like breast-pumping and consuming certain herbs might qualify as "old wives' tales," that's sort of the whole point of having a midwife. They perform the "services" of helping, assisting, and supporting expectant mothers the way that older, more experienced family and neighborhood women used to do when our society was set up like that. They were literally old wives, and their input and presence was invaluable.

So, while I'm not hugely excited about spending today up the hill hooked up to a milking machine, I'm pretty much willing to do anything (except drinking a "stimulant laxative") short of drug/surgical intervention to see if it will work as a jump-start. 

Here's where I'll be hanging out today, if you need me:

Could be a lot worse. :)

I'm taking my computer (I'm more than half way through "Ugly Betty") and library book, but I could use some lunch! *hint hint* 

Jump Starting?

Because of my recent ultrasound and some other factoring, the midwives moved my "estimated date of delivery" from September 4 to September 8, putting me at post-dates this coming Monday instead of yesterday.

The baby is great, and I'm fine, but that kid just does not seem motivated to move. Today, I went in to the midwife's to make sure the fetal heart rate was good, and to see exactly where the baby is. Also, to see if we could get any "action" over the weekend, we did some stuff. Here 'tis:

Friday, September 19, 9:15 AM

Midwife appointment.

Stephanie had mixed up some herbs for me to take over the weekend. It's labeled "Labor Prep" and has several herbs in it. I'm supposed to take 40 drops every 4 hours, except when I'm sleeping.

Natalie had me do my usual in-office testing. She listened to the fetal heartbeat with the Doppler (they usually just use the stethoscope) for longer than typical, checking to see if the baby's heart rate rose when it moved (it did). She felt for position, then she did the first internal examination I've had so far.

She found good things and made a couple of recommendations. The baby's hand may be jammed up against my bones with its head. She has me trying several positions and exercises to move it up (which seems counter-intuitive) so it can free up its hand.

Natalie tried to do a membrane sweep, but didn't get too far because the baby's still up high enough.

When I got home, I took the first dose of the herbs... and while it tasted pretty bad, there was no creepy metallic aftertaste like I've had with the tinctures I've attempted to take so far. Actually, it kind of burned a little bit, in a pleasant way.

I'm a little sore from the exam, but I'm getting ready to go to an acupuncture session, so maybe that'll take the edge off.

11:30 AM

Acupuncture treatment.

Downstairs from the birthing center is Light Family Acupuncture. Part of my birthing packet included (or was supposed to have included) a gift certificate for a free treatment. I didn't see it, but I still got to use it today. :)

When I first went in, the acupuncturist explained what we were going to do, then she took me into the hallway and told me to walk up the flight of stairs, skipping every other stair. Then to do that five times, coming back downstairs "normally."

Well.

I did. And after the stairs, I was supposed to use the restroom, then go get into position for the treatment. When I had ascended and descended the stairs five times, the restroom was occupied, so I went up one more time. Supposedly, the skip-step walking was to encourage the baby to descend some more.

After I'd made use of the facilities, I went into the treatment room... I was wearing a dress with bike shorts under it (my favorite thing for days I have exams where people are going to want to look at my belly), and the acupuncturist had told me that she needed access to my shoulders and lower back. For this reason, she was having me sit on a very comfortable rolling stool, relaxing my head and arms on a few pillows stacked on the acupuncture bed. It's like sleeping in class with your head on the desk, if the teacher provided multiple fluffy headrests. The acupuncturist offered multiple fans, lighting options, more pillows, fewer pillows, and even the heater so I'd be comfortable. (No thanks on that last one!)

What's funny is that she had told me that I could probably just take off my dress and leave my underwear on, but I was welcome to remove everything if I wanted to. Eww. Why? It's one of those things that helps me realize that there are people WAY more in tune with nature and their bodies than I am. I was content to sit on a stool wearing my bike shorts, since other people actually have used and will continue to use the chair.

When the treatment was over, the assistant gave me the skin tag things you see on the left. They're basically like thumb tacks, but tiny acupuncture needles topped by bandage material. She stuck one in each hand and one on the inside of both of my lower legs, telling me that I could push on them throughout the weekend to "stimulate your meridians." Alternately I don't notice them, or they're itchy.

They gave me a list of things like exercises and foods they recommend, as well as essential oils (which I don't have), aromatherapy, and "slippery foods." Oats is the only thing on that list that I actually like.

7:15 PM

Curry for dinner.

Curry was on the list, so James and I walked (another thing I'm supposed to do to help the membrane sweep "work;" I'd walked to TCBY with my sister and her family earlier, too) to Teji's for dinner. The acupuncturist said, "You can do Thai curry or Indian curry; we like that better than Mexican food." What a coincidence! I like Thai or Indian better than Mexican, too.. and if you think that's an easy position to hold, then you don't live in Texas.

I chose the goat curry, because chicken isn't my favorite, and because we had goat several times in Haiti and I remember it fondly. It was just spicy enough that when I was finished, my mouth was ready to be done with it. The naan there is crazy good: huge, light, moist but not too chewy, fresh from the tandoor. And the kheer did a great job of cooling down my face when I was done with the meal.

Conclusion:

The membrane sweep made me feel mildly icky for a couple of hours. The acupuncture was relaxing enough. Dinner was delicious, and I love hanging out with my husband. Also, I got rained on three times today, and it felt great because even though it's been rainy, it's still awfully humid and disgusting when the rain isn't actually coming down.

I've also kept up with the evening primrose since last week, and have taken those herbs thrice today.

However, none of these things has sent me into labor... Yet.

Which means one thing: I have to buy groceries tomorrow. Pppth.

A New Vlog Entry (the 10th!) Touring the Nursery

Here we are at 34 weeks and some change, and Rooby is on the move. Nearly constantly. Also, I am having contractions all of the time. Fortunately, the contractions aren't painful; they're not even uncomfortable. The baby's moving is usually fine, just weird, except when the movements poke up against an internal organ.

Also, the originally-named hormone relaxin is at work, and sometimes I have to stop want I'm doing to breathe through a brief ligament stretch.

Other than that, I'm as healthy as always. Normal (low) blood pressure and pulse, ease of mobility, holding chiropractic adjustments, and trying to get as much bike-riding in as possible. Exercise, except for swimming, has to happen before or after 8 AM and 8 PM, as the temperature plus humidity plus UV means daylight is out for anything but water activities, preferably indoors or at one of the cold venues like Deep Eddy or the Barton Springs pool. James and I walk together to some places on the weekend, but it's really disgusting outside.

I'm on track to gain about 25 pounds this pregnancy, which will put me at about 20 pounds less than I weighed when I gave birth to Daphne. I'm not too worried about any of that, though, because I'm feeling awesome and doing so well.

When I went to the chiropractor today, I felt bad for the other pregnant lady there. She was having a difficult time getting up and around, and breathing heavily while sitting there. I feel very fortunate, and pray that my health and well-being foreshadows positive outcomes for Rooby, despite the fact that James and I are older.

Anyhoo, here's the promised vlog update! Come look at the nursery.

July 4th and Seven Month Check-Up

It's been a great week for Team Dave's!

Last week, James got off work early on Thursday, and we drove up to McKinney. Actually, the driving part from Austin through Waco pretty much blew sewage, but my dad's tip to take the Dallas North Tollway instead of going through downtown to get to 75 was like magic.

We got to have dinner with my parents and socialize briefly before we dragged our exhausted booties to bed lamely early (except for Daphne, whom I reminded at some point when I woke up during the night to go to sleep).

Friday morning, we got up, had a leisurely breakfast, got D up, and headed north again. We got into Gore at about 1:00 PM, and got to spend all afternoon and evening with James' dad's family. It was the third year for James and me to go, and Daphne's second year.

After last year, James wanted to save up to take a haul of fireworks, so we did... and Daphne had a lot more fun this time. She really got along with James' cousin's daughter Gabby, and later D told me, "I'm 40% less scared of fire than I was before."

James has a very cool family, and I love that we already have a tradition to look forward to every year (even though driving that distance isn't anyone's favorite).





Good grief... next summer is our 25-year high school reunion! It'd be neat if we could double up on that. Gore is only about 40 miles from Fort Smith.

Our trip home Saturday was less traumatic, traffic-wise than the trip up. Also, we stopped in Sherman and got to have a great lunch with friends. One of Daphne's best friends, Kylie, and her parents, brother, and sister met us. So did Moses, Lisa, for whom I used to work, and their daughter. My theater sister, Sherri, my theater horrible in-law (but real-life pretty amazing person), Marty, and my theater "Jewish" sister-in-law, Susan, all showed up. Church friends Jill (and one of her three sweet girls) and Heather (and her daughter, Caroline, who was in gym with Daphne) rounded out our group, and I think Italian Affair should have given us a group discount. It was very cool to see everyone!

My family is the best, and traveling with them is awesome, even if the trip is long and tedious. I really want a private helicopter than I can fly from our back yard.

James hit the ground running with work, I have been domestically pretty busy this week, but Daphne has been able to ease back into school (yeah, we do school year-round, because I can't take endless days of leisure).

This morning, I had two mystery shops early, so I got a free dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts and a free Jiffy Lube oil change, then got home just in time to get to my midwife appointment. James got to go with me, even though he left about halfway through to be at a meeting at his office. He got to hear the heartbeat, and we talked over some stuff we were wondering about with the midwife.

She and the intern both tried to tell, just by touch, how the baby is lying, but they couldn't get a handle on it. So, we did a sonogram and found out Rooby is head-down, so that's a relief. I'm glad to use up the 10-pack of chiropractic adjustments I bought, though! Glad I don't have to double up to do the Webster thing.

Oh! Last night, or really early this morning, probably, James woke up and had put his arm across my "waist" (or where it used to be). After a few minutes, I'd gone back to sleep but was awakened when James said, "I don't know how you can sleep through that!" Yeah, I guess the baby is pretty active. But I'm used to it. I'm sleeping VERY well, thankyouverymuch. But apparently it's keeping James awake.

Anyway, the rest of the midwife's appointment was fine. I'd gained about 10 pounds my first trimester, and then I gained 10 pounds in something like 3 weeks! But in since May 24, I've only gained 2 pounds. I guess my blood volume increased A LOT there for a while, and I was having problems with swelling, too. It was really creepy. That's a lot better now. BUT I put on like 15 pounds the last 3 weeks I was pregnant with Daphne (and lost them within several days of giving birth, so it was all fluid... and it was uncomfortable as heck)... I'm hoping to avoid that this time! Still no stretch marks or anything (another thing I avoided until that last couple of weeks with D). I'm feeling great. My blood pressure was 90/68! I just need to get to the pool again soon!

I'm trying to talk Daphne into going with me to the 4th Annual 6th Street and Trinity Splash Mob, but she doesn't seem convinced. Well, I might just ride my bike down there by myself and do it, anyway! Yes, James would totally be into it... but his work is crazy right now, so he doesn't have much down time, even on the weekends. That's one reason I loved this weekend so much. Hanging out with that guy is one of my favorite things.

That's all of the news that's fit to print for now. 32 weeks as of tomorrow. In no hurry. I'm loving my sleep. :)

That Voodoo That You Do

If you've known me for a while, or have watched my pregnancy vlogs, you know that the reason I'm seeing a midwife instead of a medical doctor is that I did not enjoy all of the medical-procedure-y things that happened when I was expecting Daphne (attempted referral to a neurologist instead of a chiropractor, constant self-advocacy against professional after professional who kept telling me we'd "have to" do certain things because she was my first, not allowing me to leave the hospital when I was stressed to the max by the unexpected roommate situation and just wanted to be in the privacy of my own home, etc.).

I love the whole "we'll keep an eye on things, but unless something is overtly wrong, we're just going to let your body do what it's designed to do" mentality.

That said, there have been times I've either tried their suggestions and then jettisoned them for my own reasons, or have just done what they said despite my skepticism because it wasn't that big of a deal just to do it.

For instance, for the first 16 weeks of my pregnancy (after I realized I was pregnant and had gone to see the midwife), I applied progesterone cream topically every day. Although the jury is still out as to whether this actually prevents miscarriages due to low progesterone, I did this because I figured it couldn't hurt. Progesterone levels are supposed to return to "normal" 10 days to three weeks after a miscarriage. The day after I started bleeding last year, my progesterone levels were already at a non-pregnant level... So clearly, I'd had very low progesterone with that pregnancy, and this time, my numbers were higher but still on the low end.

Did it help? I don't know. Didn't hurt. Didn't cost too much, and didn't take much time or effort, so why not?

Another thing they recommended to help with my hormone levels was tincture of wild yam extract. First of all, apparently some progesterone-boosting creams are made with wild yam and not actual progesterone; it seems to be widely panned that those don't help. Mine actually had progesterone in it (and, no, I have no idea what kind of animal supplied it or how they got it). But apparently wild yam might cause your body to produce more progesterone.

I tried to do this. I really did. For one week, I put a dropper full of the tincture into a big old glass of water and choked it down. When that proved too disgusting to take, I just put it into a double shot glass and slammed it back, followed by a chaser. I. couldn't. do. it. It was so foul, I gagged and dreaded it and just... couldn't. The evidence of efficacy didn't seem strong enough for me to keep at it, so I stopped.

Most recently, I've been having issues with searing heartburn. The midwife recommended raw almonds (yuck) or almond milk (on it!) to help with that. Easy enough.

But when I mentioned that I was eating a lot of ice, and I guessed it's mostly because my body is craving water, which I usually hate, and ice is one way to get it, she mentioned that I might be lacking some trace minerals. There is a lot on this here internet about pica (non-food cravings) during pregnancy. Don't worry; I'm not eating dirt or paper or corn starch. But I decided to see if there was something to this by getting some trace mineral drops at Whole Foods ($11.99 for a couple of ounces!).

When I put the recommended "starter" dose (1/4 of a full dose) in my water that night... Oh my gosh, it was the tincture all over again. So bad. So, so revolting. My blood test during the glucose screening did reveal that I'm slightly iron deficient (I'm anemic a lot in "real" life, so this stands to reason). I guess I'll just concentrate on getting more iron in my diet... because iron pills are another thing I can't/won't do. The pills themselves are mehh, but the side effects. Nooooooo.

Now, I promise you that I'm getting somewhere with all of this. It's quite revelatory, and I'm actually pretty horrified about the whole thing. So I might be stalling.

One more stall.

Acupuncture.

When my back was hurting so much, I spent (and, thankfully, was reimbursed) a TON of money on acupuncture. It's about 6 times as expensive as chiropractic. And when they'd tell me why what they were doing worked, it sounded made up. It sounded completely ridiculous and crazy. It made no sense on any logical level, and I'm not 100% sure to this day that I buy the "why." But I can tell you that it worked. It didn't fix the problem, which was really only fixable by time and/or surgery. It DID, however, alleviate the pain immediately and for some time after.

At that point, I honestly didn't care why it worked. I didn't need to understand. It helped, and I needed help.

Which brings me to where we are today.

Last month, I found out a week after the class that my midwifery had hosted a placentophagy class. I wished I'd known about it, because I probably would have gone... Not because I am interested in actually eating my own placenta, but because I am interested in people who are interested in that kind of thing. I didn't care to see the afterbirth from when Daphne was born. It had served its purpose, I had my baby, and I was done with all of that. I am at a loss as to why people make placenta prints (look it up if you want; it's not for the squeamish) and cannot believe that there are e-cookbooks on Amazon that feature recipes for preparation of this organ in things like tacos and smoothies.

Thank you, but no.

I'd told James that if I lived in a nutritional desert, I'd probably be more open to the idea, but I'm not nutritionally at-risk. I can go one mile north to Wheatsville Co-Op or one mile south to Whole Foods and there are all sorts of healthy and delicious options for boosting my vitamins and minerals.

So, again, no thanks.

And then I read a little blip about its possibly holding off some postpartum depression (PPD). There is no scientific study to back this up. The ideas that made the most sense of it to me were this...

+++++++

Many new mothers feel depressed for weeks after giving birth. Physicians have vaguely attributed this malaise to exhaustion and to the demands of motherhood. But a group of researchers at the National Institutes of Health has found evidence for a more specific cause of postpartum blues. New mothers, the researchers say, have lower than normal levels of a stress-fighting hormone that earlier studies have found helps combat depression.
When we are under stress, a part of the brain called the hypothalamus secretes corticotropin-releasing hormone, or CRH. Its secretion triggers a cascade of hormones that ultimately increases the amount of another hormone - called cortisol - in the blood. Cortisol raises blood sugar levels and maintains normal blood pressure, which helps us perform well under stress. Normally the amount of cortisol in the bloodstream is directly related to the amount of CRH released from the hypothalamus. That's not the case in pregnant women.
During the last trimester of pregnancy, the placenta secretes a lot of CRH. The rise is so dramatic that CRH levels in the maternal bloodstream increase threefold. "We can only speculate," says George Chrousos, the endocrinologist who led the NIH study, "but we think it helps women go through the stress of pregnancy, labor, and delivery."
But what happens after birth, when the placenta is gone? Chrousos and his colleagues monitored CRH levels in 17 women from the last trimester to a year after they gave birth. All the women had low levels of CRH - as low as seen in some forms of depression - in the six weeks following birth. The seven women with the lowest levels felt depressed.
Chrousos suspects that CRH levels are temporarily low in new mothers because CRH from the placenta disrupts the feedback system that regulates normal production of the hormone. During pregnancy, when CRH levels are high in the bloodstream, the hypothalamus releases less CRH. After birth, however, when this supplementary source of CRH is gone, it takes a while for the hypothalamus to get the signal that it needs to start making more CRH.
"This finding gives reassurance to people that postpartum depression is a transient phenomenon," says Chrousos. "It also suggests that there is a biological cause."
COPYRIGHT 1995 Discover
COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale Group

... and this...

Both iron deficiency and fatigue can impact the development of Postpartum Depression (PPD) by creating a vicious cycle of ailments that Placentophagy could help with, or help to avoid. The vicious cycle begins with iron deficiency being prevalent in women of childbearing age. World estimates state >50% of this population are affected. Having iron deficiency results in many symptoms, some of which are: an impaired ability to concentrate, impaired physical work capacity, depressive symptoms, and fatigue. These symptoms are often overlooked or misdiagnosed due to postpartum women dealing with the lifestyle changes of having a new baby in the house and attributing these symptoms to these changes.
Unfortunately overlooking or ignoring symptoms of iron deficiency, such as fatigue, and not providing proper treatment can lead to the next step in the cycle of PPD development. Research has shown that early postpartum fatigue plays a significant role in PPD. This fatigue adds to the stress of raising a newborn and adjusting to the changes taking place and can hinder a woman from reaching her maximum potential within her role as a mother.
Early screening and treatment of both iron deficiency and fatigue is necessary to reduce the chance of PPD developing, especially since women with PPD respond best when treatment is received at early onset. Placentophagy can be part of this early treatment and help postpartum women avoid both iron deficiency, the fatigue that often accompanies it, and PPD. Several health findings have shown that PPD does respond to iron supplementation and placentas contain iron that can aid in replenishing a postpartum woman's iron levels. A woman's placenta, when ingested, can help stop the the vicious cycle that so many women endure after having a baby.

+++++++

The PPD I experienced with Daphne was horrific. If I knew then what I know now, I would have sought medical treatment for it. If it happens again this time, I certainly will. One bit of good news: I came across an article on PPD the other day, and it listed some risk factors. Whereas I hit on about 6 of the 9 things they mentioned as possible predictors when I was expecting Daphne (including loss of job and financial insecurities, among other things), the only one I have now is that I've had PPD as well as minor depression in the past. So that's some good news.

One of the interns at the birthing center is a doula and also has her own placenta encapsulating service. This means she takes a placenta, dehydrates it, grinds it, and returns it in pill form to the mother. There is an herbal mix added, as well, and the choices are mood boost, milk boost, and iron boost.

So... in order to take any route to avoid the absolute mess of a person I was in the weeks after Daphne's birth, am I willing to pay $200 to try this iffy and pretty vile-sounding thing?

It turns out that I am.

It might be that I never have PPD with this kid, and it's just a matter of my being older and wiser and more settled. And if that happens, I'll never swear by the pills, just as I can't swear by the progesterone cream saving this baby's life in utero. But apparently I'm desperate enough to try anything that might help.

Within reason.

I still don't think I could bring that puppy home with me, prepare it, and ingest it as a meat. I can't even eat beef or chicken liver. Organ meat is just foul to me, even though liver would be one good way to replenish my low iron.

But I can swallow a pill.

We'll see how it goes.

I need to blog also about the postpartum stuff, and one thing that I think contributed to it (answer: loneliness, but I'll expound, so stay tuned...).

She swallowed the spider to catch the fly...

We're into the third trimester, and everything is great... but there are some comfort issues I'm trying to tweak.

For the past couple of weeks, I've had very intense heartburn. When I talked to the midwife, she suggested some exercises and also said that getting the baby to turn head down would help a lot. As part of that, I started seeing my old chiropractor again; right now, she's just doing regular prenatal adjustments and will have me come in more regularly, concentrating on turning the baby, if Rooby hasn't decided to get into position by the time I hit 34 weeks.

Unfortunately, a lot of the comfort-issue tweaking seems to be negating the work I'm doing in other areas. For instance: Spinning Babies recommends holding a pose for 20 minutes a day wherein my head is on a pillow on the floor and my legs and feet are up on a bed or the couch. I support my backside with cushions or the ironing board. I've been trying to do this, but the position is the exact opposite of the "elevate your head" posture I'm supposed to take to avoid heartburn/acid reflex.

Same thing with my edema. It started early, and I'm thinking a lot of that is due both to my age and to some left-overs from my ruptured disc (my right foot had some swelling on and off for a good six months after I was out of pain). The best way to keep the swelling down is to sit on the couch with both of my feet up... but this forces me into a position that apparently crumples my digestive system. I get REALLY bad heartburn until I go sit completely upright at the dining room table. And I can put my feet up there, but not as well because there is still some tenderness from the ruptured disc, so sitting straight up and extending my left leg is still a little painful.

I have pretty intense meralgia paresthetica just like I did with Daphne, but this time, the "cure" my Las Vegas chiropractor gave me won't work because of the back injury. This is the one bright spot, though! I CAN do the cat/cow pose and that not only fixes the weird numbness/pain instantly, if I then go down on my elbows and stay like that for a while, it is supposed to help encourage the baby to go head-down, too.

In other news: I passed my gestational diabetes screen with flying colors. My fasting glucose level was 88, then I had a high carbohydrate breakfast and went back two hours after I'd eaten. The glucose reading at that point was 85. When I aced the test with Daphne, I referred to myself as "like a functional alcoholic, but with sugar."

I'm a little bit anemic, but since I tend toward anemia, anyway, that's not terribly surprising given my increased blood volume.

We're going to a birthing class on Sunday. I'm making Daphne go, too, in case she's here with me alone when I go into labor. I want her to know what to expect and not be scared.

A couple of people have asked me about maternity pictures, and we've taken a few "here's where we are right now" shots, but I'm not having anything done professionally. I wouldn't be a good model, because I never ever look at my belly with poignancy or drape chiffon around my sensitive areas to accentuate the paper-white skin stretched across my abdomen. James rarely comes up behind me and caresses my stomach lovingly while looking over my shoulder. If we wanted to capture the *real* pregnancy experience in photos, we'd need a bunch of GIFs of my trying unsuccessfully to squeeze between things like someone's chair and the wall because I'm not used to my need for increased clearance. Or pictures of my slapping my hand down over a specific portion of my middle, with a, "Seriously, what the heck?!" look on my face.

Or this. I do this a lot more often than I gaze lovingly at my middle. There's also the face of indigestion we'd need to capture. And the victorious dismounting of my bike after a long ride. Almost no lying on a tree limb, contemplating the future of my life with baby, though. So I'm not a great prospect for a maternity photographer.

We have had an awesome friend offer to do newborn pictures, and I'm excited about that. However, the baby will likely be just lying around on boring stuff like blankets and pillows instead of a baseball glove or inside a fishbowl of gumballs or any of the other uber-popular newbie contrivances. I think the first ever Gatannah-born baby will be cute enough without props.

I only have about a week of work left, then the swimming will get into high gear. I'm looking forward to that, as it's getting hot and humid already and I adore the buoyancy of being in the water.

We have a quick road trip coming up in a couple of weeks, a third annual event for James and me. It's almost like we're a real couple or something! I'm pretty happy and I think he is, too. Which is good, because I absolutely adore him.

The Size of the Matter

This week, when I went to my 5 month midwife appointment, I couldn't make the scale work (it's one of those fancy high-tech ones, so, of course, it's prone to fail) and didn't get a weigh-in. When I went in to a CVS Minute Clinic to get an Albuterol prescription, I was weighed... and found that I've gained more in the past month than I have in the remainder of my pregnancy all together! I know a lot of that is fluid retention, because by the evenings, the tops of my feet look hammy already. But I'm not worried about any of it; I'm still well within (and maybe even a bit under) "norms" for 25 weeks.

Still, that whole thing has me a bit on edge.

What "whole thing,"? you ask. I'll tell you...

When I've been to see the midwife, my pulse and blood pressure has been pretty consistent, with my pulse ranging from 64 in March to 76 in January and April (the earlier they take it, the higher it is because the walk to the center is extremely uphill) and my blood pressure from a systolic low of 98 in February to a high of 110 in March and a diastolic low of 64 in January to a high of 74 in February.

(P.S. All of this is online for my perusal; I kind of love the future.)

Throughout my pregnancy, I have ridden my bike and walked, typically covering a minimum of 14 miles per week, mostly on bike because that's easier for me... but I get more company when I walk, so I'll do that, too. I continue my chores and have spent the last two weeks moving things, deep cleaning, and building furniture. I don't feel like taking it easy nor do I think that'd be particularly healthy for me.

Plus, today, the errands I ran would have taken longer in the car. I needed to get my Albuterol and called at 4:21 to see if the pharmacy was open. They were, but when I asked if it were normal hours (open until 9 PM), the tech said no. "We close in 38 minutes and 38 seconds." So I jumped on my bike and rode 1.2 miles, most of it up a Guadalupe alternate and if you've ever driven up the Drag or its surrounds, you know it's plagued with stop lights and stop signs and pedestrians and it takes FOREVER. I got my medicine and went a couple of blocks to Breed and Company for Soda Stream supplies, then headed back, getting home by 4:45.

When I'm at the midwife's, they're always pleased about my robust health, but at the clinic it was different... The nurse practitioner was obviously extremely surprised that my numbers would look so good, and the only reason I can think of as to why would be because I am a big old pregnant lady. I'm guessing she took a look at me and figured I was one too-high-curb-climb away from a heart attack, or maybe one brownie away from a diabetic coma. Or perhaps because I don't have insurance (a financial choice at this point, rather than a financial necessity), she assumed that I probably don't take my health seriously.

Now let's forward to today when I was using a 20% off coupon on the Bed, Bath, and Beyond website. I need a belly support band because if I walk more than about two miles, it really starts to stretch the skin at the base of my stomach. My back feels fine, and I have NO pressure when I'm on the bike. But I remember the same thing happening with Daphne, and it got intensely painful, to the point that once I was afraid I'd somehow hurt her.

While I was on the site looking for "belly band" and "belly support," I saw a number of items that really made me frustrated. There were more products for postpartum "reshaping" than maternity support. I don't mean belts you might wear if you'd had a C-section and required support. I mean "sucks you in so no one can see what a flabby stomach you have, you gooey disgusting tub of lard." Literally, one of the nursing tanks is called "Mother Tucker."

Discussing this with James, he told me about a friend of his who had gotten back into bikini shape within 6 weeks of having her baby, and who was very proud of this, loving to shock other new moms when they learned how young her child was. Discussing all of THIS with my sister brought up this picture that made the rounds last year (I think even Dr. Laura posted it, recommending it as motivation and that everyone has time for fitness).

Well.

Here's the deal: I weighed 190 before I got pregnant with Daphne and guess what? I could run five miles. I couldn't run five miles when I was in college and weighed 148 (which is the least I can remember weighing ever; I think I was at about 170 when I graduated high school). I have weighed a lot, and I have weighed a lot less, and I have never looked like the lady in this picture. I have never worn a bikini because it's just not my style, but even if I had, I'd never have been able to pull off the look to a "you oughta be in a magazine!" extent.

Looks are all about looks. You cannot tell whether someone is fit based solely on their looks, or how much they weigh. When I was at my lowest weight, I was the least healthy I've ever been in my life. I was obsessed with every calorie; I wrote down everything I ate including the calorie and fat content. I would not eat more than 7 grams of fat per day. Many of my calories came from fat free things like jelly beans and candy corn. I ate a lot of processed disgusting par-foods like fake butter and Pringles fried in Olean. I had what I would come to learn was exercise bulimia, meaning that if I realized I'd somehow eaten more calories than I'd intended, I would have to work out or walk or do something to even it out or I'd be incapacitated with panic and self-hate. I exercised every other day, and if I was at someone's house and it seemed like I wouldn't have time to exercise at home, I'd exercise there. Like in their living room. While we were talking. I did not eat after 6:00 PM. I was a wreck.

Old pictures are difficult to look at, sort of, because I think that there are times in my life when I looked "better" (read: skinnier) than I did, say, when James and I got married. They're even harder to have shared on Facebook, because when people comment about how awesome I look (because they don't realize how old the picture is), I am very tempted to feel bad about myself. But the truth is, when I lost a bunch of weight when Daphne was a year to two years old, I did it because I was told to. It made me self-conscious about having people look at me. It made me feel like I was not worthy of love because I was disgusting. And when I lost more weight a few years later, it was because my weight was creeping back up and I wanted to address it before it was brought to my attention. Physically, I was a lot healthier than when I was at my lowest weight, but emotionally, I was a wreck.

At some point, I came to peace with the fact that (excepting the ruptured disc), my body does what I want it to. It moves where I want it to go, and it does so without much protest. It's functional. It's borne a lot over time. It is not my enemy.

Being pregnant is awesome for me. I get to be a lot less self-conscious about the shape I'm in (I mean literal shape, not fitness level) because I know how adorable pregnancy is. Especially at 41, I'll take all of the "adorable" that I can generate.

But here's the deal: In the fall, I'll have a newborn. I'll be re-acclimating to that wonderful and terrible world of having another human being completely dependent on me (and my husband) for survival. It's overwhelming. I will not be bullied into obsessing over whether the skin around my middle is unattractively bouncy. I have some choice words for marketers and other moms (please, ladies! We should SUPPORT each other) who would shame me into it, but my mom reads this blog, so I'll just say that the phrase begins with an "f" and it ends with a "u." Or an exclamation point. But you get the idea.

Daphne didn't sleep through the night until she was more than 9 months old. It took me until she was just over a year before I was physically and emotionally ready to address the fact that I was eating as much as I had been when I was expecting, and I hadn't been able to nurse, so I was not doing my body any favors.

The fact that I was still carrying "baby" weight, meaning I was overweight even MORE than usual, after all of that time makes me no worse a person or a woman than James' friend who was back to her fighting weight after 6 weeks. It just means that we had different paths, and different priorities. I don't assume mine were any better or more noble than hers, and I'd appreciate the return courtesy.

Also, my weight was not an indicator that I was lazy or letting myself go. I lived with six teenage boys from the time Daphne was 2 months old until she was 8 months old. I promise you, I was doing plenty. When I could get away from the house to push D in a stroller for half an hour, it felt like a release from prison. I'd have loved to keep up some regular fitness regime; it just was not feasible for those months.

One of the many things I love about going to see the midwife is that, in addition to not treating me like a freak because of my age, the only reason they care about my weight is that they want to make sure there aren't sudden spikes or drops, indicating a problem. If I were sedentary, I'm sure they'd encourage me to move it. If my diet were an issue, they'd tell me. But they don't assume that "big" means I'm doing something wrong, or that I need to fit into some norm that someone has on paper or in a picture of what the "ideal" anything looks like.

Do you know what I did when Daphne was an infant? I wrote a novel. Seriously. You can buy it here, I don't know that it's very awesome, but it's a real thing. You know what I didn't do? I didn't post a link to it on social media and ask, "What's Your Excuse?" You know why? Because I can only assume that, as much as I love writing, that's not everyone's forte, and what's the point of being a jerk about it?

I read this once and love it: "People who choose exercise activities, meaning various types of movement or fitness, as a hobby are no more praiseworthy than people who choose anything else as a hobby."

So, you ladies who have been pregnant in the past and now have washboard abs, good for you! That's your thing, and you go do it and be happy. I wrote a lot of stuff that moved a lot of people during the years between my daughter's birth and when she turned three. If you can agree not to try to make me feel ashamed for being "fat," I won't try to make you feel ashamed for being "less articulate" or "dumber" or whatever. Actually, I won't do that, anyway.

Companies, if you're really mom-friendly, then help me be a good mom without giving me MORE things to have to worry about, like "being fierce" and "reclaiming my pre-baby body!"

Public at large, don't look at me and make assumptions about my health, fitness, or lifestyle based on the fact that I'm a certain age or a certain size.

Tomorrow morning, a lot of ladies will get up early and go to the gym. I'll get an equal amount of pleasure from baking, consuming, and watching my family eat the cinnamon rolls I just prepared. As far as I'm concerned, some food *does* taste as good as (or better than) being thin feels, and that's totally okay.

5-month check-up

Today, I had my monthly check-up, which basically consists of taking some numbers, heart rate and blood pressure, and then measuring the baby and getting a heart rate on it. What I love about midwifery is that I was there about half an hour, all of which was office time (except for the bathroom time) and we chatted about a lot of things.

The baby has been pretty consistently active since April 8, and today was no different. Rooby would not be still, so Jayme was only able to get about four heartbeats in a row before she'd have to move the Doppler to try to find the baby again. In the end, she said it was just fine and she was going to go with a heart rate in the 140s. Also, the measurements looked spot on with my being 21 weeks today, which is where I am on paper; so it's nice that the growth appears to be on track.

As for me, I'm exercising as much as or even more than normal. I'm not feeling the net four pounds I've gained - I lost some weight at the beginning, but since I started showing have felt like I really ballooned and was a bit surprised that number was so low. Everything's just moving to my torso and my... um, girls. My hair is silky and growing fast. I LOVE this part of pregnancy. I feel great. After we did the measuring and Doppler, the midwife asked if I needed help getting up. I kind of laughed and declined, stating that I'm pretty ambulatory right now. She said some women, by my stage, are having a hard time.

I actually weigh right now what I weighed right before I got pregnant with Daphne, and I'm definitely in better cardiovascular health than I was when I was 28. This pregnancy has been no more difficult, and, if anything, easier, than my younger one.