Right as Nova turned 6 months old, I returned to my pre--pregnancy weight.
I wish I'd kept better track of what has gone on, but here are the broad strokes:
I lost weight consistently until about 4 months postpartum. Then I didn't lose any more until I quit drinking and started working out again. This seems like a total no-brainer, because it is. Within a week of eliminating the booze and reintroducing weight training to my life, I lost the last five pounds to bring me right back where I started.
More interesting has been the process of watching Nova change. She has gone from a tiny little grunty hedgehog to a full-blown real person, pulling herself up on furniture and walking around it, making little proto words and generally finding new ways to make her desires known to me on a daily basis. Like right now, for instance, she is lying prone on the carpet and screaming piteously, having lost her balance in an unsuccessful attempt to stand. She doesn't even want to go anywhere in particular, she just wants to walk there. If it was about getting places, she would be crawling. She can, in fact, crawl reliably well. She would rather spend her energy refining her standing/walking attempts, however. Crawling is for babies.
Life has been interesting. My last project ended when my lab unexpectedly lost funding. And so I have been out of work for the past two months. While this carries attendant stressors, I feel fortunate to have had these two months to stay home with Nova. It has been a kind of stasis, having nowhere to go, and nothing to do except figure out what comes next. I wanted this blog to have more of a slice-of-life quality to it but my slices have been aimless. Flavorful, but oddly shaped, with a dubious list of ingredients indeed.
I hope to be back at work by next week. One of the objectives I have developed, marking time as the growth of a tiny little person, is to keep a better record of my days. 140 characters doesn't cut it. And now I have more realistic expectations re: time, energy, whathaveyou.
And so I will draw this little account to a close. Larger purposes will be served in other places. Thanks for reading!
Friday, August 19, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Well, hello.
adventures in retail
The days all blend. Time doesn't fly at all though. The moments have been long, and surreal and intimate. The waiting, the immediacy of experience. The functions of the body coming online - in an infant and in myself.
39-26-37 141 lbs, I bf% with the calipers and I think 16-17 but I'm not sure. I am anxious to receive the wisdom of one Stevie Santangelo.
Nova weighed 13 lbs at her last doc visit but must surely weigh more by now. She sits independently. Most of the time. She wants to grab everything and is anxious to run everywhere.
But you have to learn to crawl before you can walk. So we work on sitting. And creeping.
She eats yams, avocados, strawberries, peaches, yogurt, lentils, broccoli and lemons. And formula and milk.
And she smiles constantly.
Things are in flux in my person as well. I'm within a couple pounds of my weight prepregnancy, but things are a little different, which is to be expected. I lucked out - no stretch marks. And I've never been flat chested, but the huge boobs are new. Not as fun as you'd think they are. For one thing, they leak. They also get uncomfortably full if there is not a baby immediately to hand. Any kind of ballistic activity proves challenging.
I'm looking forward to more Kung Fu in my future. I visited a school last week and it was everything I seek and then some.
I returned to work for about 2 months - and then my lab lost some funding. And I find myself seeking employment again, like so many others.
Just wanted to make some contact - It has been a long time since I have written - preferring to bask in the sensorium, learn new skills, submerge myself in the feel of this new time and place.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Thursday
Long slow twilight, just the baby and me. I shield her little eyes from the barbeque smoke, prod the charcoal. Gueralita sola. Bottle rockets pop and chihuahuas are the ones who really run the show on this block. Ice cream trucks are finally (finally!) silent - a neighboring dj makes a tentative Thursday offering. I put the baby to bed, crack open a beer, pull meat directly from the fire into my mouth, the way God Himself intended. Onions too. Cats are still roaming in the empty lot. All the stomae are open in the garden and the aroma of carne asada is cut throigh with soil and honeysuckle. Pandora cycles through a list of music that was new fifteen years ago. I slap her down when she brings me hootie and the blowfish, and we achieve a new level of understanding. The fire will need to be extinguished, lest the canyon burn afresh, and all the squirrels and bounce castles and mariachi with it. Can i bring you here, to this twilight? Will the words i pull together act as a preservative to anyone but myself? This fleeting assembly of moments, the private memories that i havent even shared brought about by the music playing, the way that one bright crescent planet hangs there; can i give any of this to you, truly? After Nova is asleep in her little nest, empty gums determinedly working some phantom air nipple, am i still alone if i reach out through the internet and tell you about my steak, my beer, my neighborhood? Does it dilute the solitude? Or simply present it for your appreciation, a dusky purple summer magic trick - solitude shared in the hum of helicopter blades, children laughing far away, cool air, hot grill. The promise of the workday tomorrow. The soft cheeks of the slumbering infant upstairs. Matter, energy, considering itself for a moment. I have an evening, its tones and textures represented as a series of impulses in a vast wet network of thrumming cells. I make some letters and now your cells are thrumming too and you can maybe even see the sillhouette of the hills against the darkening sky, the observatory, the stadium, hear the freeway. But even if we were sitting next to each other, eating the same tacos and listening to the same Tom Petty would we be any less alone? Would we be any less identical? When the universe is so freaking vast how can we even think of ourselves as separate anyway?
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
HELLO!
Shocker of the Day: Accidentally turning breast pump ALL THE WAY ON instead of ALL THE WAY OFF.
Sweet, loving Jesus did that ever get my attention.
Sweet, loving Jesus did that ever get my attention.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Testing, testing -
I have a Blogger App for the iPhone. We shall see how this works!
I'm loving my life right now. Its true, im missing BIL. But last night was great fun. And today is delightful.
The communty and living situation i currently enjoy are unique and modern and hard to explain. Rather than belabor the particulars, it is sufficient to say that i am loving every second of it. Meets and exceeds expectations!
Here we are back onstage at Big Art Labs, with Sylvie and new friends from Vau de Vire...
I'm loving my life right now. Its true, im missing BIL. But last night was great fun. And today is delightful.
The communty and living situation i currently enjoy are unique and modern and hard to explain. Rather than belabor the particulars, it is sufficient to say that i am loving every second of it. Meets and exceeds expectations!
Here we are back onstage at Big Art Labs, with Sylvie and new friends from Vau de Vire...
Friday, March 4, 2011
Things I Want My Daughter to Know (continued):
15. You are the only one responsible for your feelings. People say and do hurtful things all the time, but allowing yourself to be hurt by them is a choice that you make.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Things I Want My Daughter to Know (a list in progress):
1. Calculus. Single variable fine - but you should be able to integrate a few simple functions, even if you decide you want to be a painter or a diplomat or whatever.
2. People are going to judge you for your appearances. You don't have to care, but I would be a bad mother if I allowed you to believe otherwise. Plan accordingly.
2a. Get in the habit of hanging and folding your clothes. And learn to iron.
3. Good posture will improve even the crappiest outlook. Stand tall and breathe from your core.
4. You don't have to like everyone you meet, so don't take it personally if not everyone you meet likes you.
5. If you don't have anything nice to say, say nothing. Words spoken are like any other commodity - the more of them there are, the less value they have. Tis better to be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. Those who know don't talk, those who talk don't know... Etc etc ad infinitum.
5a. Never put anything in writing that you wouldn't want read aloud to you by a judge.
6. Exercise is your friend.
7. Humor opens more doors than money.
8. If somebody in a big hurry asks you to "hold this for me really quickly," always say no. Even if it's somebody you know really well.
8a. Address all police officers as "Sir" or "Ma'am" and politely decline to discuss anything with them (the weather, your favorite color, anything) without an attorney present.
9. "Please" and "Thank You" are extremely useful phrases. Incorporate them into your vocabulary early and often!
10. Having a goal makes everything easier. Unfortunately, I can offer no insight into how to obtain a goal - for me it has always been an automatic process. I hope you are so blessed. This is not the case for everyone.
11. Avoid like the plague people who won't take "No" for an answer (unless they are trying to hire you).
12. You may someday be brilliant and beautiful and talented! But even if you are, nobody owes you anything. Humility and hard work are necessary for durable success.
12a. You are your own best advocate. Learn to value your skills accurately, accept praise gracefully, seek promotion actively, and undertake challenges equal to your ambition.
12b. Occasionally a teacher, peer or employer will totally gut what you thought was the accurate valuation of your skill. Accept this gracefully too. Failure is opportunity.
13. Real food doesn't have cartoons on the packaging. In fact, the less packaging the better.
14. Little girl, you are going to grow up to be a woman. There are people out there who will hold keys or purse-strings who will expect you to be obliging, and nice, and easy to manipulate. Who will assume that you are not-so-capable, or attempt to intimidate you. Recognize that this is a weakness of theirs, not of yours - don't let it concern you. Instead, give the bastards enough rope to hang themselves (see 12a).
2. People are going to judge you for your appearances. You don't have to care, but I would be a bad mother if I allowed you to believe otherwise. Plan accordingly.
2a. Get in the habit of hanging and folding your clothes. And learn to iron.
3. Good posture will improve even the crappiest outlook. Stand tall and breathe from your core.
4. You don't have to like everyone you meet, so don't take it personally if not everyone you meet likes you.
5. If you don't have anything nice to say, say nothing. Words spoken are like any other commodity - the more of them there are, the less value they have. Tis better to be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. Those who know don't talk, those who talk don't know... Etc etc ad infinitum.
5a. Never put anything in writing that you wouldn't want read aloud to you by a judge.
6. Exercise is your friend.
7. Humor opens more doors than money.
8. If somebody in a big hurry asks you to "hold this for me really quickly," always say no. Even if it's somebody you know really well.
8a. Address all police officers as "Sir" or "Ma'am" and politely decline to discuss anything with them (the weather, your favorite color, anything) without an attorney present.
9. "Please" and "Thank You" are extremely useful phrases. Incorporate them into your vocabulary early and often!
10. Having a goal makes everything easier. Unfortunately, I can offer no insight into how to obtain a goal - for me it has always been an automatic process. I hope you are so blessed. This is not the case for everyone.
11. Avoid like the plague people who won't take "No" for an answer (unless they are trying to hire you).
12. You may someday be brilliant and beautiful and talented! But even if you are, nobody owes you anything. Humility and hard work are necessary for durable success.
12a. You are your own best advocate. Learn to value your skills accurately, accept praise gracefully, seek promotion actively, and undertake challenges equal to your ambition.
12b. Occasionally a teacher, peer or employer will totally gut what you thought was the accurate valuation of your skill. Accept this gracefully too. Failure is opportunity.
13. Real food doesn't have cartoons on the packaging. In fact, the less packaging the better.
14. Little girl, you are going to grow up to be a woman. There are people out there who will hold keys or purse-strings who will expect you to be obliging, and nice, and easy to manipulate. Who will assume that you are not-so-capable, or attempt to intimidate you. Recognize that this is a weakness of theirs, not of yours - don't let it concern you. Instead, give the bastards enough rope to hang themselves (see 12a).
Monday, February 28, 2011
Day 25 Postpartum: Bad Mother Confessions.
Ok, so I've stopped losing weight. And in fact, I have begun to gain some back. Here is why:
After 9 months of assiduously avoiding Real Booze, and enjoying only the occasional half-glass of wine or lager, I have reacquainted myself with The Sauce. Oh, alcohol. I missed you so.
I am not exaggerating when I tell you that the duration of my pregnancy was the longest period of time I have spent totally sober since Junior High School. Not that I've ever been a crazed addict or anything. But eliminating all mind-alteration from my diet was frankly boring as shit - not just because Mama Digs the Light Fantastic, but because I got to watch all of Nova's loving aunts and uncles traipse through the Doors of Perception for three seasons while I sipped Perrier and drove them places.
FUCK that.
Yes, I will relish a return to lean, mean superhero shape. The Fatherbeast, too, is looking forward to a metabolic spring cleaning after the cloistered past few months of cookies and pre-frozen meals. But getting back into superhero shape necessitates an elimination of empty calories and frankly I am not ready to walk away from Quality Adult Beverages just yet. We've had so little time together.
And for those of you who will cluck your tongues (Hi, Grandma!), please rest easy. I am timing my indulgences to ensure that they will clear from my system in time for DD's next feeding. Alcohol levels in breastmilk, as in plasma, peak at 30 minutes post consumption and require ~2 hours to clear. Each feeding requires 15-20 minutes. So by nursing her as I enjoy a cocktail, I am both minimizing the amount of time I must wait to feed her "clean" milk, and maximizing the shock value of bringing a baby into a bar. Double WIN!
In other boob news, I have been pumping The Juice to stockpile for my return to work on April 1. Of course I intend to pump at work as well, but there's no telling whether that will go well straightaway and what harm can possibly come of establishing a pumping routine early? It's hard enough to do it at home. I can only imagine what it will be like in a month when I have to dash off to a special room in the middle of whatever I'm doing, lest my tits obscure access to the dissecting microscope or leak into a sample of cultured virus.
Because each pumping session represents one routine feeding, I am supplementing with formula (I'm also using DISPOSABLE DIAPERS, and we are decorating the nursery with the pelts of Polar Bears). It would be sad if it weren't hilarious.
If you've ever nursed a child, you're familiar with the totally blissed out expression they get - one of rapture and trust and what passes for affection in a creature that can barely see in stereo and weighs less than a standing rib roast. Whenever I feed her the formula, the look she gives me is the opposite of that. It is one of discomfort, and betrayal, and lament. Her tiny little brow furrows. Her lips contort into a grimace even around the offending rubber nipple. "This is not a boob!" her demeanor projects. "I thought you loved me?" Oh but I do. I do. There is no other individual on earth, nor any sum of money, that could convince me to attach the Medela to my person for a combined hour every day.
Ladies: do you consider your breasts erogenous? Have you ever felt objectified when someone stared you down, appreciating them for those specific qualities without attaching any value to you as a person? This is just like that, except instead of being objectified for beauty, you're objectified for functionality. The act of pumping breast milk is a literal objectification. Except instead of being exploited for your desirability, you are now exploited for calories. Pumping manages to entirely suck the charm and intimacy out breastfeeding. You're a dairy farm in so many words. It is a reminder that your perfect child, whom you love and would do anything for, is (or will shortly be) separated from you. It is painful and graceless and completely unsexy to all but dedicated fetishists who surfed to this page accidentally (keep moving, fellas).
But of course I will continue to do it for as long as I can. Because I want only the best for my bean. Because of the look that she gives me when I feed her the formula bottle. It's not rat poison, but from the look on her face it might as well be.
In the meantime, I am coping as well as I can with the continuing indignities of the postpartum period. The pain from my sutures is nearly gone, but I'm still bleeding. And waking up drenched in sweat every night. I understand my hair is due to start falling out shortly. So while I do feel blessed in that I am now mobile again and postpartum depression seems to have given me a pass (knock wood) I am anxious to return to a normal-ish state. One that involves only the minimum amount of excretions necessary for the health of my child. Ick.
After 9 months of assiduously avoiding Real Booze, and enjoying only the occasional half-glass of wine or lager, I have reacquainted myself with The Sauce. Oh, alcohol. I missed you so.
I am not exaggerating when I tell you that the duration of my pregnancy was the longest period of time I have spent totally sober since Junior High School. Not that I've ever been a crazed addict or anything. But eliminating all mind-alteration from my diet was frankly boring as shit - not just because Mama Digs the Light Fantastic, but because I got to watch all of Nova's loving aunts and uncles traipse through the Doors of Perception for three seasons while I sipped Perrier and drove them places.
FUCK that.
Yes, I will relish a return to lean, mean superhero shape. The Fatherbeast, too, is looking forward to a metabolic spring cleaning after the cloistered past few months of cookies and pre-frozen meals. But getting back into superhero shape necessitates an elimination of empty calories and frankly I am not ready to walk away from Quality Adult Beverages just yet. We've had so little time together.
And for those of you who will cluck your tongues (Hi, Grandma!), please rest easy. I am timing my indulgences to ensure that they will clear from my system in time for DD's next feeding. Alcohol levels in breastmilk, as in plasma, peak at 30 minutes post consumption and require ~2 hours to clear. Each feeding requires 15-20 minutes. So by nursing her as I enjoy a cocktail, I am both minimizing the amount of time I must wait to feed her "clean" milk, and maximizing the shock value of bringing a baby into a bar. Double WIN!
In other boob news, I have been pumping The Juice to stockpile for my return to work on April 1. Of course I intend to pump at work as well, but there's no telling whether that will go well straightaway and what harm can possibly come of establishing a pumping routine early? It's hard enough to do it at home. I can only imagine what it will be like in a month when I have to dash off to a special room in the middle of whatever I'm doing, lest my tits obscure access to the dissecting microscope or leak into a sample of cultured virus.
Because each pumping session represents one routine feeding, I am supplementing with formula (I'm also using DISPOSABLE DIAPERS, and we are decorating the nursery with the pelts of Polar Bears). It would be sad if it weren't hilarious.
If you've ever nursed a child, you're familiar with the totally blissed out expression they get - one of rapture and trust and what passes for affection in a creature that can barely see in stereo and weighs less than a standing rib roast. Whenever I feed her the formula, the look she gives me is the opposite of that. It is one of discomfort, and betrayal, and lament. Her tiny little brow furrows. Her lips contort into a grimace even around the offending rubber nipple. "This is not a boob!" her demeanor projects. "I thought you loved me?" Oh but I do. I do. There is no other individual on earth, nor any sum of money, that could convince me to attach the Medela to my person for a combined hour every day.
Ladies: do you consider your breasts erogenous? Have you ever felt objectified when someone stared you down, appreciating them for those specific qualities without attaching any value to you as a person? This is just like that, except instead of being objectified for beauty, you're objectified for functionality. The act of pumping breast milk is a literal objectification. Except instead of being exploited for your desirability, you are now exploited for calories. Pumping manages to entirely suck the charm and intimacy out breastfeeding. You're a dairy farm in so many words. It is a reminder that your perfect child, whom you love and would do anything for, is (or will shortly be) separated from you. It is painful and graceless and completely unsexy to all but dedicated fetishists who surfed to this page accidentally (keep moving, fellas).
But of course I will continue to do it for as long as I can. Because I want only the best for my bean. Because of the look that she gives me when I feed her the formula bottle. It's not rat poison, but from the look on her face it might as well be.
In the meantime, I am coping as well as I can with the continuing indignities of the postpartum period. The pain from my sutures is nearly gone, but I'm still bleeding. And waking up drenched in sweat every night. I understand my hair is due to start falling out shortly. So while I do feel blessed in that I am now mobile again and postpartum depression seems to have given me a pass (knock wood) I am anxious to return to a normal-ish state. One that involves only the minimum amount of excretions necessary for the health of my child. Ick.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Day 14 Postpartum
I am dragging ass.
Really, I think it has more to do with the absence of structure in my days. The Fatherbeast is back at work, and I am here with... not so much to do. I am trying to be gentle with myself. But I'm going to need a schedule soon.
Tomorrow, I think, it will definitely be time to start working out again.
Vital Statistics:
Hips: 39
Waist: 30
Bust: 41
Weight: 156.4
Body fat %: 21.5
I've lost 20 lbs in two weeks! Feels weird.
No pictures today - I'm slovenly.
Really, I think it has more to do with the absence of structure in my days. The Fatherbeast is back at work, and I am here with... not so much to do. I am trying to be gentle with myself. But I'm going to need a schedule soon.
Tomorrow, I think, it will definitely be time to start working out again.
Vital Statistics:
Hips: 39
Waist: 30
Bust: 41
Weight: 156.4
Body fat %: 21.5
I've lost 20 lbs in two weeks! Feels weird.
No pictures today - I'm slovenly.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Don't hate me.
I feel extraordinarily well-rested. I was getting a lot of rest at the end of my pregnancy - seems all I did was sleep. It's just that none of that sleep did me any good. I was exhausted constantly.
I am sleeping less now, naturally. However, I do not feel as though I am missing sleep at all. There were daily naps in the first week postpartum. Now, in the second week there has only been one nap - and this more of a midday lounge with Fatherbeast and cold beer in the direct path of an air conditioning unit, brought about by LA's grab-bag of freakish February weather.
I realize that this is not the common state of affairs for new parents. However, it seems we have an uncommonly placid child. I was expecting to be dazed with sleep deprivation, near tears, unable to even shower or prepare basic meals, at the mercy of an id-driven, wailing little stranger. Instead, the Fatherbeast and I are enjoying leisurely breakfasts at the table, a tidy nest, and an active social life. The possibility exists, I realize, that I may jinx this somehow. But even with my lack of experience I can tell that this is a Very Good Baby we have here.
We are co-sleeping, insofar as she sleeps in a bassinet next to our bed. Yes, she does wake up sporadically to eat. This does not involve crying. She just kind of squeeks. We call her Squeeky. We also call her Hedgehog. Or just Hog. Or Piglet. Or Milkface. Or Milkface Monkeypants. Or Her Excellency. She should learn her actual name by the time she's one.
At any rate, I am LOVING maternity leave. I could stare at this little girl all day long. And I do! I'm also relishing the unexpected energy and focus. Instead of wandering around zombiefied in my pajamas I am using this time to plan for the very interesting future that awaits our little family. All of my parts and pieces are coming back together (i.e., I can sit and ambulate comfortably now) and I'm overjoyed to have six more weeks of this bliss ahead of me.
I'll be ready to start working out fairly soon!
Breastfeeding is definitely a team sport. Nova and I are learning each others' patterns and habits. As of now, I am feeding her on demand. However, I might have to introduce more structure into our schedule. Her mealtimes are sporadic: an hour between feedings here, two and a half hours there, four hours the next time. The time she spends on the breast is correspondingly erratic: sometimes she spits out the Nip after five minutes, sometimes I have to wake her up to pry her off after a thirty minute tit-binge. I have a hard time telling whether I am feeding her enough. Additionally, I had hoped to start pumping and saving milk for when I return to work, but at this rate I cannot because she is nursing constantly and I can't edge in time for the Medela. Perhaps a regimen is what is needed. More on this as it develops.
Here is the requisite adorable baby picture:
I am sleeping less now, naturally. However, I do not feel as though I am missing sleep at all. There were daily naps in the first week postpartum. Now, in the second week there has only been one nap - and this more of a midday lounge with Fatherbeast and cold beer in the direct path of an air conditioning unit, brought about by LA's grab-bag of freakish February weather.
I realize that this is not the common state of affairs for new parents. However, it seems we have an uncommonly placid child. I was expecting to be dazed with sleep deprivation, near tears, unable to even shower or prepare basic meals, at the mercy of an id-driven, wailing little stranger. Instead, the Fatherbeast and I are enjoying leisurely breakfasts at the table, a tidy nest, and an active social life. The possibility exists, I realize, that I may jinx this somehow. But even with my lack of experience I can tell that this is a Very Good Baby we have here.
We are co-sleeping, insofar as she sleeps in a bassinet next to our bed. Yes, she does wake up sporadically to eat. This does not involve crying. She just kind of squeeks. We call her Squeeky. We also call her Hedgehog. Or just Hog. Or Piglet. Or Milkface. Or Milkface Monkeypants. Or Her Excellency. She should learn her actual name by the time she's one.
At any rate, I am LOVING maternity leave. I could stare at this little girl all day long. And I do! I'm also relishing the unexpected energy and focus. Instead of wandering around zombiefied in my pajamas I am using this time to plan for the very interesting future that awaits our little family. All of my parts and pieces are coming back together (i.e., I can sit and ambulate comfortably now) and I'm overjoyed to have six more weeks of this bliss ahead of me.
I'll be ready to start working out fairly soon!
Breastfeeding is definitely a team sport. Nova and I are learning each others' patterns and habits. As of now, I am feeding her on demand. However, I might have to introduce more structure into our schedule. Her mealtimes are sporadic: an hour between feedings here, two and a half hours there, four hours the next time. The time she spends on the breast is correspondingly erratic: sometimes she spits out the Nip after five minutes, sometimes I have to wake her up to pry her off after a thirty minute tit-binge. I have a hard time telling whether I am feeding her enough. Additionally, I had hoped to start pumping and saving milk for when I return to work, but at this rate I cannot because she is nursing constantly and I can't edge in time for the Medela. Perhaps a regimen is what is needed. More on this as it develops.
Here is the requisite adorable baby picture:
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Day 7 Postpartum
I know what all of you fourth-wave feminists are thinking: "I already know how kids are going to affect my lifetime earning ability and chances of tenure. What are they going to do to my body?"
Well, here's what's happening so far with mine-
Weight on Delivery Day: 176 (8 lbs of which were my daughter)
Weight Today: 162
Bust: 42
Waist: 31
Hips: 40
Body Fat %: 21.5
Prepregnancy Size: 2
Size Today: 10
I removed it to take these pictures, but I've been using a Belly Bandit wrap about 22 hours a day - much needed lumbar and abdominal support. The Fatherbeast says it feels like body armor.
Giving birth is, y'know, hard and stuff. My labor was not quite precipitous, but it was very fast - less than four hours from soup-to-nuts. Active labor started at 3 pm, we arrived at Labor and Delivery at 6 pm, and by 6:48 we were parents. Three days early at that. Ours is a young lady in a hurry.
The care we received at Arcadia Methodist was top-notch and I would recommend it to anyone in the area. For a number of reasons, I'm very thankful to have chosen a hospital delivery instead of a home birth attended by a midwife.
Nova's birth was completely natural, and the birth team supported us in this. No drugs, no cutting. However, because she came so fast I did incur several small tears and am still unable to sit comfortably. Ouch. Two nights in the hospital with all of the accoutrement necessary to contain the horrorshow carnage, learn to nurse, and let somebody else change my sheets at hourly intervals was a godsend. I would have been miserable at home.
Several things happened outside of our birth plan that I was 100% ok with. For starters, I became dehydrated. I hadn't planned on an IV, as I'd anticipated moving around. But so dried out, immobilized and nauseous was I that when the nice lady came with a big bag of fluid they could run right into my arm, why, I was delighted.
I had envisioned laboring in a variety of positions, and delivering from something a little more gravity-friendly than The Evil Lithotomy Position. But when the time came to figure things out because this baby was coming and I was no longer competent to walk or talk, guess which position I naturally assumed?
I had also intended to push ad libitium, instead of being coached by the nurses to hold my breath and push like hell on their count of ten. However, though the urge to push came as expected, the act of pushing was (for me) surprisingly non-intuitive. Amid the sensory overload, it was difficult to tell which muscles to recruit. I found that holding my breath and focusing on external cues really did help. (I was also amused to hear western health care professionals use hippie woo-woo external cues such as "project your energy downward")
Finally, when my water broke, it was found that there was copious, old meconium present in the fluid. I'm not strictly sure if it was necessary for her to spend 4 hours under observation in the NICU. However, if in doing so she avoided respiratory problems later I am glad of this. Meconium in the fluid would have motivated a midwife to send me to a hospital anyway.
And it's true what they say: you forget the pain very quickly.
Well, here's what's happening so far with mine-
Weight on Delivery Day: 176 (8 lbs of which were my daughter)
Weight Today: 162
Bust: 42
Waist: 31
Hips: 40
Body Fat %: 21.5
Prepregnancy Size: 2
Size Today: 10
I removed it to take these pictures, but I've been using a Belly Bandit wrap about 22 hours a day - much needed lumbar and abdominal support. The Fatherbeast says it feels like body armor.
Giving birth is, y'know, hard and stuff. My labor was not quite precipitous, but it was very fast - less than four hours from soup-to-nuts. Active labor started at 3 pm, we arrived at Labor and Delivery at 6 pm, and by 6:48 we were parents. Three days early at that. Ours is a young lady in a hurry.
The care we received at Arcadia Methodist was top-notch and I would recommend it to anyone in the area. For a number of reasons, I'm very thankful to have chosen a hospital delivery instead of a home birth attended by a midwife.
Nova's birth was completely natural, and the birth team supported us in this. No drugs, no cutting. However, because she came so fast I did incur several small tears and am still unable to sit comfortably. Ouch. Two nights in the hospital with all of the accoutrement necessary to contain the horrorshow carnage, learn to nurse, and let somebody else change my sheets at hourly intervals was a godsend. I would have been miserable at home.
Several things happened outside of our birth plan that I was 100% ok with. For starters, I became dehydrated. I hadn't planned on an IV, as I'd anticipated moving around. But so dried out, immobilized and nauseous was I that when the nice lady came with a big bag of fluid they could run right into my arm, why, I was delighted.
I had envisioned laboring in a variety of positions, and delivering from something a little more gravity-friendly than The Evil Lithotomy Position. But when the time came to figure things out because this baby was coming and I was no longer competent to walk or talk, guess which position I naturally assumed?
I had also intended to push ad libitium, instead of being coached by the nurses to hold my breath and push like hell on their count of ten. However, though the urge to push came as expected, the act of pushing was (for me) surprisingly non-intuitive. Amid the sensory overload, it was difficult to tell which muscles to recruit. I found that holding my breath and focusing on external cues really did help. (I was also amused to hear western health care professionals use hippie woo-woo external cues such as "project your energy downward")
Finally, when my water broke, it was found that there was copious, old meconium present in the fluid. I'm not strictly sure if it was necessary for her to spend 4 hours under observation in the NICU. However, if in doing so she avoided respiratory problems later I am glad of this. Meconium in the fluid would have motivated a midwife to send me to a hospital anyway.
And it's true what they say: you forget the pain very quickly.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Can I have my kid now?
Contractions are still intermittent and while not strictly painless, not strictly progressing either.
I'm staying close to home, but I think it will be a while yet before we head to the hospital. Bags are packed. I have heard tell of women being in early labor for days, so I'm trying not to get too excited while still remaining on high alert.
Things worked out pretty well with our hospital situation - I'll be delivering at Arcadia Methodist Hospital, which is only 5 short minutes from my Grandma's house. She and my Grandfather (when he was alive) have spent many combined months there receiving treatment for all manner of ailments that oft accompany the privilege of longevity. So I am well-familiar with its pastel corridors and high quality of care.
But by far the best part about it is it is five minutes away from Grandma's house. If we want to be close to the hospital as labor progresses, we will go Grandma's and I will sit in the hot tub. When we're ready to head to L&D, we will be scant moments away from the campus. And best of all, my immediate family will have a close, comfortable place to park it that is not Arcadia Methodist. This thrills me to no end, because I don't want them there.
I think I might have hurt Mom's feelings a little bit when I told her in the nicest possible way that I am only interested in having the Fatherbeast present during delivery. Grandma is almost 90 years old and should stay at home until it's time to visit. My uncle and father (both step- and bio- divisions) could really give a fig what goes down as long as Nova and I are safe and healthy. Mom wants to be there though - and it's tough to disappoint her.
There are some concrete reasons for wanting privacy: I don't want to worry about anything except the process at hand. If I am wondering whether they are tired or hungry or bored or afraid for us, this will be distracting. I don't want to be concerned about being cordial. If I am in A Lot of Fucking Pain, I don't want to be a Brave Little Toaster so as to spare my mother the anguish of watching her own child experience such discomfort. And I don't want any pictures until after the fact.
But mostly I am looking forward to sharing this experience with the Fatherbeast alone. The circumstances surrounding Nova's conception were unconventional and tumultuous. The Fatherbeast and I met in person for the first time 363 days ago. The decision to keep her was not automatic, and neither was the decision to raise her together.
It's true that we are a part of a tightly woven community of loving, supportive and generous people. The joys and benefits of this are apparent even to casual observers who might not understand some of our customs. There are drawbacks, however. And when people are Very Concerned about your wellbeing, and want to Pull Together As A Community to Support You, it can be difficult to get them to Mind Their Fucking Business.
We have enjoyed as much judgment as support, and entertained as many probing inquisitions as we have genuine offers of help. We have been assisted, and adored and doted upon. We have also been frustrated, and even shocked by what people have said about us - to each other and to our faces. This is what it's like to be part of a solid community that really cares about you and knows you intimately. People want The Best for you, and can't wait to share what they think that looks like.
At a point in our chronology when most couples would be traveling, greeting the sunrise with martinis and dancing to loud music, we are doing shit like deciding whether we want to use cloth or disposable diapers. It's about as fun as it sounds. All of this while we are both experiencing profound physical and hormonal changes. All of this while we are getting to know each other, negotiating what we want from our relationships, from our partners, from our lives.
I have come to know The Fatherbeast more intimately and more thoroughly than anyone else who has been in my world for such a short duration. We have had to fast track communication skills that people develop over years of intimacy, not months. It has been challenging, and also gratifying. I am proud of him. I am proud of us. I feel that we are cultivating our energies correctly.
We know that we have the support of our chosen and biological family, and we appreciate it. We will rely on it in coming weeks and years. But the most difficult challenges of creating and holding space for this baby have been undertaken by me and her dad. When we meet our daughter, nobody else needs to be there. Nobody else should be there. We brought her here. She belongs to us. We belong to her. The process of becoming a whole new entity and the moments immediately before and after have nothing to do with anybody but the three of us.
Yes Mom. You can visit first. When we're ready.
I'm staying close to home, but I think it will be a while yet before we head to the hospital. Bags are packed. I have heard tell of women being in early labor for days, so I'm trying not to get too excited while still remaining on high alert.
Things worked out pretty well with our hospital situation - I'll be delivering at Arcadia Methodist Hospital, which is only 5 short minutes from my Grandma's house. She and my Grandfather (when he was alive) have spent many combined months there receiving treatment for all manner of ailments that oft accompany the privilege of longevity. So I am well-familiar with its pastel corridors and high quality of care.
But by far the best part about it is it is five minutes away from Grandma's house. If we want to be close to the hospital as labor progresses, we will go Grandma's and I will sit in the hot tub. When we're ready to head to L&D, we will be scant moments away from the campus. And best of all, my immediate family will have a close, comfortable place to park it that is not Arcadia Methodist. This thrills me to no end, because I don't want them there.
I think I might have hurt Mom's feelings a little bit when I told her in the nicest possible way that I am only interested in having the Fatherbeast present during delivery. Grandma is almost 90 years old and should stay at home until it's time to visit. My uncle and father (both step- and bio- divisions) could really give a fig what goes down as long as Nova and I are safe and healthy. Mom wants to be there though - and it's tough to disappoint her.
There are some concrete reasons for wanting privacy: I don't want to worry about anything except the process at hand. If I am wondering whether they are tired or hungry or bored or afraid for us, this will be distracting. I don't want to be concerned about being cordial. If I am in A Lot of Fucking Pain, I don't want to be a Brave Little Toaster so as to spare my mother the anguish of watching her own child experience such discomfort. And I don't want any pictures until after the fact.
But mostly I am looking forward to sharing this experience with the Fatherbeast alone. The circumstances surrounding Nova's conception were unconventional and tumultuous. The Fatherbeast and I met in person for the first time 363 days ago. The decision to keep her was not automatic, and neither was the decision to raise her together.
It's true that we are a part of a tightly woven community of loving, supportive and generous people. The joys and benefits of this are apparent even to casual observers who might not understand some of our customs. There are drawbacks, however. And when people are Very Concerned about your wellbeing, and want to Pull Together As A Community to Support You, it can be difficult to get them to Mind Their Fucking Business.
We have enjoyed as much judgment as support, and entertained as many probing inquisitions as we have genuine offers of help. We have been assisted, and adored and doted upon. We have also been frustrated, and even shocked by what people have said about us - to each other and to our faces. This is what it's like to be part of a solid community that really cares about you and knows you intimately. People want The Best for you, and can't wait to share what they think that looks like.
At a point in our chronology when most couples would be traveling, greeting the sunrise with martinis and dancing to loud music, we are doing shit like deciding whether we want to use cloth or disposable diapers. It's about as fun as it sounds. All of this while we are both experiencing profound physical and hormonal changes. All of this while we are getting to know each other, negotiating what we want from our relationships, from our partners, from our lives.
I have come to know The Fatherbeast more intimately and more thoroughly than anyone else who has been in my world for such a short duration. We have had to fast track communication skills that people develop over years of intimacy, not months. It has been challenging, and also gratifying. I am proud of him. I am proud of us. I feel that we are cultivating our energies correctly.
We know that we have the support of our chosen and biological family, and we appreciate it. We will rely on it in coming weeks and years. But the most difficult challenges of creating and holding space for this baby have been undertaken by me and her dad. When we meet our daughter, nobody else needs to be there. Nobody else should be there. We brought her here. She belongs to us. We belong to her. The process of becoming a whole new entity and the moments immediately before and after have nothing to do with anybody but the three of us.
Yes Mom. You can visit first. When we're ready.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
38 weeks, 3 days
Again: if the shape, attitude and consistency of my ladyparts is not something you want to read about, perhaps I can direct you here.
I'm pretty sure I've been losing my mucous plug in pieces over the past week or so. As of last night, however, I began to see some spotting. Is the bloody show on the road?
All last night and this morning, intermittent and occasionally painful contractions. At the moment, nothing. I'm just very tired.
I'm pretty sure I've been losing my mucous plug in pieces over the past week or so. As of last night, however, I began to see some spotting. Is the bloody show on the road?
All last night and this morning, intermittent and occasionally painful contractions. At the moment, nothing. I'm just very tired.
Friday, January 21, 2011
37 weeks, 5 days
The Fatherbeast and I took a lovely walk around The Devil's Punchbowl today - two fault lines converging into a canyon of jagged cliffs and waterfalls and pointy point yucca plants. It was nice to get out of the city, and get something that resembled exercise.
Just in case, I threw my packed hospital bag into the back seat with me. Unfortunately, no need.
Come out already! It's nice out here! We have nature..! And boobies! YOU'LL LOVE IT.
Just in case, I threw my packed hospital bag into the back seat with me. Unfortunately, no need.
Come out already! It's nice out here! We have nature..! And boobies! YOU'LL LOVE IT.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Early, but not too early.
What is happening to me, physically?
Well at 36 weeks, Ms. Thang weighed in at an estimated 6 lbs, 2 oz. She's much closer to 7 lbs now, and what's new is how solid she feels.
At the first quickening flutters, back when she was mango sized, the little darling felt like a butterfly or a pinball. She flipped upside down fairly early in the game - her feet are on my right side and have been for about 10 weeks. At first, it was novel feeling her work out her squats and deadlifts on my ribcage. Occasionally a shinbone would emerge and then just as smoothly recede into the evolving surface of my abdomen. I compared the sensation to a tiny person adjusting herself in a hammock (my pelvic floor, of course, is the hammock)
As time wore on and she grew in heft and girth, the nudges took on more force. "It's kind of like being kneaded by a kitty, except from the inside." I'd explain to people who would ask. The lump of shinbone (or heel, or whatever) took on the quality of a goiter - sticking out at an odd angle sometimes for a quarter hour at a time, until she decided to cross her legs the other way.
Now, in the Final Hours, we are like two strangers handcuffed together. Two particles with like charge trying to occupy the same space. 170 lbs of bone and guts in a 140 lb bag. Yes, there are gas and fluid exchanges, and endocrine cascades taking place. But the primary conversation now taking place between her body and mine is far less complicated:
"Scoot over."
"No, YOU scoot over."
"No, YOU."
"OW. Quit it."
"Why don't you turn on your other side?"
"Why don't you just COME OUT?"
Which is really what this is all about, isn't it? Around the 8 month mark, the amniotic fluid levels begin to decrease, buoyancy is impacted, Braxton-Hicks contractions ramp up in earnest, and I'm sure the internal climate is kind of like that moment when you realize that you've exhausted the hot water in the heater and your previously warm and comfortable bath is rapidly achieving room temperature.
I had been enjoying bouts of energy - not enough to want to stay at work, mind you, but enough to pull my house together. Now that I have taken leave, my days are strangely absent any structure. Historically, I do not thrive under these circumstances. I need to Go Places, and Do Things, and I suck at working from home. But I figured the impending baby and the nesting instinct would focus my drive somehow. Not so much. I'm tired. I'm ginormous. The Nesting Urge left me bereft today. And after all of the weird calisthenics of Tuesday, Ms. Thang is now strangely quiet. My womb itself is still. I'd had meager but real hopes for an early arrival. Now I'm just big and exhausted and endlessly fucking pregnant.
At least I don't have stretch marks. And my bag is mostly packed. And I have 1 week worth of meals in the freezer now. Again, absent the urge to cook or clean or alphabetize I felt compelled to stock up on the healthiest prepared Trader Joe's fare I could find. Which isn't so bad, really.
Well at 36 weeks, Ms. Thang weighed in at an estimated 6 lbs, 2 oz. She's much closer to 7 lbs now, and what's new is how solid she feels.
At the first quickening flutters, back when she was mango sized, the little darling felt like a butterfly or a pinball. She flipped upside down fairly early in the game - her feet are on my right side and have been for about 10 weeks. At first, it was novel feeling her work out her squats and deadlifts on my ribcage. Occasionally a shinbone would emerge and then just as smoothly recede into the evolving surface of my abdomen. I compared the sensation to a tiny person adjusting herself in a hammock (my pelvic floor, of course, is the hammock)
As time wore on and she grew in heft and girth, the nudges took on more force. "It's kind of like being kneaded by a kitty, except from the inside." I'd explain to people who would ask. The lump of shinbone (or heel, or whatever) took on the quality of a goiter - sticking out at an odd angle sometimes for a quarter hour at a time, until she decided to cross her legs the other way.
Now, in the Final Hours, we are like two strangers handcuffed together. Two particles with like charge trying to occupy the same space. 170 lbs of bone and guts in a 140 lb bag. Yes, there are gas and fluid exchanges, and endocrine cascades taking place. But the primary conversation now taking place between her body and mine is far less complicated:
"Scoot over."
"No, YOU scoot over."
"No, YOU."
"OW. Quit it."
"Why don't you turn on your other side?"
"Why don't you just COME OUT?"
Which is really what this is all about, isn't it? Around the 8 month mark, the amniotic fluid levels begin to decrease, buoyancy is impacted, Braxton-Hicks contractions ramp up in earnest, and I'm sure the internal climate is kind of like that moment when you realize that you've exhausted the hot water in the heater and your previously warm and comfortable bath is rapidly achieving room temperature.
I had been enjoying bouts of energy - not enough to want to stay at work, mind you, but enough to pull my house together. Now that I have taken leave, my days are strangely absent any structure. Historically, I do not thrive under these circumstances. I need to Go Places, and Do Things, and I suck at working from home. But I figured the impending baby and the nesting instinct would focus my drive somehow. Not so much. I'm tired. I'm ginormous. The Nesting Urge left me bereft today. And after all of the weird calisthenics of Tuesday, Ms. Thang is now strangely quiet. My womb itself is still. I'd had meager but real hopes for an early arrival. Now I'm just big and exhausted and endlessly fucking pregnant.
At least I don't have stretch marks. And my bag is mostly packed. And I have 1 week worth of meals in the freezer now. Again, absent the urge to cook or clean or alphabetize I felt compelled to stock up on the healthiest prepared Trader Joe's fare I could find. Which isn't so bad, really.
37 weeks, 4 days
I read frequently about insomnia at this stage of the game. Related generally to the inability to get comfortable, and getting up five times a night to pee.
I can't sleep, because now I'm all wired.. Yet I lack the physical verve to do constructive things, like pack my bag or do my dishes. So here I sit, in bed, blogging under mounds of cats.
They must sense that something is up. They have never been so focused on obtaining my affection before. Soon this lap will be occupied, kitties. What then?
I can't sleep, because now I'm all wired.. Yet I lack the physical verve to do constructive things, like pack my bag or do my dishes. So here I sit, in bed, blogging under mounds of cats.
They must sense that something is up. They have never been so focused on obtaining my affection before. Soon this lap will be occupied, kitties. What then?
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Such a baby!
I know, listen to me whine about getting only 4 paltry hours of sleep last night
Ah ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha! Ha. Yeah.
It would be so easy to succumb to crankiness right now. I'm gigantic and exhausted and the real work hasn't even started yet.
Ah ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha! Ha. Yeah.
It would be so easy to succumb to crankiness right now. I'm gigantic and exhausted and the real work hasn't even started yet.
Hello, Maternity Leave!
Warning: if you are not interested in reading clinical descriptions of the shape, attitude and consistency of my Lady Parts, move right along.
Last night I experienced some new and interesting sensations. Not contractions in the Braxton Hicks sense, where everything clenches and then relaxes. But kind of a pulsating throb, consistent, lasting for about 2 hours. The best way I could describe the sensation would be "like an orgasm but without the fun." This, accompanied by serious fetal acrobatics. It was only occasionally painful, and then only mildly so. No blood. If I had not already been scheduled for my 37 wk appointment in the morning I would probably have called my doctor because nothing like this is described in even the most precious and paranoid prenatal pamphlets. It all took place between 0100 and 0300 hrs - and let me tellya, was I ever AWAKE.
By the Doctor's surmise, what I experienced was normal - The Bean engaging her head in my pelvis. Ah so. "See? Her heartbeat is all the way down here now."
A quick exam yielded new and interesting information - I am 50% effaced and 3 cm dilated. Basically, I could go into labor at any time. Dr. C recommended an earlier leave than anticipated, and that's fine by me.
"I'll see you next week, if you're still pregnant." She said.
Last night I experienced some new and interesting sensations. Not contractions in the Braxton Hicks sense, where everything clenches and then relaxes. But kind of a pulsating throb, consistent, lasting for about 2 hours. The best way I could describe the sensation would be "like an orgasm but without the fun." This, accompanied by serious fetal acrobatics. It was only occasionally painful, and then only mildly so. No blood. If I had not already been scheduled for my 37 wk appointment in the morning I would probably have called my doctor because nothing like this is described in even the most precious and paranoid prenatal pamphlets. It all took place between 0100 and 0300 hrs - and let me tellya, was I ever AWAKE.
By the Doctor's surmise, what I experienced was normal - The Bean engaging her head in my pelvis. Ah so. "See? Her heartbeat is all the way down here now."
A quick exam yielded new and interesting information - I am 50% effaced and 3 cm dilated. Basically, I could go into labor at any time. Dr. C recommended an earlier leave than anticipated, and that's fine by me.
"I'll see you next week, if you're still pregnant." She said.
Monday, January 17, 2011
37 weeks, 1 day
It's hard not to be a little unnerved by the sudden quiet. She was so rambunctious just a week ago, but now it seems my bean is running out of room. There are still squirms and nudges, but what used to be a dojo is now more like a straitjacket. Occasionally a limb will transverse the equator of my belly. But overall the atmosphere is still.
I am becoming more anxious by the day - about the birth process, about things that could go wrong. I am haunted by tragic stories I read - about women who lose their babies unexpectedly due to umbilical cord mishaps, about stillbirth and SIDS and long, complicated labors resulting in distress and palsies.
I'm also anxious in more positive ways, though. I put together our fancy new Bugaboo Cameleon (a luxury vehicle, to be sure) and have been washing all of the tiny (tiny, tiny) little outfits and blankets and towels and toys we have acquired for her. I am attempting to visualize a future consistent with all reports - that it will be amazing, and that it will be exhausting. A future where I am realistically tired and short of time. Perhaps I will be pleasantly surprised. But in the meantime I'm bracing myself for what will certainly be a challenge, and maximizing leisurely time with loved ones.
Speaking of, The Fatherbeast is in nesting mode as well. Consistent with both folklore and science, dad is busy building new parts of the house as quickly as I can clean them. The patio has transformed into a welcoming oasis replete with fire pit, seating, dining area and grill. The nursery now contains a Romanesque lounge of futons suitable for kids and grownups. The kitchen actually has more than 4 cubic feet of work surface now!
The perfect way to inaugurate all of this splendor? A potluck feast with dear friends, of course. Last night was a little open house - We filled The Nest with old and new friends, played games and ate delicious food. With all of the hectic planning and lingering fears in my new-mom brain, this simple socialization felt unspeakably luxuriant. I'm looking forward to more such gatherings - with luck Nova will be the kind of baby who can comfortably pass out at a train station, music festival or house party. With our lifestyle she might not have a choice.
I have heard many times from many well-meaning souls how much our lives will change. And I don't doubt that this is the case. However, The Fatherbeast and I are fortunate to move in a fascinating, dynamic, creative and decadent circle of friends. There are some aspects of my existence that aren't available for modification, and anyone attached to my person will simply have to adapt.
Our people are like big children themselves (you know who you are): artists, circus clowns, mad scientists, rock stars. Half the fun of having a kid, for me, is knowing that she will become the smallest new member of a community of Seriously Weird People. I can't wait to see the woman she will become, having been raised in a village such as ours. So, of course some things will change. But some things absolutely will not. I like to think that karmically, Nova knew what she was getting into when she chose us. We're not just fun - we treat fun like it's a job.
I am becoming more anxious by the day - about the birth process, about things that could go wrong. I am haunted by tragic stories I read - about women who lose their babies unexpectedly due to umbilical cord mishaps, about stillbirth and SIDS and long, complicated labors resulting in distress and palsies.
I'm also anxious in more positive ways, though. I put together our fancy new Bugaboo Cameleon (a luxury vehicle, to be sure) and have been washing all of the tiny (tiny, tiny) little outfits and blankets and towels and toys we have acquired for her. I am attempting to visualize a future consistent with all reports - that it will be amazing, and that it will be exhausting. A future where I am realistically tired and short of time. Perhaps I will be pleasantly surprised. But in the meantime I'm bracing myself for what will certainly be a challenge, and maximizing leisurely time with loved ones.
Speaking of, The Fatherbeast is in nesting mode as well. Consistent with both folklore and science, dad is busy building new parts of the house as quickly as I can clean them. The patio has transformed into a welcoming oasis replete with fire pit, seating, dining area and grill. The nursery now contains a Romanesque lounge of futons suitable for kids and grownups. The kitchen actually has more than 4 cubic feet of work surface now!
The perfect way to inaugurate all of this splendor? A potluck feast with dear friends, of course. Last night was a little open house - We filled The Nest with old and new friends, played games and ate delicious food. With all of the hectic planning and lingering fears in my new-mom brain, this simple socialization felt unspeakably luxuriant. I'm looking forward to more such gatherings - with luck Nova will be the kind of baby who can comfortably pass out at a train station, music festival or house party. With our lifestyle she might not have a choice.
I have heard many times from many well-meaning souls how much our lives will change. And I don't doubt that this is the case. However, The Fatherbeast and I are fortunate to move in a fascinating, dynamic, creative and decadent circle of friends. There are some aspects of my existence that aren't available for modification, and anyone attached to my person will simply have to adapt.
Our people are like big children themselves (you know who you are): artists, circus clowns, mad scientists, rock stars. Half the fun of having a kid, for me, is knowing that she will become the smallest new member of a community of Seriously Weird People. I can't wait to see the woman she will become, having been raised in a village such as ours. So, of course some things will change. But some things absolutely will not. I like to think that karmically, Nova knew what she was getting into when she chose us. We're not just fun - we treat fun like it's a job.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
37 weeks
Ding!
This baby is baked.
37 weeks is considered "term" - meaning that if I were to go into labor today, Beanface would not be considered premature, her organ systems would be fully developed, and she would most likely go home with us right away.
40 weeks is "full term," however - most babies arrive during the 40th week of gestation. And as a first time mother, the odds are higher that she will arrive more than a week after my due date.
I expected that I would be relatively able-bodied until my due date, that getting around would be challenging but not prohibitive, and that I could reasonably work until I went into labor. Which was rosy thinking indeed. If I had known earlier what this last month would be like, I would have started my maternity leave on the first of the year.
As it is, I have a very flexible employer and have reduced my hours to almost half. I will take my leave on the first of February. And while I truly do want Dr. Von Beanington to enjoy every last moment of gestational comfort necessary for her to thrive on the outside, if she decides to show up early I won't be disappointed.
I am SO ready to have my body back. Yesterday was one of our Summer/Winter days (to clarify - here in LA we generally enjoy week or two during Jan/Feb of full-on beach weather: 80 degrees, sunny, light breezes, mild evenings). Did I go outside and bask in the sunlight? Did I enjoy some moderate exercise? NO. I slept and ate like it was my job. For the moment, it still is.
This baby is baked.
37 weeks is considered "term" - meaning that if I were to go into labor today, Beanface would not be considered premature, her organ systems would be fully developed, and she would most likely go home with us right away.
40 weeks is "full term," however - most babies arrive during the 40th week of gestation. And as a first time mother, the odds are higher that she will arrive more than a week after my due date.
I expected that I would be relatively able-bodied until my due date, that getting around would be challenging but not prohibitive, and that I could reasonably work until I went into labor. Which was rosy thinking indeed. If I had known earlier what this last month would be like, I would have started my maternity leave on the first of the year.
As it is, I have a very flexible employer and have reduced my hours to almost half. I will take my leave on the first of February. And while I truly do want Dr. Von Beanington to enjoy every last moment of gestational comfort necessary for her to thrive on the outside, if she decides to show up early I won't be disappointed.
I am SO ready to have my body back. Yesterday was one of our Summer/Winter days (to clarify - here in LA we generally enjoy week or two during Jan/Feb of full-on beach weather: 80 degrees, sunny, light breezes, mild evenings). Did I go outside and bask in the sunlight? Did I enjoy some moderate exercise? NO. I slept and ate like it was my job. For the moment, it still is.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
36 weeks, 3 days
Today I visited Arcadia Methodist Hospital, where I plan to deliver The Bean, aka Little Miss Beanface, aka Professor Von Beanington, aka Nova.
I wish I could say I had good pictures to show you. The ultrasound process is always fascinating, but the "snapshots" our doc sent us home with are... not unintelligible. Just un-cute. Good news though - she weighs 6 lbs, 2 oz as of today. Big Bean!
I had always figured that I would deliver at home. But the more I learn about potential complications to the process, the happier I am to be delivering in a hospital. Yes, I understand that many complications are iatrogenic, and that interventions may cascade.
But I am also aware that sometimes doing things "naturally" doesn't always mean you come away with a baby that is healthy. "Naturally" doesn't always mean that you come away with a baby, for that matter.
Given how vividly I can imagine things going south (as a biologist, it is kind of my job) I realize I will probably be more comfortable in a clinical setting with the machine that goes "ping!" than I would be in a birthing center with candles. Because I know that in a hospital setting, even if my labor goes HORRIBLY AWRY and (god forbid) they cut me open needlessly, chances are Nova will be fine. In a birthing center or at home, however, if something goes wrong I'd have to get myself to a hospital somehow, and who knows how long that would take? I have read the outcomes for home births and with competent midwifery transfers don't happen all too often. But the possibility that something might go wrong without ready emergency care makes me more uptight than the sterile bustling of a hospital. Sterility is reassuring.
Which doesn't mean that I'm totally impressed with the way business-as-usual progresses in my hospital. My birth plan will include provisions that are strictly contrary to some of their policies. For example, I will be taking fluids by mouth, not intravenously. I also plan to snack during labor if I become famished. Because it's LABOR. I do not plan to be a jerk about it - rather, I plan to sneak protein shakes in my bag. And those stirrups? I don't anticipate needing those. But thanks.
We did visit the NICU briefly on our tour. Behind the double plated window there was the tiniest little dude - he must have been 4 lbs or so, bright red, 12 inches long. In an incubator, being tended to by a nurse in blue gloves. Amazing to see.
I'm excited!
I wish I could say I had good pictures to show you. The ultrasound process is always fascinating, but the "snapshots" our doc sent us home with are... not unintelligible. Just un-cute. Good news though - she weighs 6 lbs, 2 oz as of today. Big Bean!
I had always figured that I would deliver at home. But the more I learn about potential complications to the process, the happier I am to be delivering in a hospital. Yes, I understand that many complications are iatrogenic, and that interventions may cascade.
But I am also aware that sometimes doing things "naturally" doesn't always mean you come away with a baby that is healthy. "Naturally" doesn't always mean that you come away with a baby, for that matter.
Given how vividly I can imagine things going south (as a biologist, it is kind of my job) I realize I will probably be more comfortable in a clinical setting with the machine that goes "ping!" than I would be in a birthing center with candles. Because I know that in a hospital setting, even if my labor goes HORRIBLY AWRY and (god forbid) they cut me open needlessly, chances are Nova will be fine. In a birthing center or at home, however, if something goes wrong I'd have to get myself to a hospital somehow, and who knows how long that would take? I have read the outcomes for home births and with competent midwifery transfers don't happen all too often. But the possibility that something might go wrong without ready emergency care makes me more uptight than the sterile bustling of a hospital. Sterility is reassuring.
Which doesn't mean that I'm totally impressed with the way business-as-usual progresses in my hospital. My birth plan will include provisions that are strictly contrary to some of their policies. For example, I will be taking fluids by mouth, not intravenously. I also plan to snack during labor if I become famished. Because it's LABOR. I do not plan to be a jerk about it - rather, I plan to sneak protein shakes in my bag. And those stirrups? I don't anticipate needing those. But thanks.
We did visit the NICU briefly on our tour. Behind the double plated window there was the tiniest little dude - he must have been 4 lbs or so, bright red, 12 inches long. In an incubator, being tended to by a nurse in blue gloves. Amazing to see.
I'm excited!
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
So... the food issue.
It's kind of appalling, what I've been eating.
Yesterday lunch was two scoops of Baskin Robbins ice cream in a waffle cone.
Macaroni and cheese. Entire pizzas from Trader Joe's. Candy. Noodles. I'm allowing myself to be steered by the symbiote - baby gets what baby wants unequivocally (until she's on the outside), and already our tastes are wildly different.
Now I'm ready to think about eating clean again. Everything I've read overwhelmingly suggests that food should be prepared in advance and stashed in the freezer for the first critical weeks when I'll be sleep deprived and unable to accomplish even the smallest household tasks. So, I'm approaching this like Burning Man - freeze your goulash flat! Heat and serve during sunrise, after you've been awake for 30 hours and you're maybe still kind of hallucinating. Eat while standing, possibly naked, almost certainly spattered with substances you can't identify.
Suggestions? Here's the rules:
*Wheat free
*High fat and protein to carbohydrate ratio - for instance, a curry that can be served over 1/2 c of rice, instead of a risotto that is basically rice with stuff in it.
*Cheap is good. We like cheap.
*Meat ok, but not required.
It doesn't have to be gourmet, and the easier to assemble the better. Your thoughts?
Edit: Recommendations for snacks and fingerfoods are welcome too! Not so huge on powerbars etc. Better ideas?
Yesterday lunch was two scoops of Baskin Robbins ice cream in a waffle cone.
Macaroni and cheese. Entire pizzas from Trader Joe's. Candy. Noodles. I'm allowing myself to be steered by the symbiote - baby gets what baby wants unequivocally (until she's on the outside), and already our tastes are wildly different.
Now I'm ready to think about eating clean again. Everything I've read overwhelmingly suggests that food should be prepared in advance and stashed in the freezer for the first critical weeks when I'll be sleep deprived and unable to accomplish even the smallest household tasks. So, I'm approaching this like Burning Man - freeze your goulash flat! Heat and serve during sunrise, after you've been awake for 30 hours and you're maybe still kind of hallucinating. Eat while standing, possibly naked, almost certainly spattered with substances you can't identify.
Suggestions? Here's the rules:
*Wheat free
*High fat and protein to carbohydrate ratio - for instance, a curry that can be served over 1/2 c of rice, instead of a risotto that is basically rice with stuff in it.
*Cheap is good. We like cheap.
*Meat ok, but not required.
It doesn't have to be gourmet, and the easier to assemble the better. Your thoughts?
Edit: Recommendations for snacks and fingerfoods are welcome too! Not so huge on powerbars etc. Better ideas?
Monday, January 10, 2011
My abs - a retrospective.
Here I am 6 months prior to becoming pregnant. Not my skinniest, but close. I'm 127 lbs, 36-24-35, probably 14-15 percent body fat. I know, right?(Thanks to Paynie for the shot.)
And here I am in sunny, scenic Calexico. This photo is precisely 2 mo prior to conception, taken by the FatherBeast himself. I'm probably 132-ish, 36-25-37.
Before I got knocked up, I was in the middle of a strength training regimen in anticipation of a long triathlon season. It was springtime, and I was planning to do the Catalina Tri on Nov. 6 of last year. I was biking and running plenty, but I was also focused on building the muscle that would drive me through training. So I was a bit heavier (for me), and not super lean. Here I am probably 137, 37-26-38, 16% body fat. If not for the shades you could see the twinkle in my eye.
Here I am at 6 months. I think I weigh around 155 lbs.
And here I am today, with less than a month until my due date. I weigh 170 lbs. 39 inches around my hips, 43 inches in the bust; waist is kind of irrelevant as this kid is coming out sooner than later. When I started I was a size 2. Immediately postpartum I will probably be a size 8 (if I shop at The GAP). I have continued to use my calipers to approximate body fat measurements, but it's difficult to pinch around the abdomen (duh). However, I estimate that immediately postpartum I will be around 23%.I am grateful that I spent so much time laying down all that muscle, figuring I would burn it off. I didn't quite - I just stopped working out. The period immediately following the discovery of my pregnancy was the most stressful and hectic time in my life - ever. I lost a job then started a new job, my beloved patriarch died, I traveled to a war zone, and then I moved. I think I went to the gym a total of three times - twice at FOB Fenty in Jalalabad, Afghanistan. So when I do get my act back together, I will only be starting from zero - not less than zero.
36 weeks, 1 day
Just getting started here. I'll be using this blog to document the last bits of pregnancy, (possibly) labor and birth, and the process of pulling my body back together as a new mom.
There are plenty of parenting blogs out there, but overwhelmingly reports of postpartum fitness and happiness to be found on the web are uninspiring. Some are downright scary. For a sampling, check out The Shape of a Mother.
Prior to becoming pregnant, I was at the peak of my personal fitness. I was training for a triathlon, eating very well, and taking the first steps towards becoming a trainer. Then everything changed. I'm thankful to have started with such a base of strength and fitness, because I haven't been near a gym in about 7 months. But I'm looking quite forward to returning.
I'm trying not to be overly optimistic - my available time for myself will be reduced. I'll be tired. Parts of me will be in different places and used for different things. But I'm confident that I can bounce. This blog will document the process.
And yes, of course, there will be adorable baby pictures.
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