Aug 31 2015

And Then There Were Four: B’s Birth Story

And Then There Were Four: B’s Birth Story

The induction was scheduled for 6 AM.

6 AM. Clearly the medical profession had lost its fool mind. They said the maternity ward might be full — because, you know, births are unpredictable like that — so I was supposed to call the hospital an hour prior to check if there was space for me. The night of my due date, I finally finished packing my hospital bag, spent some special family time with Peaches, and set my alarm for 4:57.

Well, births are unpredictable, all right. I never made it to 6 AM. Or 4:57, for that matter. Continue reading

Aug 5 2015

The Waiting Around Game

The Waiting Around Game

Because of what happened with Peaches, I kind of assumed I was just a 37-weeks-of-pregnancy sort of girl. She was due in February but was born in January. This one is due in August, so I figured he’d arrive in July. But nope…here we are! August it is. At 39 weeks, I’m more pregnant than I’ve ever been in my life, and here I am waiting for baby.

It seems totally strange to just WAIT for something so life-alteringly important. I mean, this could really happen at any time, and in a million different ways, and it’s unsettling (and kind of exciting? Maybe? Sort of?) to not have any control over any of it. It might take forty-five minutes from start to finish, or I might have to endure a days-long labor. I might eventually have to get induced, or my water could break during dinner tonight. What time will everything happen? Who will be around to help me? Will I be able to get an epidural this time? Will I give birth on the side of the road? Continue reading

Jul 31 2015

My Strange (Pregnancy) Addiction

My Strange (Pregnancy) Addiction

Now that the baby is occupying every last square millimeter of available abdomen space, food cravings have gone by the wayside these last few weeks. I ate my weight in Busch’s pico de gallo early on; but recently, nothing sounds all that delicious, and I know that even something mild will cause serious heartburn at this point. I eat because I know I have to. It’s sort of disappointing, since identifying exactly what you want and then satisfying that craving is one of the great joys of pregnancy. Oh and plus, I can actually use my kitchen now! More on that later.

Instead, my human-growing body has submitted to a different sort of craving, and it is BIZARRE. I want the scent of cleaning — specifically things that contain tea tree oil — ALL. THE. TIME. Like most certified germophobes, I’ve long appreciated a good bleachy smell every now and again because it means something has been recently sanitized. But this is bordering on a strange addiction. Continue reading

Jul 22 2015

P’s Birth Story

P’s Birth Story

I’m 37 weeks today, which is impossible for me to believe. Things went CRAZY FAST this time around. I know that every birth will be different, but 37 weeks feels significant because that’s when Peaches was born. Do we have a name yet for our second child? No — we literally have not even discussed it. Have we put sheets on the bassinet? Why, no. Have I washed my nursing tanks? Is our newborn car seat installed? Is my hospital bag fully packed? No, no, and no. However, I HAVE found time to start feeling just a wee bit concerned about the whole birth thing. It’s happening, and soon. I will have to get this child out of me somehow.

I did this already? And survived it? Are you sure? I’m skeptical at best. It is such a hazy, two-and-a-half-year-old fog in my mind that I’ve recently tried to force myself to relive it so I’ll have a better idea of what to expect.

As part of that process, I’ve started to reread snippets of the private blog I kept while I was pregnant with Peaches. For my memory’s sake — and because it’s only fair, since our son’s birth story is (probably?) coming soon — I’ll share her birth story just as I wrote it right after she was born, minus the real-names thing (and a few personal details).
Continue reading

Jul 15 2015

Thank You for Saving Her Life

Thank You for Saving Her Life

Very few of our family and friends know the Snuza story, and that’s mostly because it’s so horrifying to relive. It’s also because I worry that it makes me sound incompetent, like if I actually knew what I was doing as a mother, there wouldn’t be a story in the first place.

Every time I DID tell someone about it — my parents, a handful of mom friends — I would start shivering as if the temperature had dropped. My teeth literally chattered. And while this particular story has a happy ending, I know the content may be immensely upsetting to those who have experienced a loss, and I am so, so sorry for that.

For all of these reasons, I wrestled with whether or not I should publish this post. But if it helps even one family, I think that I should maybe risk the judgment. Continue reading