"Life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans"

Georgia is here.  I thought I was having a boy, but I was so wrong -- and I'm so glad!  She's only been with us for two weeks, but already I can't imagine a different little person sharing our lives.  She's adorable and hilarious.

I want to blog a little bit about my labor experience.  Some of you might know I was very determined to have a natural childbirth: no narcotics, no epidural, no medical interventions unless absolutely necessary.   I wanted to go natural for two reasons: 1) the health and safety of my baby; and more selfishly, 2) I wanted to know I could do it.  From what I've read and been told, it's an amazing rush and cosmic confidence boost for a woman to learn what she's capable of during child birth.  I wanted enter motherhood armed with a deep understanding of my innate power and abilities as a woman.  Cheesy?  New Agey?  Maybe, but I was sold on the idea.  We wrote out a birth plan, discussed it with our midwives, packed our hospital bag full of music, massage oil, sudoku and knitting.  We read books about natural child birth, went to classes, talked to friends about their experiences: we did all we knew to do to prepare for the unknown.

And then my water broke and it all went downhill from there.  

Well, let me back up a minute.  My due date was July 23rd but lil' Otis was taking her time.  When I went in for a midwife appointment on Monday, July 27th, it was recommended that I be induced on Thursday, July 3oth, if Otis had not decided to come on her own by then.  Inducement was not in the birth plan, but it was nice to know there was an end in sight -- that no matter what happened, I would be in labor by Thursday.

This new sense of relief also brought a new case of the nerves!  "Oh my gosh, I'm going to have a BABY!  Like, THIS WEEK!!  What was I thinking???"  Nighttime sleep, already a rare and precious thing, became even more elusive.

So fast forward to Wednesday, July 29th.  I hardly slept the night before so I did a lot of napping through the day.  Danny and I were both off work at that point and we just chilled all day.  I spent Tuesday night and Wednesday alternating between napping on the couch, reading, watching a movie (Coraline -- loved it!), sitting on an exercise ball, eating lots of pineapple, licorice and spicy Malaysian eggplant in a final effort to get labor going naturally.  After loafing around all day on Wednesday, we finally got showers and left the house to meet BFF Molly and her family at the Texas Roadhouse for dinner.  (Awesome side note: my due date corresponded with Molly's annual trip to Morgantown.  Perfect!)

As we were walking into the restaurant, I felt like I needed to go to the bathroom but the waiter was already at the table so we hurried in and placed our orders.  After I sat down, I didn't feel the urge anymore, so I just waited until after dinner.  A couple hours later, after a fun and filling evening, we said goodbye to the Campbells and I decided to hit the restroom before traveling home.  Sorry if this grosses some of you out, but as I was walking to the restroom, I felt like I was peeing with each step.  I thought, "damn!  I should've stuck with those Kegel exercises!" I went to the bathroom and then headed outside to meet Danny.  But there it was again: step-pee-step-pee-step-pee.  Hmmm, even for my third trimester and weak pelvic floor, this was a little much!  I called my midwife and she told me to go the hospital.  Around 9:30 that night, it was determined that my water had broken and I'd be staying at the hospital until I gave birth.    

We were so excited!  Danny immediately called the folks and let them know where were were.  Within a half an hour, all grandparents were on deck.   My midwife told me she wanted me to get some sleep because it could be another 24 hours before I started labor (I was still only 3-4 cm. dilated and 80% effaced, as I had been for the previous week and a half).  It was obvious to my midwife that I was wired -- a combination of napping all day and just being excited to meet our baby!  She said she'd like me take either Benadryl or Ambien to help me sleep so I'd be well-rested when labor started.  Finally, we ran the family out around 11:00 and I opted for a shot of Benadryl (instead of Ambien ) around 11:30.

That's right -- I got a shot of Benadryl.  I don't know why, but Benadryl did not set off my internal "MEDICAL INTERVENTION!" alarm.  Neither Danny nor I thought much about it.  It was Benadryl, or "Bennies" as Heather and I lovingly call them -- as in "Man, I'm so stressed out I can't sleep.  I'm going to take a Bennie tonight and get some rest." Or, "I don't know Heather, I don't think you're supposed to take a Bennie after drinking that much wine!"  Benadryl is an old trusted friend who's delivered sleep during the bar exam, trial prep, and personal tribulations.  Why would it steer me wrong now?  Oh, but steer me wrong it did.  

The following account I've put together after talking to Danny.  I don't remember much.  I remember thinking that dose of Benadryl was like no other I'd ever taken -- it was high-test, hopsital grade bendaryl, I guess.  I remember saying, "I have a funny taste in my mouth," and "Heather would be so jealous," as I quickly passed out.  The next thing I remember was sharp pain.  I couldn't lay down but I couldn't sit up.  I wanted to be anywhere but the bed, but I couldn't move because I was so drugged out of my mind.  I was totally wasted on Bennies and going into painful, active labor.  Apparently, labor pains started about 20 minutes after I got the shot.  

It was a miserable night.  All of the breathing exercises, visualization and labor positions we'd practiced went out the window.  I couldn't walk on my own, I couldn't sit on the exercise ball without falling over, I couldn't think.  I remember hearing Danny and the nurse reminding me periodically to breathe because my involuntary reaction to the pain was to crouch down and hold my breath.  I remember Danny saying I needed to get in the bathtub and telling him no (I don't know why).  Somehow he and the nurse eventually got me in and it helped quite a bit, but I was still drugged without the benefit of pain relief.  It felt like I was being turned inside out and I had no way to manage the pain.  I was so pissed.  I knew I was out of it and had no control and I was angry about it.  I remember cursing Bennies throughout the night.  It was not the birth I had planned and all because of a stupid Benadryl.  Why didn't I say, "no, I don't want any medication.  I napped a lot today and I don't think I need it."  Or, "why don't we wait and see if I can go to sleep on my own?  Let me try first."  I should've said NO to the drug (why didn't I listen to you, Nancy Regan??) but I didn't and there was nothing I could do about it.  

Danny tells me that after about 5 hours, I finally said "F-it. Give me an epidural."  They pumped me full of fluids and the anesthesiologist came in.  The epidural was an ordeal, too.  For some reason, the anesthesiologist put it in, took it out, and then re-inserted it.  Whatever.  I was still out of it but trying very hard not to move or cuss out everyone in the room.  

I slept for about 20 minutes and then the midwife said I was at 9.5 centimeters and it was time to push.  WHAT????  I was doubly pissed then -- not only was I still drugged out from the Benadryl, now I couldn't feel the lower half of my body.  Why didn't someone tell me I was so close before I got the epidural??  (Actually, my guess is because there two other women in labor at the same time.  Three of us gave birth within an hour or two of each other and my midwife was running between all three rooms.)

They turned off the epidural and Danny tells me that I pushed for about an hour and a half.  Somewhere along the way, the Bennie haze and the epidural wore off.  I was able to control the lower half of my body (in time for the "ring of fire") and have the presence of mind to know what was happening and enjoy Georgia's birth.  

So that was it.  Of course I'm overjoyed with Georgia and Danny was wonderful during the whole process but when I think about it, I'm still angry about how it all went down.  The anger is lessening with each day and it definitely helps that I haven't been hit with the baby blues (knock on wood, faux wood, my head...).  In fact, emotionally, I've felt stronger and happier since Georgia was born than when I was pregnant and for that, I'm incredibly grateful. 

The birth process wasn't what I had planned or hoped for, but we are all doing well and Georgia is a joy.  

Okay, fine. One more picture! Here she is "wearing" a hat a knitted for her before she was born.  It was a little, um, small for her.

And maybe one more.  Here's BFF Molly holding Georgia at the hospital (with Carlie and her hubby Jason patiently waiting their turns).  Molly and fam were scheduled to leave Morgantown the next day so Georgia arrived just in time!

Introducing Georgia Bray Wright

Here she is folks!  FINALLY!  Georgia Bray, aka Otis, made her appearance on July 30th at 7:30 a.m. (7:30 on 7-30).  She weighed in at 8 pounds 8 ounces and measured 22 inches long. 

I will post soon (or hopefully soon) about the labor and delivery.  For now, I'll just say that it was absolutely nothing like I'd planned or hoped it to be.  But, Georgia is here and she's healthy so I can't complain. 

More to come... 

No Grandbaby Yet

That's right, our parents are not grandparents yet. Otis is taking his/her sweet time making an entrance into the world.  

(Otis is Danny's name for the baby.  We don't know what we're having, and he decided that was a nice, gender-neutral name.  Heh.  It is nice to have something to call "it" besides "it" so Otis "it" is.) 

It's been a crazy week.  My due date was on July 23rd (Thursday) but the Friday before, one of my midwives told me she thought I could go into labor within three or four days so we've been on high alert ever since.  I worked over the weekend and frantically tried to get everything wrapped up there and at home.  I was having some contractions, but nothing painful or regular.  Otis was practicing and that was fine, but we were ready for real deal.

Then something awful happened.  Tuesday after work I was sitting at the dining room table talking on the phone.  My cat Zoli was sitting at my feet and all of a sudden he had  a seizure.  It was terrifying.  He was a 10 year old indoor cat who had never had any significant health problems except an annoying allergy to fleas that caused him to lose some hair.  We rushed him to the vet and to make a long, emotional story short, I received a call around 8:30 the next morning telling me he had just passed away after another seizure.  The vet believes he had a urinary tract infection that turned into a kidney infection and perhaps that infection caused a blood clot that went to his brain.  It was so unexpected and sad.  Zoli was my special cat.  Yes, he was moody (that's a nice way to put it) but he loved me and I loved him.  

I cried for several days and interestingly, during that time, my contractions stopped.  Just stopped.  Nothing from Tuesday evening until Thursday around noon.  I don't know whether there's any science to back me up here, but I believe my body knew I was in no shape to have that baby and any progress I made toward labor suddenly halted.  The prior Friday I was dialated to 3 centimeters.  I went in for another appointment on Wednesday and I was dialated 3 to 4 centimeters.  Not much progress.  

After lunchtime on Thursday, the contractions picked back up, but there still has not been anything regular or too terribly painful.  I had one contraction yesterday that stopped me in my tracks (ouch!), but that was the only one.  I'm still hoping for a weekend baby--or at least for labor to start in earnest this weekend--but we'll see what Otis has in mind.  My midwife also warned me that 70% of first-time moms deliver after their due date.  40 weeks and 5 days is the average length of a first pregnancy.  I am now at 40 weeks at 3 days.

So the waiting game continues!  It's been a hard week, but I think I'm mentally ready again for Otis to get here.  

"Is that for your Grandbaby?"

After my melodramatic "I may never post again" post last week, something happened to me yesterday that cannot go without mention, mostly because I can't stop thinking about it! So, I'll take a few minutes of my lunch hour (and full advantage of the quick internet access) to share.

Every Sunday, there is an awesome flea market in Osage, just seconds away from Morgantown. After going a couple of times to look around, we decided to rent a few tables and try to unload our own stuff. Yesterday was the second time we've set up shop at the flea market. The whole flea market experience will be the subject of a future post, but for now, I gotta tell you about a conversation I had there.

To pass the time, I took my current knitting project -- a baby hat. I had several conversations with different people about the project and knitting in general, but one particular conversation--with a woman who appeared to be about my age, mind you, maybe a few years older--stuck out:

Browser: "What are you making?"

Me: "A baby hat."

B: "For your grandbaby?"

M: "No, for my own child. I'm due next month."

B: "Oh, congratulations!"

Let's rewind in case you missed it: "FOR YOUR GRANDBABY?"

One more time: "FOR YOUR GRANDBABY?"

No really, did you catch that: "FOR YOUR GRANDBABY?"

Granted, I was sitting down at a table, somewhat hunched over my needles and yarn so maybe she couldn't see my belly, BUT STILL!!!

Maybe, if I had given birth during my senior year of high school and that baby gave birth/got someone knocked up during her/his senior year of high school, I could conceivably be knitting something for my grandbaby. But really, is that a person's first thought when they see me knitting??? "Oh look, she must be making something for her grandbaby!"

*sniff, sniff*

Some other thoughts I've had while mulling this over...and over...and over:

-- Apparently, I look older rather than younger when I don't wear make-up. I've grown so accustomed to people thinking I'm about 5-10 years younger than I actually am, that this idea was particularly shocking. "But I'm not even wearing make-up," I thought. You know what that means? Haggard. I look haggard. Maybe it had something to do with the fact we didn't go to bed until after midnight and then had to get up at 4:00 a.m. to be at the flea market by 5:00 to set up. But even if there's a reason I looked haggard, there's no escaping I must have looked haggard.

*sniff, sniff, whimper, sniff*

-- Danny suggested (after recovering from side-splitting laughter AT MY EXPENSE) the woman immediately thought of a grandbaby because she has grandbabies! Maybe it would have made her feel better if I had grandbabies, too. Yeah, whatever. Nice try, Danny.

-- Please do not judge our fair state and tell me that this only happened because I was at a small-town West Virginia flea market. You know I could've had the same conversation in any state at The Walmarts.

-- She might have said "grandchild." But really, doesn't "grandbaby" make it a much better story?

Okay, I'm going to go cry now.

Ho Hum

Hi folks. Sorry for the lack of meaningful posts in a very long time. I have several excuses:

1. Our internet at home sucks. We live enough off the beaten path to not have access to high speed internet. We can't get DSL or cable. We had internet through Dish Network for awhile, but we weren't happy with that either. Now we rely on our cell phone air card and it's pretty hit or miss.

2. I'm going through one of those spells where the publicness of this blog bothers me. I am again contemplating setting it to private. While I love reading other people's candid thoughts, I can't bring myself to write my own!

3. I'm out of the habit. When I'm in blogging mode, I always have ideas. When I'm not, I got nuthin.

So, the future of this blog is a little less than certain.

Something to post when I don't know what to post

Earlier I was surfing around the internets looking at random blogs and I came across this list, or "meme," posted by someone I don't know.  This is one of those things you're supposed to fill out when you get tagged by someone and then you're supposed to tag someone else.  No one tagged me and I'm not going to tag you, but I'd still love to see this filled on some of my friends' blogs. 

Here we go...

I am: dependent on the weather for my moods.  Luckily, the sun is shinning today and I'm feeling optimistic and emotionally sound (or well, it was when I started writing this).  The last few days were ick and that's how I felt.  Ick.

I know: that I don't have it figured out.  Most days I'm okay with that.  In my case, this is certainly a sign of age.  Recently I heard a 17-year old (who reminds me a lot of myself at times) say, "I'm 17, how much are my opinions and attitudes going to change at this point?"   She was dead serious and I chuckled a little bit--on the inside--which just made me feel old.  At age 17, I was a vegetarian Paul Simon-lovin' Mormon vigilante who had it all figured out and wore too many long, swirly skirts.  Now...well, I still love Paul Simon and I should probably wear more skirts.

I won: a hula hoop competition during a school assembly in the 1st grade.  I had practiced and practiced for weeks.  I was really happy with my trophy until I went back to class and the little boy who almost beat me was sitting at his desk, head down, crying into his arms.  I think that's what sucked the competitive spirit right out of me and I never got it back.  Poor guy.

I have: a tendency to procrastinate and a mean streak of laziness that would take over my life if I'd let it.   In my opinion, these are my worst qualities and a constant battle.

I hate: name brands.  My eyes turn red when I see an 11 year old carrying a Coach purse (or even a knock-off).  I'm a bit irrational when it comes to these things and I've always been this way.  When Guess jeans were the craze, I wanted nothing to do with them.  I'm not saying I haven't shelled out way too much money for a clothing purchase, but I'll be damned if I'm going to pay big bucks and then provide a company with free advertising space on my ample bum!

I miss: my friends.  I've been incredibly blessed my entire life to meet wonderful friends wherever I go.  But now we're all spread out: Georgia, Washington D.C., Las Vegas, Huntington, Charleston, Toledo, Washington State, Montana, MOROCCO....  I miss 'em.

 

I feel: guilty that I don't love every minute of being pregnant.  I thought this would be the most magical, beautiful time of my life and I would savor every moment of it. While it is pretty cool to think that I'm growing a little life inside of me, it kind of sucks, too.  I thought I would be an earthy mother goddess, tranquil and centered, pondering the natural rhythms of life.  Pppffff. That's not me.  I'm the one over here--the one with occasional heartburn, widening hips and a fist-full of M&M's.  Nope, this is not what I pictured at all!  

I smell: the "fresh" outside air.  The window's open!  Yay!

I crave: Sweets. All. The. Time.  I'm not going to give myself the excuse of saying it's because of the pregnancy.  I've always loved brownies and Mike & Ike's and cookies and twizlers and ice cream.  Now I just let myself have them entirely too often.  And once you get used to eating that stuff, you just want it more and more.  Sugar is like crack except you don't lose 40 pounds when you hooked. 

I search: for the good in people and situations.  It's usually in there somewhere.  

I love: my life.  It's pretty great when I think about it.  I love my husband.   I love my job, my family, my cats and my dog.  I love the plans we have for our future, and despite the guilt feelings expressed a few paragraphs above, I love that I'm going to be a mom soon.  

I care: entirely too much about the number on the scale.  I know I'm pregnant, but it just feels--and looks--like I've let myself go.  I shouldn't care about this!  I'm pregnant!  But I do and that's lame.

I always: count signs and syllables in signs while I'm driving--and I have to organize them into groups of five.  I can't stop until somehow I have made a sensical grouping of five.  Then I blink so I know I did it and I can stop.  Yeah, I know.  Bad.  But usually I'm at a stop light or on the interstate with no other cars around.  I can't do that while driving around town or in traffic.  Feel assured.  At least I'm not on my cell phone or texting.  

I believe: that the "I Believe" series on NPR just came to an end.  Bummer, man.  I really enjoyed it.  I loved the feeling of anticipation before each segment, like someone was going to offer up the meaning of life, all tidied up in a 3 minute sound-bite; like someone was going to sum IT all up and I'd say, "HEY! That's what I believe, too!!" and then the quest would be over.  It never really happened that way, but I still really enjoyed the series.  

I sing: very loudly in the car by myself, but I stop whenever I get too close to another car so that other driver, who I don't know and will never see again, won't think I'm crazy.  

I write: blog entries and emails in my head that never make it to the computer.  I feel like I keep in better touch with people than I actually do, because in my mind, I just sent you an email!  Zap!

I lose: sleep because back and hip pain.

I never: let myself dwell on should'ves and could'ves.  Yeah, I've made some mistakes and detours in life, but I don't know that, if given the chance, I'd do anything differently because who knows what kind of ripple effect that would have on the rest of my life.  I'm happy.  Things are good.  Learn and move on!

I am scared of: ghosts.  For reals.  I've never seen one, but I'm pretty sure they're out there.

I need: a back rub.

That's it!  I'm not going to tag you, but it would be way cool to read this on your blog. 

Have a good one.

Y'all Have Seen This, Right?

I'm a little behind the times. I saw this on the news last week, but I'm just now getting around to posting it. Most of you West Virginians have probably seen this, or at least heard about it. For the rest of my beloved readers, check it out: my hometown was recently featured on NBC Nightly News!



So, who's ready to move to Morgantown?? Come on, now -- you know you want to!