Pluto and me…Planets…Again?

Once upon a time, in a planned home birth that ended in an emergency c-section in September 2013, my first son was born. A reminder of what that was like can be read in This New Life – it was a doozy of an experience.

My son is perfectly unfolding as a human, and has always unfolded in that way…Even when he holds up a mirror and condescendingly points out that I need to say ‘please’ when I ask him to hand me something that I can’t reach. 

I can’t reach many things at the moment, especially from the floor, because I have my own orbit in my 8th month of pregnancy with my second son. 

They say that the second pregnancy, and every pregnancy, is different. This one feels very familiar because my first son and second son have the exact same due date, just 4 years apart. I will say, this pregnancy has felt shorter somehow, and bigger…way bigger. I grow Viking children. Giant heads. It’s astonishing and terrifying as a 5’4″ female. Whose ancient genes are these?! Thank god for modern science.

The other major difference, is that my husband and I have now been vegans for a month, and do not have any intention of returning to the omnivorous way of life. The benefits in such a short time for both of us has been remarkable, and with today’s options for vegan products, much easier than we had anticipated.

I know what you’re thinking. The lady who planned a crunchy home birth last pregnancy has turned extra crunchy by introducing a vegan diet while preganant with #2 because…west coast. Sometimes I do look in the mirror and think, “New phone, who dis?” Because I was a fast food junky in my first pregnancy. 

Let me share how my first pregnancy went:

• A little bit of nausea around 2pm each day in the first trimester, used empty file folders to evaporate my upper lip sweat.
• Hired a midwife as my primary care provider who really focused on my weight gain of epic proportions.
• Tested on the cusp for gestational diabetes, treated as though tested positive. 
• Assigned a dietician who told me to eat Splenda and chemical laden foods with no fat for my entire 2nd and 3rd trimester. Tested my blood 5 times a day, kept a food journal. Did not oblige on the no fat foods. still wouldn’t.
• Swollen cankles up to my knees, entire body pregnant. Shocking enough to have complete strangers approach me and say, “Are you sure you want to eat that? Do you want a fat baby?” Classy people.
• 11 days overdue, 40 hours of back labour, emergency c-section for failure to progress. Good lady times.

Here’s how my second pregnancy has gone:

• Terrible nausea all the live long day in the first trimester. No amount of fanning upper lip sweat helped. Constantly sweating. Dove made a damn fortune off me.
• Hired a maternity doctor. Never once has told me my weight upon my request, and doesn’t care. Beautiful. Self esteem for the win.
• Tested negative for gestational diabetes. Praise Allah.
• Craving dark leafy greens, disgusted by processed foods. Tested low for iron counts. Taking supplement. 
• Feet began swelling in the third trimester. Very sore joints. I’d turned into a waddling Macy’s Day Parade balloon. 
• Switched to eating vegan at 30 weeks after watching a terrifying documentary that showed my entire family history for cause of death. Knowledge man, it’ll get ya.
• Feet fairly normal sized now, even in the heat of summer, normal feeling joints, and more energy. Lost weight even though measuring 2 weeks ahead of my due date. Ask me where I get my protein bro. #veganwinning
• Planned c-section for 38 weeks. Because, screw that. I’m good man. #bigheads #vikings 

I’d have to admit that the second pregnancy has been different, even though both of my children were Christmas spirits (“OMG Mom! You are so embarrassing!” They will say in Highschool).

Different cravings, different distribution, different choices, different conditions. Some worse, others better. Quite the journeys. All resulting in a tiny human who will grow, make so much mess, and tell you to say ‘please’ when you ask him to pick up your Oreo cookie (because they’re vegan, and I’m no saint) off the floor while you orbit the sun one more time…

Do you think Santa is vegan?

Sincerely yours,

Fumbling Mom (x2)

This New Life

Once upon a time, I was an individual in a loving marriage to my perfect man.

Then we got pregnant.

And had a baby boy.

Now, I am a Mom in a loving marriage to my perfect man, and we are a family.

Wait…I’m a Mom?

This is the part that I’m struggling with in this new found life caring for an infant, so I thought I’d talk a bit about what that’s like, and why it’s like that for me. Perhaps you can relate.

Let’s back it up:

My pregnancy was healthy and “normal” (whatever that means), and was everything someone like me would expect when I was expecting: hella’ weight gain, sexy cankles, cravings, night sweats, an obsessive body pillow dependence…the whole nine.

My husband and I decided we wanted to have a home birth (gasp), and try to bring this little life into the world in our home, with a midwife and doula, without the drugs, au natural. We did our research, gathered our birth team, prepped the birth room, and finished all that good wholesome (some would say crunchy) stuff you do when you are turning one of the rooms in your home into a place to push out a football. No big deal. I can do this.

My labour began at 7am on September 23rd normally enough. We went for a walk to Starbucks, had a coffee, worked through the early contractions, walked home, watched a movie, worked through more early contractions, had dinner, had a bath, went to bed. By midnight those early contractions turned into active, punch you in the face, could not sleep through them even though I tried, contractions. We were probably going to meet this baby today.

We laboured and laboured and laboured at home with our doula and midwife. Tried the bath. Tried the shower. Tried the exercise ball. Lunging, walking, sitting, leaning, standing…our prenatal classes came in handy.

Nothing was happening, other than really intense contractions, really close together, no dilation. Wholly frustration! Wholly I haven’t slept since the 22nd! Wholly it’s now 1pm on the 24th!

I wanted to die.

I think I prayed for death at one point. 3 cm dilated. We were expecting an infant 11 days overdue, above the 90th percentile in head size. Football with a watermelon on one end. 3 cm. Not gonna cut it.

It was at this point that I remember my midwife and doula hovering over me as I lay on our bed, my brain and the thoughts accompanying it in another universe while I battled my uterus punching me in the face again, saying softly, “Kelly, I believe this would be a good time to discuss a plan of action. Nothing is happening honey…we want this baby to come out, and we need to figure out how you want that to happen at this stage.”

It was at this point we decided, as a team, to transfer to the hospital. Team Baby grabbing our bags, water broke in the elevator (awesome), waddling out to the car, delirious, heading for Labour and Delivery.

4 contractions in the car and 15 minutes later, I was gripping my husband’s hand through yet another contraction, shuffling passed the coffee shop of hospital on-lookers, to the maternity ward unaware of the intense staring happening on my way there.

We tried a soft epidural for another 4 hours, no progress.

We tried oxytocin for 2 hours after that, no progress, baby in distress.

It was now 8pm on September 24th, and we decided to meet our baby via c-section.

Once the decision to have surgery was finalized, things became hectic quickly.

Oxygen mask put on, the room filled with nurses, students, and doctors. They spoke to each other as they wheeled me into the O.R., strapped my arms down, gave me heavy freezing that felt like ice melting down my back, and ushered my husband away to change into his scrubs. This was the only time during the process when I cried.

The O.R. town cryer announced to the room filled with about 30 people from different medical departments that I was Kelly, allergic to coconut, 41 weeks and 4 days pregnant, and ready for Caesarian. Let’s be honest, I was basically an iodized belly and crotch. Not to worry though, my dignity and sense of embarrassment left me long before this event. This was the only time during the process when I laughed.

Are some of their surgical tools made of coconut?

At 8:21pm on September 24th we met our little big boy. 9 lbs. 2 oz.

Now, to say that our birth plan didn’t exactly go as planned is quite accurate. In fact, I would go as far to say that my labour and our son’s birth went in the exact opposite direction. And this may be where my need to find some kind of sanity begins.

The only way I can describe how I feel or think or understand this new little one who is so much a wonderful part of our lives, is that I know he is my baby, but I do not feel as though I am his Mom.

Perhaps this has something to do with how he and I went through his birth, perhaps not.

All I know is that when I left the hospital with him, it felt as though I had been through enough pain for enough time to cash in my chips at the maternity ward, and they rewarded me with a baby. Like, they have them in stock or something, and this one looked most like me.

I realized through my own reflection that my pregnancy, his birth, and now his presence in our lives are all events that happened and seem completely separate to me. Unrelated.

It doesn’t make me sad, it just is. In fact, I would say, having him in our lives now, I cannot imagine him not being here. If I did cash in my chips at the hospital, and they did reward me with a baby, then I gotta say, I won the friggin’ baby lottery.

And so begins my journey as a new Mom, trying to figure out this little person, how he ticks, what he likes, how he learns, while trying to maintain some kind of identity as his Mom. As myself.

Whoever that may be.

Sincerely yours,

Fumbling Mom