B is for Birth

So, I have a few free minutes tonight and decided to do some freestyle writing about my birth experience. As a social worker, this is something we talked about with patients who wanted to process out their feelings and I think it helps. So be forewarned that this post might be more for me than for the general public audience of this blog.

Birth is super important. It is the jumping off point for motherhood, it's a rite of passage, it's probably the most extraordinary thing that has ever happened to me. The moment I first saw James and had him placed on me was undoubtedly the most incredible moment of my life. There are no words I can think of except that in that one moment, I think I felt every feeling you can ever feel. Incredible love, awe, pride, amazement, fear, anxiety, joy, trepidation. It was unreal and I'm lucky I got to have the experience.

But back to birth. The way you birth your baby, the way you are treated during that precious time and the way you feel about your birth is important. Nobody needs to do a lit review on this, but mothers and researchers know that birth affects postpartum outcomes, bonding, and the physical, emotional, and mental wellness of baby and mom. Given that I felt somewhat traumatized by my birth experience...where does that leave me?

Well, here's my reflections 7 weeks out. As I think back on that day, the memory of the pain has lessened a great deal. Suddenly, I find myself thinking I'd happily do it again (it wasn't so bad, was it? Wait - yes, it was. Guess I still need more time). Time does softens things and I have kinder feelings about myself and the labor I endured. Here's what I know to be true -

Truth: I was a labor warrior. I worked with the greatest pain I have ever felt in my life for hours on end (late morning until 7:30 p.m., to be exact.) Each of those hours were so tough and I held strong. Those that were there - Adam, my mom, my doctor and nurse - told me then and continue to remind me just how much of a rockstar I really was. I clawed and screamed and grimaced and grunted primal noises like an animal and did what I could to survive it. And survive it I did.

Truth: The hard work and preparation paid off. Adam & I took childbirth classes, read books, and did a lot of planning for labor and delivery. Each and every single thing we did beforehand helped tremendously - from the ocean waves soundtrack on my Ipod to understanding how we would communicate while I was in pain. Nothing we did was in vain. (Okay, I take that back. The $7 handheld battery back massager wasn't used. Still - I was comforted knowing we had it we had it and maybe that was its true purpose.)

Truth: I delivered a healthy, beautiful baby boy who is perfect in every way. We are lucky; James & I ended up safe and sound and just fine. I did not fail at birthing (though the technical medical label for the reason for the c-section is actually "Failure to Progress." Yep.) I could not control the positioning of my son's head anye easier than I could control the color of his eyes or the sound of his cries. I worked hard to deliver him vaginally. I pushed and pushed and pushed for three hours, tried all manner of poses (my midwife called one of them the "jack knife" - that was fun...), and consented to trying a vacuum extraction to avoid having a c-section.

Truth: Having a c-section was hard. For me, it was harder emotionally than it was physically. Though, having your internal organs spread out on a sterile table and being rearranged back inside you is no walk in the park. I underestimated how hard the recovery would be. Especially given that my body had labored for so many hours and my baby's head was in the birth canal for a good long time before we moved on to surgery. But honestly, the most difficult part was accepting that despite my best efforts, things didn't go as planned. And wondering if I had failed as a woman and as a mother. I think I had a pretty textbook case of the baby blues (though thankfully not postpartum depression) and dealing with those feelings contributed to that.

Truth: I am recovering. I had my 6 week postpartum checkup the other day and in the words of my doctor, I am doing beautifully. I'm losing weight, feeling much more like myself physically and emotionally, I'm doing a great job taking care of my new baby and trying to also meet my own needs as best as I can. As I sat on the crinkly paper lining of the bed, she read my post-operative report to me and we discussed what happened. Every single thing I heard from that report reiterated what a fantastic job I did birthing my baby in the best way I could given the circumstances. I teared up as a little hearing the report, and found I was no longer embarassed my how emotional I feel sometimes when discussing the birth. She was encouraged that I will most likely be an excellent candidate for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) which is something I already know I want to try for next time.

I will forever have my c-section scar as a reminder of my birth. I get to choose what my scar represents. It does not mean failure. It is a physical marker of my hard work bringing my son into the world. It means I am a mother, and it means I have James, and this is the most important thing in my life. It means I succeeded.

Hello from the land of parenthood...

Hi out there....not sure if anyone is still actually reading this, but just in case, I wanted to say hi. And that parenting a newborn has sort of sucked us into a new alternate reality, but we're still here. Surviving and thriving. And not blogging much. But trying to savor the memories when we can.

In the past few weeks, we've enjoyed our first Christmas holiday as a family of three and said goodbye to 2011 - a banner year for us. Some years seem to be full of change, and some are what I call being in "maintenance mode." In 2009, for example, we moved from L.A. to San Jose, I graduated from USC and got a job in San Francisco, we adopted a dog, got engaged, planned and executed a wedding. 2010 was filled with lovely "stay-the-course" moments of just enjoying life as it was. But always thinking and dreaming, which I never stop doing. Soon enough, 2011 was upon us and saw our lives uprooted again. Well, if you've read this blog, you know what we were up to last year - it was a busy one. As the year came to a close, it dawned on me that the biggest change of my entire life will have occured on this year. I have a beautiful son with sparkling eyes that have bore into my soul; I will never let go of him and he will always be tatooed into my heart. I can no longer imagine life without him. (Or what I used to do with all my free time....) I'm excited for keepin' on and keepin' on in 2012, with no moving boxes and address changes.

The weeks between James's birth on Thanksgiving and the advent of Christmas are now a blur. I think back in snippets: eating lots of granola bars as meals, nursing James for what seemed like half the hours in the day, standing in a hot shower for an extra ten minutes because it was the first one I'd had in three days... And more than this, my memory is softened by the happy snippets: sleeping with James nuzzled up on my chest and kissing the top of his head, talking endlessly for hours about his expressions and how amazed we were by everything that James was, the beautiful newborn smell which is softer and more wonderful than the finest perfume.

Somewhere in there, Christmas came and went with its own lovely moments. We were fortunate enough to share it with our families, who were incredibly kind and fed us hot holiday meals and made things festive despite the disruption from our normal lives. We enjoyed a huge Christmas Eve dinner at my mom's house, shared Christmas morning with my dad and brother, and were lucky enough to have Adam's parents travel here so we could see them without making the trek to Eugene over the holiday. I sang many Christmas carols to James (who adores being sung to, even in my awful off-key tone) and dressed him in a couple of cute Christmas outfits to celebrate the occasion. Dad & Adam helped put together a baby tree for us this year, and though the tree stood at only 4 feet tall it made our Christmas feel special. One night, I was up in the middle of the night nursing James by only the lights of the Christmas tree. He was so content, happily eating and gazing up at me and squeezing my pinky with his tiny, chubby little hand. I looked down at him and felt such gratitude and happiness that he was my son. I cried a little and looked at the Christmas lights twinkling across the room, thinking that life couldn't possibly be any more incredible. All seemed so right in my life, holding my sweet baby tight, rocking him to sleep in our warm little house with the cold rain outside. I don't know that I've ever felt so peaceful.

Peaceful isn't exactly a good word to describe most of our days here now, but when those moments arise, I enjoy them to the fullest. Having a cup of tea, taking a bath, or even eating a hot meal is a luxury I appreciate much more now. We sleep when we can and are starting to share the responsibility of night feedings (thank you, breastpump!) which makes life as a mom much better. James is starting to show little smiles and is expressing himself more and more. He's a pretty loud when sleeping, eating, or playing for that matter...he squeaks and grunts and cries and coos and makes new sounds all the time. We are getting better at anticipating his needs and finding various ways to soothe him when he's upset, though sometimes it takes quite a bit of effort, creativity, and perseverance. For example, I discovered by accident that when he's overtired, James loves to be held and rocked in the laundry room, with the light off and the furnace or dryer on for white noise. Adam is an old hand at babywearing and has James on his chest with one our baby carriers for quite a few hours of the day. (It's not my preferred method, since anytime he's near my chest he seems to suddenly get hungry.) He seems to slowly be developing a very loose routine or "schedule": he tends to be quite happy in the morning and likes to play, has various short naps and intermittent play and frequent nursings during the day, then usually gets fussy in the late afternoon/early evening and sometimes goes down for his first long stretch of the night anytime between 8-11. He eats 2-3 times after that during the night - sometimes for short periods and will be easily put back down, and sometimes not. He finally started enjoying his baths, which for now are usually just one of us holding him in the shower or bathtub since he also loves to be held so much. He cries during about half of his diaper changes, which is a big improvement from when he was first born and wailed through every single one of them. He always needs to be swaddled at night, or otherwise will constantly startle himself awake with his hands grasping at his face. He spends short periods in his swing or baby chair or on the boppy pillow, but otherwise wants to be held all the time. And, most of the time, I happily oblige. It won't be too long before he'll be a little boy and won't let his mama hold him and kiss his forehead for hours on end.

We'll share some more pictures and videos when we can. Thank you to all of you family and friends that have celebrated and supported us in this big change. Hugs from our family to yours.