The Circle of Life: A Birth Story

9 years ago today, we lost my dad to mesothelioma. It was the worst day of my life. It feels like these nine years have both flown by and simultaneously dragged on. This day is always hard to get through, but this year it feels especially heavy. My dad loved babies, and oh how he would have simply adored mine. Everett was born 8 years and 8 days too late to meet his Grandpa Tom. And that will never really feel okay. 

So because this day is extra hard, I want to talk about the best day of my life, to bring it a little sunshine. One year and two days ago we found out we were pregnant. 245 days later, on September 29th, we welcomed our baby boy into the world at 9:58am. 

From about 35 weeks on, we knew he was breech. About 3% of babies are breech at that point, and throughout our whole pregnancy journey we seemed to hit the statistically improbable—so this was no different. We prayed that he would turn on his own, but our little boy was stubborn. We could have opted for an ECV (external cephalic version) which would have been a manual turning of baby, involving some drugs and pushing on mama’s tummy. It had a 50/50 shot at being successful—in which case I would have been induced right away. If not successful, a possible outcome was that it would put baby in distress and I’d be rushed into an emergency c-section. The odds weren’t convincing enough, so at 37 weeks we gave in and scheduled a c-section—still hoping baby would turn.  

We chose our c-section date carefully. The doctor said any time in week 39, which was Sept 28-Oct 4th. Initially I was very set on the idea of having an October baby, so I thought perhaps the 1st or 2nd would be nice. But then we realized something: our health insurance started a new year on October 1st. In my last post I talked about healthcare in the US, and didn’t elaborate on how ridiculously expensive it is here. Sadly, an October baby didn’t make sense financially. Read that again. Financially. That should never be a factor in determining any kind of health care for yourself or your family. You want to talk about privilege, let’s discuss how having access to affordable and quality healthcare is strongly linked to employment. Anyhow, I digress. We chose the 29th because the 28th was a professional development day for me--too easy of a day to waste leave time on--and the 30th is Chelsey's brother Kiel’s birthday. So it was settled. Almost.

In the final weeks of pregnancy, I started experiencing gestational hypertension--high blood pressure. This resulted in close monitoring by my care team--several extra appointments, and even one 4 hour monitoring session that had a 50% chance of ending in baby being delivered early. We watched for other signs that, coupled with the high BP, would indicate preeclampsia, but they never followed. At my appointment just 8 days before our c-section was scheduled, the doctor explained that essentially there was a formula that said that since I had had so many high BP readings during my visits, he should take me downstairs to have the c-section right now. He agreed to let me wait it out, since 1) I was well and healthy otherwise and 2) I had another appointment Thursday. Thursday’s appointment was fine--BP still a little high. Friday night my BP was higher than it had ever been--so into the hospital we went. After an hour of monitoring, my BP had gone down, and they sent us home. Honestly, had they offered to take him just then, we would have said yes. We also agreed that if we ended up back at the hospital over the weekend, we would just ask them to go in and get him.

Our last night as a 
family of two.

But we made it through the next few days without incident. On Monday, I had my last ultrasound, confirming that baby was still breech. After work, we finished packing the hospital bag and talked about the fact that we couldn’t believe that tomorrow, we would be parents. As directed, that night I showered with a special presurgical soap, put on clean PJs, and climbed into fresh clean sheets, for what would be my last night of uninterrupted sleep to date. Chelsey recalls being nervous “because our lives were changing and there was a lot of unknown”, but also excited “because we waited for a long time for him”. We took the classes. We read the books. But nothing could have prepared us for the next day.

The sun rose on Tuesday morning, September 29th. As the rest of the world ate breakfast and prepared for a day of work as usual, we gathered our things, took one last look around at our old life, and headed off to the hospital. We checked in at 7:30AM for our 9:30AM surgery. I remember a feeling of calm settling in as we waited and talked with the L&D nurses. They explained how the day would go, answered our questions, and introduced us to other staff we would be working with. Our nurse’s name was Sarah, which is always kind of cool :) I changed into the gown and got hooked up to all the familiar monitors. Chelsey remembers that the nurses had trouble getting my IV in--after months of drinking a ridiculous amount of

water all day long, 8 hours of NPO had made my little veins tricky critters. Aside from that, everything else was going smoothly.

Although we had spent a good deal of time coming up with a detailed birth plan, most of it was for a vaginal birth. Coming into a scheduled surgery was a much different feeling--a familiar one, if you know my history with sports injuries. It turned out that much of what was on the birth plan was done as the standard of care, but there were two things that I wanted to make sure we were clear on: I wanted a double layer stitch to close my uterus; barring the need for immediate emergency care, Chelsey was to be the one to cut the cord. Although this surgery was to be a much different surgery--never had I been awake on the table--I was confident that it would go just as well as every other one had--and with a much more fun end result. Quite honestly, the only thing I was feeling anxious about was the spinal block, which I knew would be very uncomfortable. 

All of a sudden, it was time. I walked across the hall to the OR, leaving Chelsey behind to get changed into what she called her “Covid suit”, while I was prepped. The OR was bright and bustling with activity, as our care team got things ready for baby boy’s grand entrance into the world. As the anesthesiologist began my spinal, my nurse held my hand and talked to me. She was impressed with my grit as I winced, but kept talking upon feeling the needle go in--and honestly, so was I, because uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to describe what that’s like. Before long, my legs started to feel warm and tingly. Having the lower ⅔ of your body go numb is the oddest feeling. I was promptly arranged into position on the table, and from there, things moved very quickly. So quickly, in fact, that the surgery started before Chelsey was even in the room! Luckily I had only a brief moment to start panicking before she was ushered in and directed to the stool near my head. Where had she been? I’ll let her tell it…

They took Sarah out of the room and I was told to wait 15 minutes to put on my “Covid suit”--a plasticy paper zip up jumper with elastic around the ankles and wrists. I had booties that I had to tie on. And then a different facemask--a surgical one. And a hairnet. I paced nervously. A couple of nurses came to check on me. They asked if I needed anything. I said no, I’m okay, but thank you (because I'm polite). I waited another 15 minutes before starting to suit up. As I went to zip up the jumper, the zipper split at the top! I was able to get it back down, but saw that the zipper parts had detached from each other. So I waited for what seemed like forever for the nurses to come back and check on me. Finally, Rett’s nurse came in and said, “Ready to go mama?”

“My suit won’t zip.” She searched frantically around the room for another one.

“Take it off,” she instructed, and left to get another suit. This was a whole process, since I was in a walking boot at the time, and the booties were tied over the jumper. “Just rip it,” said his nurse finally. So we did. She helped me into the new suit, but when I went to go zip it, the zipper was stuck at the bottom. I looked at her in panic, and she asked if she could help. She tried to dislodge the jammed zipper with no success, until she finally said, “We have to go!” We walked quickly down the hall to the operating room. As we pushed through the door, she ushered me to the seat by Sarah’s head, blocking my view of her since they had already started. I tried to peek but I couldn’t see anything.

It wasn’t long after Chelsey sat down that the surgeon said, “His butt is out.” Well yes, friend, we knew he was coming into this world butt first--will we be seeing the rest of him soon? And then-- “He’s out.” And I remember Chelsey saying, “Babe he looks just like you.” And me repeating, “He’s here, he’s here, he’s here.” And both of us crying. And this moment:

And then his little cry. Well, his big cry. They took him over to get him cleaned up, measured up, and tied up, and Chelsey went with him. This was the hardest part for me. I could hear him crying. I could hear Chelsey talking and laughing with the nurses. But I was stuck on that table while they put me back together. So again, I must defer to Chelsey to tell about this part.

“Do you want to cut the cord?” they asked. “Yes,” I said. The cord was pretty squishy and when I cut it; blood squirted out all over the baby. As the nurses cleaned him up and got him ready for us, all I could think was, “Holy crap, I have a baby!” They weighed and measured him, gave him a shot of Vitamin K, put some drops in his eyes, and did his footprints. His nurse encouraged me to take pictures as they worked. He cried the whole time.

Eventually my nurse came over to update me: Everett Thomas was 7lbs 8ozs and 21 inches of squishy goodness, with a head in the 86%ile (a moment during which I silently celebrated his breech position having necessitated a c-section!) 

Finally, Chelsey brought him over in her arms, with the biggest smile on her face. My whole world--my family--was right there next to me. I had never felt such joy as I did in that moment. I hope to never forget that feeling as long as I live .

I could go into more detail about everything that happened over the next hours and days, but suffice it to say we were well-taken care of in the hospital by an awesome team until we left Thursday afternoon. I do want to point out one of my favorite moments that happened as we were being moved from L&D to postpartum. Some of you may remember that in my past life, I worked at this hospital (Aurora West Allis Medical Center, formerly known as West Allis Memorial). One of my very favorite things while I worked there was when I would hear “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” over the PA system. That, I was told, meant that a baby had been born. So as it turns out, there’s a button that makes that happen, and as the mama who borned the baby you get to push the button! It is on a wall on your way from L&D to Postpartum. Pushing that button and hearing the sweet tune made my heart oh so happy!

A long story, as all of mine tend to be. But if you've made it this far, congratulations--here are some bonus pictures from my very favorite day ever : )

 

Big Feelings: The 5th trimester Diaries

Did you know that out of all 196 countries in the world, the United States is one of only 2 that does not have a federally mandated policy to provide new parents with paid time off? Estonia offers new parents 86 weeks paid leave. In Sweden, new parents are entitles to 480 days of leave, in addition to 18 weeks for mothers. Out of those 480, 90 days are reserved just for dads to promote bonding between baby and dad. The 480 days are offered at 80% of the parents' normal pay. Starting in 2021, new parents in Finland--regardless of gender or biological relation to the child--will be allowed 164 days, with single parents being allowed to take the amount of two parents (328 days).

Did you know that according to a 2016 analysis from the Global Burden Disease Study, on the Healthcare Quality and Access (HAQ) Index, the US ranks last out of 195 countries and territories? This means that we have higher rates of amenable mortality than peer countries--this is essentially a measure of how effectively healthcare is delivered. On a scale of 0-100, the US ranks a 88.7. Additionally, maternal mortality rates in the US have risen over time with the highest rate of pregnancy-related deaths at 16.9 per 100,000. We are am outlier, as wealth and economic prosperity usually correlate with lower maternal mortality rates. Black women are 3 times as likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than white women. Cesarean sections are the most common surgical procedure performed in the US; when not medically indicated, they can be risky for both mother and baby. In 2015, 320 c-sections were performed per 1,000 live births in the US, as compared to 269 in comparable countries.

I have lots of time to think and wonder in the wee morning hours after I’m done nursing but before I put Rett back down. Google and I have become super best friends. I was very curious about our healthcare system in the US and how it compared to other countries. I also did a tangent search about the pros and cons of universal healthcare, but I’ll spare you all of that. 

Big Feelings, Little Things

So the 4th trimester is officially over. This has been the best 3 months of my life. And the hardest. And now I have to be a working mom, when all I want to be is a stay at home mom. Those are words I honestly never thought I’d say. Having to go back to work is a different kind of grief than I’ve ever experienced. And I know this is a thing that every mom going back to work experiences, but I am so not ready for this 5th trimester thing. It’s not guilt that I feel. Closer to separation anxiety, maybe. Mostly it just feels like a deep sadness. And I’m trying to focus on all the positive things, but they keep getting lost.

We are lucky that Chelsey will get to stay be home with him for another 5 weeks. While I am sad that it isn’t me, I am so excited for the time they will get to have to bond with each other. I am excited for Chelsey to learn him as I have gotten to learn him over the 8 weeks that I was home with him on my own. The other day, as I was putting him down for a nap, Chelsey came in and noticed that he had fallen asleep with his little hand grabbing on to the collar of my shirt. She asked if I wanted her to take his hand off. I smiled and shook my head. You’ll know soon, my love, how incredibly big this tiny moment feels. How loved and how special, like he is choosing you. 

Santa, I Know Him

Instead of leaving milk and cookies for Santa this year, we left him a map to our house. He left gifts at lots of other houses for Rett this Christmas, including a whole ton by my mom’s—perhaps I forgot to leave a forwarding address when I moved out!

I was joking with my mom the other day that we know that Chelsey and I are not “second rate” compared to Everett. She loves being a grandma! And I think what I found this holiday season was that watching other people love on your kid is where the magic is. There’s something about watching the way my mom looks at him, and knowing that is probably the way she’s looked at me my whole life, that really gets me feeling all warm and fuzzy. I think there are certain things you don’t see until you are a parent, and this all-consuming feeling of love that radiates from parents to their children (and grandchildren) is one of those things. 

Party in My Crib, 2am

Like most newborns, Rett has been sleeping in our room in his bassinet. We had this plan for transitioning to the crib at around 4 months. It was going to be slow and simple and it was going to work. Because surely, by then, he would be sleeping through the night—or if not, at least in nice long chunks. Surely by then, I would be ready to sleep more than a few inches apart from him. 

Like any sleep deprived new parent, I found myself consulting my BFF, Google, about transitioning to the crib and how/when to do so. I was shocked to find that the American Academy of Pediatrics actually recommends that babies sleep in the same room as their parents for 6 months to a year. Getting to that six month mark reduces the risk of SIDS by nearly 50%. Many families choose to transition sooner. One possible option is moving the crib into the parents’ room until baby is used to his new environment. One suggestion for helping babies acclimate is to put them down “drowsy but awake” in the crib, so they can learn to soothe themselves to sleep, and associate the crib with that good feeling of falling asleep. Nearly every article I read talked about starting with one nap a day and gradually increasing to all naps, before trying overnight. Essentially it is one of those “do what’s best for your baby” decisions, like most things are. The kicker? Bassinet have weight limits. The article I was reading at the time said most were up to 20lbs, but some could be as few as 10lb. Surely our sturdy little bassinet was a 20lb deal.

Spoiler alert: It’s 15lbs. And stop calling me Shirley 🙃 (for you Airplane fans out there!)

You may recall that a few weeks ago, baby boy was weighing in at 13 1/2lbs. I’ll admit, I panicked. We had just started experimenting with a new type of swaddle, and our plan for transitioning to the crib did NOT include changing more than one variable at once. What if it was too much at once? What if he wasn’t ready?!

Time being of the essence, we came up with a new plan. We decided on which. So the following day would be the 

nap to try it. This involved some logistics for getting ready. As you may also recall, our cats have been using the crib as their own napping spot for some time. So we had to change out the sheet and tip the mattress up that next morning (so they wouldn’t cover this new sheet in cat hair as well). Then Chelsey went out and bought a large dog bed, big enough for both cats to snuggle in, as they are likely to do. We put that next to the crib. Finn has found 8 different ways to sprawl out across the whole thing, and basically lives there now; Huck wants nothing to do with it. Or the orthopedic memory foam mat we got the next day. His new favorite spot is my side of the bed, up near my pillows. We also had to move the camera and the sound machine from our room to his, as well as swap curtains with the one in the bathroom so that hot could be as dark as possible for good sleepy feelings. 

I said I wasn't going to cry...

I definitely cried.

All of this, and all of the anxiety, just to find out that baby’s first nap in the crib was a lot harder on mama than it was on baby. He fell asleep in my arms, went down easy, and slept for a solid 45 minutes. It went so well that we decided to try the next nap in there. And then the first chunk of his night time sleep—since the camera was now set up in there, and for his first chunk of sleep, we are still awake and downstairs. So here we are, several days later. He naps exclusively in the crib. Once he starts overnights in it as well, I might throw an air mattress in there and move in for a while, at least until he starts sleeping longer.  

That Boy Needs Some Jesus

Over break, Rett got baptized. To some of you this may seem like an unusual choice for us. After all, what business does a kid with two moms have getting baptized? They can’t possibly be all Jesus-y, can they? First of all if that’s you, hi, it’s 2021--join us, won’t you? But the actual answer is multi-fold.

To address the more antiquated concern, our church is part of the UCC. It was founded in 1940 and has a beautiful history. Four distinct denominations promised to financially back the creation of our church (Methodist, congregational, Baptist, and Presbyterian) but the church itself was home to many more denominations, all gathering together to worship. The founding vision for Greendale Community Church was that “you are not told what to believe, but to discover God for yourself.” I’ve summed it up, but you can read more here.

Chelsey and I were both raised Lutheran. Sometime after confirmation, I kind of fell off of the Jesus wagon. At 13 years old, I was highly opposed to being told what to say, do, or believe by anyone who wasn’t another 13 year old. I grew up singing “Jesus Loves Me'' loud and proud, but by 13, I had grown to seriously doubt anything I couldn’t see with my own eyes. Fast forward to adulthood. At the best of times, I still have trouble believing in something I can’t see with my own eyes. At the worst of times, I have trouble just believing in myself. Add to that that Chelsey and I have both suffered great losses that make us wonder how there can be any God at all. But a few years ago we attended a baptism at GCC, and the pastor started the service by saying, “No matter who you are, or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here.” I think Chelsey and I both kind of looked at each other and went, “Oh...oh!” While we had attended my church on rare occasions, it was traditional to the point where we felt that we might burst into flames just walking in there together. AS we listened through the rest of the service, we got  areally good feeling. Months later, we became members. 

So back to the topic at hand. We didn’t get him baptized to force him to believe what we believe. I have struggled for a very long time with what that is, anyway. But I want him to know that he can believe in something. I want him to grow up not just to hear the stories I heard as a child--the idea that there is an omniscient, omnipresent that loves you unconditionally and forgives all your sins is a pretty neat idea, after all--but to realize that there are many stories in the world, and he should have enough confidence in some set of them to stand up and say yes, I believe in this. 

I want him to grow up not fearing death like I do. Not feeling crushed by the weight of the uncertainty of his beliefs. And I feel so confident letting him figure all of that out in a lace that boldly proclaims that he is welcome there. No. Matter. What.

I want him to feel confident enough to choose. At 13, although I was several years deep into confirmation classes, I felt as though I kept showing up on Sundays for the donuts in the fellowship hall and the opportunity to see my friends from the next town over. And also because if I didn’t, I was required to write a paper.

We asked Rett’s godparents to be his godparents not because of their deep belief in God, but because they have deep beliefs, period. And they are people who will help him grow in the idea and feeling of living with a belief system that makes sense to him, and support him whatever that is. They are people who already love him more than words can describe, and will take the very best care of him--body, mind, and spirit. We trust them implicitly. 

Selfishly, I am hoping to repair my relationship with God as my son begins to explore his. Because, as I stated earlier, that relationship is shaky. And mama needs something to believe
in, too.

Mess with the Cub...

I woke up from a dream the other night that I yelled at a family friend in front of extended family because they picked up my child and walked away with him without asking, and kissed him on the mouth. I shouted that you should never pick up a baby without asking, nor kiss a baby that isn’t yours because it’s flu and RSV season, and HELLO, WE’RE IN THE MIDDLE OF A PANDEMIC! And I woke up and decided that that fierce, protective, mama bear energy is exactly what I’m going to take with me into 2021.