My Benny: birth, and the first three months

Warning: if you believe in TMI (too much info), stop reading now.

My husband and I were watching Shutter Island two weeks before my due date. The night before, we hadn't slept a wink (for whatever reason), so we decided to take it easy and watch a movie in bed that afternoon. Halfway through the movie, I felt myself have a little accident. I'd read about this -- urine leakage that occurs at the end of pregnancy -- and said to my husband, "I totally just peed a little!" We laughed and I went to the bathroom, unaware whether I really had to pee any more. In these last few days of my pregnancy, I always had the sensation of having to pee, so I couldn't really tell whether I had to go or not.

I changed my underwear and went back to bed. More urine leakage. And then a third time. We spent the next few minutes sniffing my underwear (now that's intimacy), trying to decide if the fluid was urine or amniotic fluid. For a moment, I considered having Jeff pee so I could compare the scent to actual pee.

We decided to call the advice nurse, just to be on the safe side. The nurse advised that I put on a new maxi pad, wait an hour, and see if I soaked it. Mind you, I'd already soaked two liners. We did as she said and decided to go for a walk. Along the way through our neighborhood, I felt continued "accidents," but I was still convinced it was just pee. After all, there were no gushes, which is what I envisioned would happen when my water finally broke.

We got back home after our walk, and not only had I soaked the liner, I'd soaked my new pair of undies. Jeff -- the smart one -- said, "Let's go to the hospital and get you checked out." I was in complete denial. I insisted this was silly, that I had no contractions and couldn't possibly be in labor. Since he'd already packed the hospital bag, Jeff insisted. "Consider it a dry run."

I asked for frozen yogurt on the drive there. After all, if I was in labor, who knew when I'd get to eat again?

We arrived at the hospital and I was checked by one of the midwives. And I use the term "checked" lightly. She just lifted my gown and said, "Yup, your water broke. We're admitting you."

....Um.....what?

"You knew how this would end!" she joked.

Christ Almighty. I wasn't ready for this. I had two weeks to go, and work to wrap up, and dates to go on with my husband, and pages of baby-raising books to read. We made all the appropriate calls and settled in to our room. We giggled nervously and tried to wrap our heads around the fact that next time we went home, we'd have a roommate.

Note: I was not in labor. My water had broken, for whatever reason, but I had not started having contractions. After discussing many options with the midwife, we made the decision to try and let labor start on its own before inducing, understanding that I needed to have this baby within 24 hours to avoid the risk of infection.

We attempted to sleep that night in our hospital room, knowing that induction would begin at 7 a.m. if I was still not in labor. What a laugh. Day 2 of no sleep. I suppose it was good practice for the months to come.

That next morning, I was started on pitocin and labor began almost immediately. I went 5 hours without medication, to about 3 centimeters dilation and 100% effacement, knowing that an epidural could slow my labor and I needed to get Benny out within the next 12 hours. For many first births, labor averages 14-16 hours.

After 5 hours and many, many painful contractions, I knew it was time for an epidural. Now, I've heard many people -- those close to me and strangers -- tell their birth stories. And most say things like, "It didn't hurt that bad." They lied. It. was. excruciating. I don't know why some women feel the need to act "tough" -- as though admitting to the pain somehow makes you weak. Sure, all women are different, and maybe their pain really wasn't as bad, or maybe they have a higher tolerance for it than I do, but for me: it was absolute torture. I cried often, and loudly, during labor.

After the miraculous epidural, I was able to nap for a couple of hours. At about 3 p.m., I got checked and was completely dilated. It was go time.

Holy fuck.

I pushed for 3 hours. THREE HOURS. I damn near gave up. Near the end, I looked up at Jeff in tears and said, "I don't want to anymore." I begged for help. I was sleep deprived, starving, and had been exerting so much energy that I shook with every push. The epidural had worn off, purposely, for "more productive pushing." I. wanted. him. out. of. me.

My sister and Jeff did their best to cheer me on, to keep me posted of my progress, to help me lift my body into a super crunch every time I had to push. My legs, pure dead weight, were being held up by them on either side of me. They described little Benny's head full of hair when it started making its way out. And when he finally came at 6:42 p,m., I felt the most complicated and intense mix of relief, joy, exhaustion, gratitude and love. Oh, and I felt like a sack of skin, empty as a shell.

I'll skip the part about blacking out the first time I tried to get out of bed and pee several hours later. Suffice it to say I damn near gave Jeff a coronary.

Holding him after I delivered him a few hours later, I was on a high I'll never be able to fully describe:



The next several days were equally intense, because little B had to go to the NICU. Being in the birth canal for so long, hog-tied by the umbilical cord, he had accumulated fluid in his little lungs and had a hard time breathing. A series of other relatively minor complications arose, and I felt riddled with emotions and utterly battered and bruised. Did I get hit by a truck? Was everyone absolutely positive that I didn't? My jaw was swollen from how hard I clenched during active labor. My legs looked like tree trunks. It was difficult to stand on my puffy feet because they were so rounded on the sole. And I was dreading having to poo.

Seeing your baby with a feeding tube, an IV and not being able to hold him all day long is a pain I don't wish on my worst enemy.

But by Friday (we were admitted on a Sunday), we were able to bring Benicio home.

***

The first three months of Benicio's life have brought me more joy and exhaustion than ever before. Here are my favorite nuances so far:

B's fire hose pee. Baby boy cuts loose when the diaper comes off. At least he did at first. It was truly like a little fire hose gone wild. And those peepee teepees? Kicked 'em right off.

I found myself (ok, I still do) sniffing his milky breath every chance I could. I must be wired to love his scent, because it's like a drug.

Especially those first few weeks, when you are getting up to nurse your tiny baby in the dark and stare at his almost unhumanly beautiful eyes -- everything feels like a dream. It is lovely.

I've never felt such a desperate love before. It's almost like I need it more than he does.

I'm fascinated by every sound he makes, especially little baby dolphin noises while he's nursing.

A few love songs have different meaning to me now. They bring tears to my eyes every time: "Look at you" by My Morning Jacket -- Look at you / such a glowing example / of peace and glory; "The Hand that Rocks the Cradle" by the Smiths -- Please don't cry /
For the ghost and the storm outside / Will not invade this sacred shrine / Nor infiltrate your mind / My life down I shall lie ... I once had a child and it saved my life; the list goes on.

Things that surprised me so far?

The incredible pressure to breastfeed. It's hard. And exhausting. But the world makes you feel like a bad person if you don't do it. Formula babies thrive, too, and some people just don't like to breastfeed. I got over the difficult stage and now enjoy it immensely, but I think it's OK for women to say -- I want my body back.

In that same vein, I've had to carry my breast pump and pump in odd places. Women have been so supportive. On many occasions I hear things like, "Oh I know THAT sound!" And "Kudos to you!" It's a wonderful womanly bonding thing, not just a baby-mom bonding thing.

The extreme level of sleep deprivation coupled with not caring about how little you sleep as soon as your baby smiles at you in the wee hours of the morning.

The multi-dimensional love that has happened for my husband as a result of Benny's arrival.

I can't wait to see what the next 3 months bring.

My Benny :: the third trimester

Here's where the heavy lifting began, both literally and figuratively. [I'm so clever!]

The third trimester was an interesting dichotomy: I was very clearly pregnant now, and felt like all the "awww"s happened more frequently during this phase, but I was tired again. I mean exhausted, and not just physically. So while everyone thought I looked darn cute, and I got kind, admiring looks from even strangers, I was starting to be ready to see my toes again, to lay on my belly, to eat sushi and drink beer. I was ready to have my body back despite how nice everyone was.

The waddle began. My feet got fat -- really fat. If you don't believe me, know this: I normally wear a size 8.5 and was now borrowing my sister-in-law's size 10 shoes.

The peeing was out of control. I felt like I had to pee - not often - always. I literally couldn't tell if I really had to pee because I had that sensation all. day. long.

During my nearly ninth month, we went to Disneyland for my sister-in-law's 40th birthday. (For those of you keeping track, this is the same sister-in-law who gave me all her fashionable pregnancy clothes and loaned me her shoes when my feet inflated.) It's important to note that we were there during Memorial Day Weekend. Crazy? Perhaps. We were to spend two full days there - one in Disneyland and one at California Adventure.

The first day wasn't bad! I drank lots of water, stood in the shade whenever possible and rode rides like It's a Small World, Pirates of the Caribbean, Mr. Toad's Wild Ride and the Haunted Mansion. However, once 3:00 pm hit, a tsunami of exhaustion brought me to my knees. I practically shuffled back to the shuttle, cried a little (without anyone noticing!), and spent the rest of the evening in bed while everyone went out for dinner.

On day two, my husband offered to rent me an electric scooter. Despite my fears about what people would think and how I'd look (oh, admit it, you'd feel the same way), I agreed to the Rascal and rode around in it all day. It was a LIFESAVER. Not only did I last until 7:00 pm, I got to harass pedestrians and honk my ridiculous horn. I would do it again in a heartbeat.



And while all of this may not sound horrible -- and it wasn't -- I had moments of sheer exhaustion. On the second day at Disneyland, my husband and I again walked back to the shuttle that would take us back to our hotel. I felt like I had to keep my knees together to keep the baby from falling out. When we got to the bench and sat, I cried loudly. My husband, alarmed, looked at me and asked what was wrong. I had no words. I was so beyond exhausted, so relieved the trip at the amusement park was over, and so ready to feel normal again, that I couldn't help myself. I cried all the way back on the shuttle, tears streaming down my face, while the other passengers tried not to look.

***

I remember telling myself I would be an active pregnant person. After all, I'd run a half marathon, so I was sure I could handle to physicality of pregnancy. I was cocky. And wrong. I've now discovered that pregnancy and birthing is the most physically (and mentally) demanding thing I will ever do in my lifetime.

Still, at the beginning -- alright, the second trimester -- I was active. I went to the gym, went for walks, did prenatal yoga. Fast forward to the third trimester and I found myself bargaining with myself in order to not have to take the stairs at work. "If it's more than two flights, I'll take the elevator," I'd say. That soon became, "Fuck it, I'm taking the elevator even if it's one flight."

Turning over in bed had become a workout, too. I had to be fully awake and use every muscle in my body to switch from laying on my left to laying on my right. That involved quite a bit of grunting and pillow rearranging as well, which I'm sure made my husband very, very happy. Add to that the constant need to pee, and I'd say I was averaging about 2.5 minutes of sleep a night.

***

And then there was the sex. What once had been so fun and carefree, now felt a little, well, dangerous. Not to mention tricky. And while I still enjoyed it, both my husband and I couldn't help but have that cliche fear you hear about: hurting the baby. And not just with my husband's penis, but with all our moving around and the pressure of our bodies being so close. I mean, I'm sure the little guy had no room left! In fact, I knew this because I was constantly witnessing elbows, knees and feet stretching my skin, searching for more room! And even though all the books and the doctors tell you it's fine, until you have a growing baby inside of you, you don't know that kind of worry.