5 Weeks

Right now I'm sitting down to my 11 am breakfast - cereal today, as usual - while Rob and Buggy nap. She was up twice last night; Suze says that it is not uncommon to have to take two steps backward to take one step forward, so I am still hopeful. Besides, how can I be discouraged when I can watch Rob kiss Olive's little head before he goes back to sleep (to the strains of a spirited Wee Sing song with kids singing a round about "vinegar and pop" - undoubtedly an adaptation of a raucous drinking song, but I'll leave it alone)? Those two are quite the pair; I'm dreading June 22nd when she and I take him and Zoe to Reagan International Airport to see them off to Alaska for two months. Ugh.

Speaking of Rob, he and I have been in the early stages of working on some children's books. In the past week we've had two meetings where we've successfully outlined the plots and worked out page breaks for two books, with a third in the works (its premise is more complicated so it's taking more time to hash out, but it's about a Baird's tapir who's an aspiring actor who sets sail and gets marooned on a tropical island. Clearly we've been sucked in by the Lost craze, but it's a little different from that, of course). Once we get the text fully written, I'll begin the exciting task of illustrating them. This is something we've been talking about doing for a while; I'd considered getting into children's books for a long time, and had even illustrated one that was professionally bound but never published (a gift for the author's niece), and Rob's a real children's book afficionado, not to mention a very clever and imaginative writer, so it's great to actually start plugging away at this. If my job involved staying at home all day working on stories and illustrations and could be around Buggy 'round the clock, I'd be quite happy. Leaving the house for work is for the birds.

Tonight Rob's town band rehearsal was canceled, so we're staying in tonight, which is nice, but also means that Olive won't have her weekly birth-time shout-out from Gene Nichols. Bummer. We'll have to have our own celebration at home.

12 Hours by 5 Weeks?, Diaper Wipe Solution, and Other Fascinations

A friend had wisely recommended Suzy Giordano's Twelve Hours' Sleep by Twelve Weeks Old, a handy and oh-so-rational guide to getting your wee ones to sleep all the way through the night and then some. Old Suze claims to have a 100% success rate as a "baby coach", so I figured I'd give it a whirl. So far we've managed to get her on a regular feeding schedule wherein she takes in as much milk as possible every four hours. It's a challenge to stretch the space between her feedings, but this was Day 3, and it's getting much easier. The idea is to get them to eat more filling meals, get into a rhythm, and adapt to the family's schedule, rather than the family adapting to hers. Good sense. The past two nights have been pretty pleasant, too; she's gotten up once each night in the wee hours to feed and have her diaper changed, but no nonsense otherwise.

Our excitement this week came not only from a great pediatrician visit, but from our revelation of flannel wipes and the wipe solution we get to make. We just got wise and started using reuseable cloth wipes; if we're using cloth diapers, why in the world use wipes that we have to throw away? These things are brilliant, but even better is the solution we get to concoct. The first recipe that Rob used required far too much soap (he used Dr. Bronner's rose-scented - wonderful to smell, but left so much soapy residue that she developed an awful rash that's just about cleared). The next time around we got more creative, using a base of chamomile tea. Actually, I will happily share our recipe. We call it Buggy's House Blend (patent pending)...

Buggy's House Blend

3 cups of freshly brewed chamomile tea
1/8 cup olive oil
4 drops tea tree oil
8 drops lavender oil
1 tablespoon baby shampoo (we use Burt's Bees)

Shake well and pour over stacked wipes and keep in covered container, or use in a spray bottle for the dry method.

This stuff smells good enough to drink, though we haven't, and probably won't.

Buggy's now feigning sleep while lounging on her play mat. She appears to be sleeping but every now and then her crescent moon-shaped eyes will peek open and look around. It was another busy day for her filled with bouncing to the Wee Sing songs that Rob put on his computer (he found a set of three books and cds on eBay: Wee Sing Silly Songs, Wee Sing Folk, and Wee Sing Sing-Alongs. Good stuff). She's feigning no more...Buggy is out like a trout.

Alf

Today we had our rescheduled appointment with Alf, the pediatrician that had been recommended to us by Amy and the midwives. We weren't impressed with Dr. Prabakaran, our first pediatrician, and had high hopes for the next candidate. When we arrived at our 2 o'clock appointment on Tuesday, we were told that he was out of the office, but we weren't home to get the cancellation call earlier that day. Bummer. It was worth going back today, though; he was friendly and good-natured - two qualities one might expect from a pediatrician - but he also didn't question our choice to not have Olive vaccinated. Her length and weight were checked, and she's in the 95th percentile for height (22 1/2 inches), and 90th for weight (10 lb. 1 oz.). Nice work, Buggy!

One Month

Today is OMAC's one month day. My camera's battery charger went missing after Christmas and we took the last pictures yesterday before the battery finally gave up the ghost, so that's why there are no accompanying photographs today, or for the time being. Tonight, as he does every Monday night at 6:26, the time of Olive's birth, Gene Nichols will recognize her during the Machias town band rehearsal, in which Rob plays trombone. Rob was absent from but one practice when he sat beside me as Olive was being plucked from my womb; since then she has become a mascot of sorts for the band, or at least Gene. I accompany Rob to Machias every week so that I can do our weekly grocery shopping, and the hour-long car rides each way always produce pleasant conversation. Olive and I will sit outside Gene's room at the University of Maine at Machias and listen to the band until 8, unless we're tied up in the downstairs bathroom with consecutive diapers and nursing sessions. These are usually quiet times, as the building houses few students during the hours we're there; we're met with an average of one bathroom visitor each week, allowing us plenty of privacy. Tonight was different, however. After the first college student came through to use the loo (how considerate she was! She apologized from within the stall, warning me that the flushing "might make some noise".), four young girls burst in in a manic frenzy. I didn't know why such youngsters would be at the college at that time. One of them, excited by the presence of a wee one, came and hovered over us as Olive nursed. A flood of preteens and a small handful of women chaperones followed, disrupting our peace like there was no tomorrow. One of the women looked at us and asked, "Is that Olive?" Surprised, I replied that yes, she was. Before I could ask how she knew, she said that they'd been upstairs and had heard all about her from Gene, and that today she was four weeks old. Wow. On our way home, Rob told me about Gene's gushing about her to the strangers. They're playing songs from the musical, Oliver, and at 6:26 they'll pull out that selection because of its containing Olive's name. Or when 6:26 rolls around, he'll let Rob choose the song they'll play. It'd be weird, except that Gene's so incredibly awesome that we feel lucky that he pays so much attention to her, and that her birth now plays such a pivotal role in his life. Olive must be the Chosen One.

It's been one wonderful month with you, Buggy. You're as sweet and lovely as they come. Your dad and I didn't think we could be any happier, but you've proven us wrong. We love you very much.

Three weeks

Whoever thought that maintaining a blog while getting used to a new baby was doable, I'd be interested in knowing their secret. I am not working, most of the time leave the house only to go for a walk about town, and have no other obligations but feeding, diapering, and bathing my child. Somehow, despite this new-found freedom, updating a blog eludes me. I'm finding myself with a sliver of time (and a sleeping Buggy in my lap), so I'll fill in some blanks.

She's been taking baths of the tub variety, a pleasant departure from the tedium of the sponge bath where Zoe and I would set her precariously on a towel on the sink and wipe her down. She was less than enthusiastic about these affairs. Now that she's been taking her baths in her Safer Bather in the tub, however, she's appeared to be endlessly amused (contrary to what the photographs might have one believe).


Since Friday, she has been using a bottle for some of her feedings. This gives me a break and allows Rob to participate in one more child-rearing activity.

He's currently getting in a much-needed nap, as he stayed awake for all but the entire night (his feeling is that it's easier to stay up and tend to her when needed than to be woken up by her.
Understandable). At one point I awoke and he eagerly began educating me on the processing of canola oil (a subject we'd been discussing yesterday), until I drifted off again. I'm no o good at passing the wee hours awake. Right now our biggest problem with the bottle is that she gorges herself and lets the milk run down her throat rather than actively suckling, resulting in some epic spit-up episodes. This morning the stuff went all over the bed, jumping over Rob and landing on my face. It was nothing short of spectacular.
Not the above-mentioned scene, but I was lucky enough to accidentally catch her in action a few days before. Just a taste.

She's also reached almost ten pounds, so she must be keeping down enough milk to help her pack on weight. She certainly is not a malnourished child.

The UPS man just pulled up, and I believe he's delivering the bottle of Free and Clear Mountain Green detergent that Rob ordered a few weeks ago. We've been using Charlie's Soap with mixed reviews, so we did some research on the best and most economical laundry soaps/detergents for babies and their cloth diapers. Actually, it wasn't the detergent, after all, but a basketball we'd ordered for Zoe, who just started playing (and made a basket in her first game last night. Their team crushed the opponents, as it turns out. She seemed displeased that she only made one shot, but I told her that when I played basketball in the 4th grade, I made one basket the entire season, and it was in the other team's basket, so...). The laundry and diaper situation here has been intense, to say the least. We thought that two dozen cloth diapers would suffice, but we're still finding ourselves having to use at least a couple of disposables at the end of every day because the ones we've laundered haven't yet dried. We ordered another dozen diapers, and yesterday picked up at the Machias Hardware Store (an amazing old-timey shop that acts as a health food, kitchen and housewares, and hardware store all in one) two more collapsable wooden drying racks to maximize drying space. Even our outdoor clothesline (which we just started using again yesterday) cannot accomodate the massive loads of linens we're cranking out every day (more towels, sheets, and dirty clothes from her diaper changing sessions-gone-awry, on top of the diapers themselves, than we'd ever thought possible).

And this is why I don't have time to keep a blog.

The Science of Sleep

We've been home from the hospital for nine days now, and all is well. Olive has been sleeping well - more or less - since then, with last night being one of her best. It's been a challenge getting her on the appropriate schedule; if things were left up to her, she'd retire at 10 am and wake twelve hours later. Yesterday, though, it was our mission to keep her engaged for as much of the day as we could. Success resulted; she woke once at 5 am to nurse and to remind me of a dirty diaper that needed attention. If the sun is on its way up, it's fair game, as far as I'm concerned. Still, with a full night's sleep behind her, she's been pretty out of it today, and no amount of raucous bouncing, tossing her into the air, or removing clothing to make her not quite so comfortable will quell the sleepies. Today was one of the most beautiful we've had in a long while, with lower winds and a warm sun, so we bundled her up to go on her first hike up to Shackford Head, at the overlook where we got married. When we reached our destination, we removed her from her carrier so that she could look out on the view of the bay, and Canada and Lubec across the water, but her eyes could not be pried open.

Shortly after we got home, I changed her diaper, and that turned things around pretty quickly. Some of our friends, Molly and Damon, brought over dinner for us, and they had to witness her in one of her rare wailing fits; she's really a wonderfully mellow baby 96% of the time.

And speaking of dinners, every single night since we've been home we've been brought dinner by friends in our community. It's been like going out to eat at a different restaurant every night without having to leave the house, which, in these new circumstances, is so very nice. The meals have all been superb - healthy, wholesome, homemade, and tasty. Rob has put away most of them, as my apetite is just starting to return. Molly and Damon's lasagne in the oven is smelling heavenly, heavy with basil. Olive has had her late afternoon snack, and we're of to eat, ourselves.

The Origin of the Olive

It has been one week - one week and nineteen minutes - since our Olive Marigold Alice came into the breathing world. A lot went into her arrival, and here is the story:

Friday, the 19th, was when I was expecting (hoping) her to arrive. The earliest hours of that day were ushered in with contractions; she was right on time! The contractions came regularly throughout the night, but didn't disturb my sleep completely. I woke up and knew that labor was upon us, though it was early. We went about our business that day, baking bread, playing games, and making apple-cranberry pies (three of them) - the usual. We were short one of our pie plates and had to go retrieve it from our friends Rafi and Anne, who, when we stopped by, loaded us down with Anne's homemade (and all-but-bay-leaves-and-celery-local) soup and some baked local tofu that I scarfed down before we left the house. By the time we got home in the mid-afternoon, the contractions had grown stronger - still not painful, but were certainly gaining momentum. This was it.

By midnight they'd become painful. I knew the worst was still to come, but it was time to alert the midwives for sure. I called them and described for them my symptoms. They decided it was best to report for duty, and arrived around 2:30 am Saturday. Amy, our wonderful doula, was also present. All of them coached me through the contractions, and I was given a homeopathic remedy - I believe it was called Caulophylum - to help regulate the contractions and make them more bearable so that I'd be able to get a little sleep. Rob had been napping through some of this, and I retired to the bedroom to join him. The others waited outside and monitored my reactions to the contractions and I was able to get a little bit more rest.

I woke at 6:20, after about an hour and a half of decent sleep. Pam and Suzanne were awake and watching the beautiful sunrise. They seemed pleased with how my contractions had subsided, but I was discouraged; weren't they supposed to be getting worse? Amy emerged from Zoe's room where she'd been sleeping, and the three of them agreed to go, to let me rest for the day until things picked up again. They predicted that they'd be back again later that evening. So back to bed I went, and napped till nearly noon. Rob and I got up and spent a leisurely day, taking only a short walk because the pressure on my bladder made that activity difficult. Amy had wanted to come over later to go for a walk, but I wasn't up for the task. She did, however, come over that evening at 8 to learn to play Spite and Malice, one of our favorite card games. We sat around till 11, playing, talking, eating popcorn, and timing my contractions. We went to bed, though sleep never came for me that night.

I suffered through intense contractions as long as I could bear them. I'd been timing them all night, sleeping with a notepad, pen, and digital timer Amy had loaned us. Rob woke up around 2:45 to take over as timekeeper so I could focus on the contractions. One lasted fourteen minutes. I was reluctant to call Amy or the midwives at an ungodly hour, so I waited it out until 5 am. I gave Suzanne a call, and she prescribed a combination of homeopathic remedies, which I took. She called Pam for other options, and called back telling me to spend thirty minutes on my hands and knees with my left knee bent and hips moving, to let the baby shift more to the front, as she seemed to still be positioned with her back to my left side. The second instruction was to take an hour-long walk. I didn't think I could manage a 5 minute walk at that point, but who was I to do anything but follow their suggestions? Rob read to me while I leaned on my yoga ball with my left leg bent. It felt much better, though was tiresome to maintain for a half hour. We then bundled up to trudge through town in the early morning snow. Contrary to how I'd felt when we started off, we walked for 58 minutes - close enough. I was nearly falling asleep as we walked, leaning on Rob to navigate us while I closed my eyes.  The moment we walked back in our front door my water broke.  It wasn't a lot of fluid, but enough to know what had happened.

The birthing team reported for duty at noon on that Sunday. Contractions - one of which lasted a full twenty minutes at its peak - aside, it was a very pleasant day. Amy and I taught Pam and Suzanne how to play Spite and Malice, which was slow-going, as every go-round was interrupted by a contraction. Our friend Anne stopped by with a pot of green curry, none of which I could eat because the anxiety. Rob got to rest for much of this, thank goodness; I wanted for at least one of us to be getting some sleep.

The hours passed quickly, and before we knew it, it was past midnight. The contractions, by this time, were mind-numbing. They'd brought me to tears many times, and I thought I was going crazy. All I wanted to do was get in the full, hot tub that was waiting for me. They suggested I get in the shower, and Amy put my yoga ball in the tub so I could sit on it. It was a great idea - I think I may use the ball every time I shower now, it was so relaxing.

Soon, though, Suzanne began to worry. My contractions still had not established a pattern, which was unusual. I did not want to hear that anything about my labor was abnormal. We did not yet know how dilated I was, but we wanted to check; if I was at five centimeters, it would be a good sign that labor was progressing. If, however, I was only at two centimeters, going to the hospital would probably be necessary. If I'd been told this the day before, I think I may have panicked; one of my biggest fears throughout my pregnancy was having things go awry and needing to go to the hospital. When she said it then, though, I felt a sense of relief. I'd been about to request to go, myself, but wanted to keep being strong and let it happen the way we'd all planned. Suzanne examined me and, sure enough, I was only two centimeters dilated. She was discouraged, too, because what she thought had been the baby's head was not necessarily so; she wasn't certain that she wasn't in a breech position. We needed to go to the hospital.

I went and took another shower and woke up Rob, who seemed very confused about the turn of events. I was glad to be on our way to other options, and felt safe because everyone would still be there with me. Fortunately, too, it wasn't a state of emergency, so I was able to go to the hosptial of my choice - Downeast Community Hospital - rather than Calais, where they'd taken me two years ago when I had a car accident. I'd told the nurse that I hit my head, and nary a glance at my scalp was taken. Weeks later, I was picking splinters of glass out of my head. Needless to say, my confidence in their staff was severely compromised. Still, my doctor and friend, Kara Dwight, was not on call that night, as she and her family had just returned from their February break vacation. Her partner in obstetrics, Christian Inegbeniji, would be my doctor, which would do well enough.

Our motorcade made the hour-long drive safely down Route 1 in the heavy snow that had held off until that night. Rob, Pammy, and I led the train, with Suzanne behind us, and Amy bringing up the rear in her brown Caravan. We arrived at the hosptial at 4:30 am and we got set up in our room, which was spacious and comfortable. We were also the only patients in the maternity ward. Inegbeniji arrived at 9 - a long time to wait for the doctor, but I also found that, in this process of labor, time speeds along, rather than drags. Other nurses were attending to me, taking my vitals regularly. I was hooked up to an IV, wearing a blue hospital johnny (which, among all of the other linens there, Rob and I noticed, were made in Pakistan), and shuffling to and from the bathroom dragging along my IV tower while trying to keep the back of my gown from flying open.

He re-broke my water, found that I was three centimeters dilated, and an anesthesiologist came in to give me an intrathecal injection, which numbed me sort of the way an epidural works. I had to remain very still, even if a contraction came on, bent over Rob. Kind of nerve-wracking business. The anesthesia would last up to four hours, and when that was up, she returned to deliver another dose. It worked marvelously for alleviating the contractions; when they'd come I could only feel a slight bit of pressure, but no discomfort whatsoever. Occasionally I'd have to depend on the machine to which I was hooked up to tell me when I was having one, so slight were the feelings. Soon, though, I was indroduced to another anesthesiologist, Carl, who came in to recommend that I opt for an epidural, which Rob and I were both firmly against initially. The new talk of my requiring a cesarian section, however, was making an epidural sound more desirable. He informed us of the pros and cons of using both intrathecal and epidural anesthesia, and it was seeming like the epidural may be our best option. If a c-section needed to be done, I'd be ready for it. Carl seemed very experienced and we were confident in his ability to give me the best possible treatment. In the end I was glad of the choice we made.
Pammy and Suzanne peeking in on Rob and Olive in the nursery.
Amy, delighted with the sight.


Just before Carl came in to give me the epidural, I'd gotten up to use the bathroom. When I was coming back I felt nauseated and lightheaded. The midwives told me that that was a good sign, that things were progressing. I threw up four times into a basin; there wasn't much, as I'd eaten only a few dried apricots that day. After that, Rob got on the phone with the local pizza place to order a few pies for our birthing crew; they'd been at it with me for over twenty-four hours by that time and deserved a treat. Amy went to pick it up and, just after she came back with it and the four of them were digging in, Inegbeniji came in to check on things and my dilation: only five centimeters. Very little progress was being made, and he declared a c-section.  I wept.

It was the one thing about which I knew nothing. Not that I needed to physically prepare myself for the operation like I did the labor, but emotionally it was unexpected. Part of me was relieved to be doing it this way, without more pain, but another part was fighting it; it was the opposite of how I'd envisioned my birth. Not too much had gone as planned, except for my midwives, Amy, and wonderful husband getting to be with me through all of it. They then wheeled me in my bed to the Operating Room, with Carl behind me and Rob, in his white jumpsuit, puffy bag slippers and blue shower cap, following. He was the only one in our party permitted to stay with me during the surgery, which was fine. They lifted me from my bed to the table, and Carl commenced testing the effectiveness of the anesthetic. With what looked to be a 6-inch-long toothpick, he began making short little hatch-like scratches up the front of me until I could feel them. It was working marvelously. Eight days later, I still have scabs from the scratches - little railroad tracks winding their way up my torso. Inegbeniji rolled down a blue curtain just below my chin to shield me from the operation while Rob sat beside me. Just as I could feel them getting to work on the cutting, I told Rob that I wanted to give Olive a second middle name. We'd decided on her first name long ago, then liked Marigold for a middle name, but I'd been thinking a lot of Gi-Gi, my great-grandmother, a lot during the labor, and was referencing her quite a bit, to the point where the midwives were getting to know about her vicariously through me. I wanted to put Gi-Gi's first name, Alice, in our daughter's name, and he agreed. Soon after, we could hear her first cries - small and pretty and almost unbelievble. "That's our daughter," I said to him, in awe. Rob was told that he could come around and see her and cut the umbilical cord. I don't think he'd been too keen on the idea for the most part, but when it came time, he was there for it. He brought her over to me wrapped in a blanket so I could see her and feel her face against mine (my arms were strapped down to tables on either side of me) before taking her off to the nursery.  He later said that she was the hardiest baby he'd every seen.  Her Apgar scores were 9 and 10, so I was beyond thrilled.

I was so happy.

Rob, Olive, and I spent the next three days at the hospital to allow me to recover enough to get myself out of bed more or less comfortably, and really wasn't too bad. The staff treated us very well, and doted on our precious baby.

A big-lipped waif of a man once said, "You can't always get what you want. But if you try, sometimes you might find you get what you need." And Olive was just what we needed.