A Tale of Two Twerps

Last Thursday morning was a day like any other.  I woke up, struggled to get the Big Yam ready to go to daycare, went to pee before leaving the house, and then noticed something...odd...in my drawers.  I paged my midwife and she said that I should go and get checked out.  She asked if I was supposed to go to Sunnybrook or my TEGH.

FUNNY YOU SHOULD ASK, MIDWIFE.  Why, just the DAY BEFORE, I had met with my regular OB (not the Sunnybrook one) and had inquired of her, "So, on the off-chance I go into labour in the new few weeks, do I go to Sunnybrook or TEGH?" She very blithely responded, "Oh, you're at 32 weeks, so we [TEGH] would keep you. But I don't think you'll be going early.  You know, everyone says twins come early, but all my twins go to term." FORESHADOWING ALERT!

Earlier last week, I had also asked my friend at work, G, "What do Braxton Hicks feel like?" because I had been feeling a tightening in my belly that wasn't uncomfortable, but was definitely a something.  On Wednesday, I stopped at the fish store to scope out their soft shelled crabs and walked TWO AND A HALF KILOMETRES home, moving verrrrrrry slowly, because my gut was belly was so tight.  FORESHADOWING ALERT!

So I went to TEGH and was admitted to maternal triage.  They hooked me up to a bunch of different monitors, and lo and behold, I was having contractions every 5 minutes.  The OB on duty came and took a look at me, and said, well, this is early, we'll see if we can keep you steady at this rate for 24 hours, but you won't be going back to work.  Me: "Today?" Her: "Uhhh, no, until these babies are born."  Me: "But I sit all day at work," Her: "Well, you'll be on bed rest."  Me: "But I can still go for walks and stuff right?" Dotytron (who had come to be with me on his way to work) and her, in unison: "YOU'RE NOT LISTENING. BED REST MEANS DOING NOTHING, BECAUSE WE WANT THESE BABIES IN AS LONG AS POSSIBLE."  Me: "I don't think I'm processing this well."

Then she checked me and clucked in regret, "Oh, you're not going anywhere, you're 2-3cm dilated.  We'll hope that we can keep these babies in you for the next 24 hours, but you're here."  So I called my midwife who said that I was basically in TEGH jail.  The roomie also said that they would set a series of goals for me - like, if I make it through the next 24 hours, then they'd hope for 48, then maybe a week, then maybe two weeks.  Either way, I wouldn't be allowed to go home, in case I delivered there.

I got the whole epidural lecture again - and this OB's hands were BIG.  The Dotytron after the fact was like, Dr. M is pure rural animal birthing styles.  She just looks like her natural environment is birthing cows on a farm.  I said I would think about it.  I got moved to a labour and delivery room, and my midwife told me to page her when I reached 5-6 cm dilation.  My contractions were coming every 4 minutes, but on the pain scale of 1-10, I was like, they were maybe a 1 or 2?  Maybe?  So I hung out with the Dotytron and wrapped things up at work, emailed my manager, etc., etc.,

It came time to make the epidural decision.  I didn't want to have one.  I was in active labour at that point - 5-6 cm dilated and again, not really feeling the contractions at all.  I called my midwife and was like, "Hey S! What's up?" And she was like, "Don't ask what's up with me!  What's up with you?"  Me: "Well, I am 5-6 cm dilated and you wanted me to call you?"  Her: "You're in active labour and you're asking me how I'm doing? You are crazy."

The anesthetist came and talked to me and gave me the whole "informed consent" talk about the procedure, outlining how it's done and the risks.  This was probably the 2nd most freaked out point of this whole birth story.  I was FREAKED.  Um, nicking a nerve and then me having a splitting headache for 6 weeks?  Potential (I mean, 1 in 4 million, but still!) paralysis?  Not my bag, sons.  I think the issue is that by the time most women want the epidural, they're like the woman down the hall, who was apparently SCREAMING for one.  They don't care about the risks..  The fact that I was listening calmly wasn't doing me any favours.  I was pretty scared.  The anesthetist was also like, it would be more preferable if you could feel the contractions more, so that we would be able to know for sure the epidural was working, but what can you do?  My pain tolerance/threshold is what it is.  I ended up getting one because the high change of an emergency section for Twin B meant that it would have been getting knocked out, general anesthesia styles if it came to that, which is less ideal than if they can just bump up the meds and I'm conscious.

The midwife shows up (in a birthing support capacity) and the Roomie showed up (in an awesome friend/birthing support capacity) and then I kind of laboured until around midnight.  The OB came and checked me and said that I was around 8-9cm dilated, but she didn't want to stretch me to 10cm dilation because if I didn't hit 10 naturally, there was a chance that I would close up again for Twin B and then we'd have to wait, which is less ideal.  In the course of checking me, she broke my water and got doused, and then it was GO TIME.  They wheeled me into the OR.

I pushed maybe 3 times, but twerp A made his way out on his own, basically.  He started crying right away and then the pediatrician and her team took him away to do the Apgar-y stuff.  Then it was B's turn.  Unfortunately, in the course of getting A, the OB had broken B's water sac.  The way the midwife explained it is that it's harder to grab a hold of the babies if the water breaks, because you don't have the air/water balloon to help you move them around and figure out what you're grabbing.  It's also jarring for the baby...the Roomie likened it to getting your head pushed under water repeatedly.  So you can take a breath, but then you're struggling and it's stressful. The next five minutes were intense.  Dr. M was ELBOW DEEP in my nethers and was like, "I can't get the feet, that's a hand, no, I can't reach the feet, call the anesthetist, we've got to section."  The whole room got really quiet and intense and I was scared and I know the Dotytron was scared.  The anesthetist was basically walking in with the syringes all prepped when Dr. M said, "I've got the feet!" and pulled B out by his legs.  He was obviously kind of shocked and scored really low on his initial Apgar.  They kind of showed him to me and then whisked him away.

And that, was that.  The midwife, the Roomie, and I stayed in the OR and checked out my placenta (which was pretty cool, if you're into that kind of thing - you could see the dividing membrane between the two amniotic sacs!) and the Dotytron went to the NICU to be with the twerps and check them out.

We named them the next day, after going to the NICU and taking a good, long look at them.  That's Lennox on the left and Quincy on the right.

Look at Q vamping for the camera!  So cute!  L got banged up on the way out. 

  

We are totally, completely, utterly in love.  Guys, I have THREE sons, now.  

Fin.

No, I won't.

Newest Big Yam phrase: "Will you pay me the dollars, please?" - said at random moments (e.g. last night during the tail end of dinner or during play).  I find it so funny when I'm elsewhere in the house and I can hear the Dotytron say, "No! I will not pay you the dollars!!!"  I don't really know where he got it from, but it's pretty funny, and at least he asks nicely.

The whole asking nicely thing is a bit of an issue right now.  We've stressed the asking nicely (repeating the request sans whining, saying please and thank you) thing a lot, but now he thinks that when we say no, it's because he didn't ask nicely enough.  So he'll say stuff like, "I want to ask nicely now!" and get all sad and cryface about it.  Now we have to explain that even though we really appreciate that he asked nicely, sometimes, he still doesn't get the thing he wanted.  It's a bitter pill for him to swallow.

This Tumblr called Reasons My Son is Crying (which has gone viral, justifiably) encapsulates some of the madness that is parenting.

Another Big Yam thing: for the last month or so, he'll randomly want us all to hold hands in a circle, and then pump our arms up and down while we say, "Gracias, thank you, gracias, thank you" again and again.  On Sunday morning, I was thanking him and his Baba for making a delicious waffles and sausage breakfast and I got all "teachable moment" and was like, "We should also thank the farmers who harvested the grain, and the pigs who gave us their meat for sausage, and the non-unionized slaughterhouse workers for processing the pork into sausage..." and the Big Yam looked at me for one long, grave moment and then stretched out his hands to me and the Dotytron for a round of "Gracias, thank you."  It was so funny!  It might be our new family way of saying grace.

I've been dealing with mad twerps-related dramas lately.  Basically, I was supposed to have been referred to the multiples clinic at Sunnybrook at about the 20 week mark so they could monitor me.  Then, assuming everything was fine, they would release me back to the shared care of my midwife and OB once I reached the 32 week mark.  Through a series of giant clusters, mostly related to the OBs at Sunnybrook balking that a midwife is in any way involved in my care, I still haven't been to see them yet.

When I last saw my regular OB, she was all like, "So have you been to Sunnybrook yet?" and I'm like, "Uhhh, noooooo...I thought your office was handling this," and she's all like, "You NEED to see the multiples clinic, [insert comment about how the twerps are as high risk as they come]"  Here's the thing: getting in at Sunnybrook is COMPLETELY out of my control!  At first, my midwife sent in the referral, which got rejected.  Then my OB sent in the referral, and it also got rejected (because they didn't like her sharing care with the midwife).  There's weird midwifery politics going on.

There are a few factors at work here.  1) Say I went into labour tomorrow *knocks wood a billion times*, I would just have the Dotytron take me to Sunnybrook immediately, so that's a moot point.  2) Assuming I go to term and everything is all as normal as possible with the twerps, as soon as I step foot into my regular hospital, it's a transfer of care to the OB anyway.  My midwife is just around to like, catch the baby (if the OB gives the go ahead) and provide labour support and then help me with the post-natal care (home visits and the like), so that's a moot point.  OBs don't do labour support OR post-natal care.  My type of twins means that I HAVE to be under the clinical care of an OB during delivery.  I mean, I can do what I want technically.  Like, if I wanted to be all guerilla crazy-cray about things and do a homebirth, I could do that, solo, but there's no way my midwife would touch that legal firestorm-waiting-to-happen with a 10 foot pole.

Anyway, while I've been waiting in limbo, I've decided to do what I can do, which is research the f**k out of my type of twin pregnancy.  I went on PubMed and downloaded a million articles on ultrasounds and twin pregnancies and I've been reading about twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome.  It's pretty grim, guys.  Level 5 TTTS is death (I know I'm no doctor or anything, but I feel like if level 5 is fetal death, then you don't really need a level 5, do you?  Shouldn't it only go up to 4?)  Levels 3 and 4 are pretty grim, with a high rate of fetal death of one of the twins and neurological and cardiac defects in the surviving twin.  Level 1 is okay, and just requires a tonne of monitoring.  There are two kinds of TTTS, chronic, and acute.  Chronic can pop up at any time and either hold steady or progress.  Acute happens like, all of a sudden (during labour or whatever).  Statistics on TTTS occurrence for monochorionic diamniotic pregnancies (which is what I have) range anywhere from 10-15% up to 20-30%.  Again, there's nothing I can do about it.  It either happens or it doesn't.

The only way to stay on top of it is through ultrasound monitoring followed by some kind of doppler if level 1 presents itself.  Suffice to say: all this reading made me feel like a s**t person and a s**t parent.  Like, way to NOT KNOW ANYTHING, LAGERFELD.  Here I've been more concerned about my Land of Nod order coming in on time and getting the Big Yam's room set up and there's a risk of brain damage and heart problems?  I'M THE WORST.  More importantly, the lack of information has meant that I haven't been able to adequately advocate for myself during this whole process of trying to get to Sunnybrook.  I should be getting ultrasounds every 2 weeks if level 1 TTTS presents itself, otherwise, I should be managed conservatively.  My last ultrasound was at 20 weeks.  I'm getting one this week, which is week 25.  I've consoled myself that I've only technically missed one ultrasound, then.  Also, my last ultrasound was perfectly normal ("grossly normal," even).  So there wasn't a risk of TTTS at the last one.

The latest update is that based on my ultrasound this week, we'll decide what to do from there.  My OB apparently tried to refer me AGAIN to the multiples clinic this week (Sunnybrook rejected me again).  Basically my OB is at the point where she's like, "Uhhh, do we even have to bother with the multiples clinic?"
Stage 1 TTTS is determined through the presence of oligo-polyhydramnios (where the amniotic fluid index in one sac is 5cm or less [donor twin] and greater than 24cm in the other sac [recipient twin]).  If this ultrasound shows that I'm developing stage 1 or am at stage 1, then I think I'll end up at Sunnybrook.    BLARGH.  So much to think about.  If this ultrasound comes back normal, then I'll get ultrasounds every 3 weeks to monitor for the development of TTTS, until such time as I hit twins term, which is around 32 weeks (and I'll probably be getting weekly ultrasounds at that point, to watch for intrauterine growth restriction).

The OTHER complicating factor is that there's a chance that my twins aren't identical at all.  The easiest way to determine chorionicity of twins is with an ultrasound before 8 weeks.  I had my first ultrasound at 12 weeks, when it is possible that two eggs implanted and their placentas just fused together, giving the appearance of one.  There's also this thing called the twin peak sign, which indicates dichorionicity, but that also has to be picked up at a certain time.  Otherwise, we wait to until the twerps come out and inspect the placenta, or, if we REALLY cared about whether they were identical or fraternal, we could send away for genetic testing, at a cost.  Frankly, I don't care.  I just want healthy me, healthy twerps.  The thing is though, all this fretting about the potential for TTTS could all be for naught (fraternal twins can't develop TTTS).

Well, all this reading has served to simultaneously make me more freaked out AND feel better because I am now armed with knowledge and a vocabulary.  Despite what a mess this all is, I am feeling better knowing that I know more.

Tuesday night we had patty melts for dinner.  Ummmm...patty melts are LIFE.  It's basically a hamburger/grilled cheese mash-up.  The most traditional form of a patty melt is a hamburger, with caramelized onions, rye bread, and Swiss cheese.  Our rendition was a 6oz all ground-beef patty (that the Dotytron cooked PERFECTLY - look at how rosy and juicy it is inside!) that we pan-fried in butter, between slices of challah (also buttered and griddled) and aged cheddar cheese.  We instantly regretted not making 2lbs of ground beef's worth.  It is everything you want it to be - gooey, juicy, crispy, buttery.

Broiled kalbi with jap chae (with spinach, mushrooms, and carrot) on Wednesday.

Last night's dinner was spinach & artichoke melts (basically, a souped-up spinach artichoke dip sandwiched between thick-cut bread and grilled), with more dilled cucumber salad.  

I've also been working hard on this orange poppyseed cake I made with Cara Cara oranges which are THE BEST ORANGES IN THE FREE WORLD.  They're like a super-sweet cross between blood oranges and pedestrian navels.  Check it.

Fin.

it really IS the most wonderful time of the year

are you ready for a birth story? cuz have i got a doozy for you. this is the story of the little chicken's arrival into our hearts, home, the loving embrace of his extended family of relative and friends, and the world at large.

friday night we went up and stopped off at dear-born baby to pick up the last remaining items on our registry. i then took my on-going, master list of "stuff" and checked everything we needed for the baby off of it, folded up the well-worn, creased sheets and put them in my purse, somewhat secure in the knowledge that we had all the materials ready to welcome the little fatburger. FORESHADOWING ALERT!!!

saturday was a day spent preparing thanksgiving dinner, with the help of my siblings and the dotytron doing the heavy lifting. this is how you know you're at a chinese thanksgiving - random surprise lobster appetizer:

that's my uncle J, going to town taking down the lobsties.

thanksgiving dinner! you've got the turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, pillsbury crescent rolls, my sausage sage stuffing, the chinese lo mai rice stuffing, maple ginger carrots and pancetta peas. yum! there was also pumpkin pie with whipped cream for dessert.

during dinner, with the help of big d's sister, auntie M and her hubby, uncle J we hammered out the little chicken's chinese name and came up with one that fit me and the dotytron's stipulations and made the chinese contingent happy. check that one off the list, too! FORESHADOWING ALERT!!!

me during dinner. look at how happy and full and STILL PREGNANT i am:
our original plan had been to go home after thanksgiving dinner on saturday, so that we could do a top to bottom house clean and get final preparations ready for the bambino's arrival in 4 weeks. at the last minute, we decided to spend the night in markham, have lunch with my family, and then go back downtown and spread the work out" because we also had all of monday to do that stuff, too...or the weekend after, right? FORESHADOWING ALERT!!!

sunday morning dawns, it's 8am, i went to bed a little on the late side because i'd been finishing up book 3 in the "hunger games" trilogy and i feel a gush of liquid. hmmm...curious. i go to the bathroom and feel another little gush. ruh-roh. i walk into the bedroom and gently wake the dotytron, "hey...i don't want to alarm you, but i'm pretty sure my water just broke" the dotytron SHOOTS OUT OF BED with a "WHAT?!?" and basically starts running around in circles throwing stuff into bags. it was hilarious. then i paged my midwife. my primary midwife was off call that weekend, so we got our 3rd midwife, this lovely woman named sarah, whom we've only met once. she was like, "ummm...dude, what's going on? you weren't even on my radar this weekend." and i'm like, "uhhh...i dunno, i sowwy?" then she asks me if i've had the double dip (aka that strep test) and i'm like, no. and she's like, "that sucks dude. come down to the clinic and i'll give you a test to make sure it was actually your bag of waters that broke" we make a plan to meet her at the clinic in an hour and a half.

we get our stuff together, i wake up my mom and s-dawg and tell them what's going on, we stop at bonjour brioche to get some breakkie, and then we get to the clinic, it turns out that it WAS my bag of waters, and sarah lays it down on me. so for about 45 minutes she's explaining what's happening. because i haven't had the double dip test, they assume that i'm strep positive, which means antibiotics have to be administered at regular intervals during a specific time frame. then there's the fact that at only 36 weeks, 3 days, i'm considered pre-term (even though 37 weeks is term in ontario). then the icing on the cake is that my bag of waters broke with no signs of labour. so all of that basically spells induction in the hospital. so i'm sitting there, taking this all in pretty calmly for the 45 minutes, and then i kind of shook my head out of the fog and said, "i'm sorry...i don't think i'm processing this well...are you trying to tell me that i'm having my baby TODAY?" and she kind of gave me a funny look (because that's what she'd been telling me for the past 45 minutes) and said, "oh yeah. you and me are delivering a baby in the next 24 hours."

and then i kind of went into shock while she prepared the first round of antibiotics and consulted with the o.b., who might have wanted us to go into the hospital right then and there. in the meantime, the dotytron called his parents and told them the news and that we wouldn't be making thanksgiving dinner. poppa d's reaction was kind of amazing. on friday night, they had left a message for us wanting us to pick up some stuff at their place and wanting to borrow my roasting pan, because there's wasn't big enough for the 19 POUND TURKEY THEY BOUGHT FOR 5 PEOPLE. we were running late, so we didn't have time to do it on friday night. on sunday morning, when the dotytron was relaying the news to his parents about the impending arrival of their grandson, poppa d was like, "sooooo...you guys had said you were going to drop off that roasting pan..." lol!!!

i got a round of antibiotics and thankfully the o.b. ok'd us to go home for 3 hours and then meet the midwife at the hospital. which was the most FRANTIC 3 hours of life. the dotytron basically went all whirling dervish and cleaned the house top to bottom and i was supposed to be resting but i was doing laundry and packing the hospital bag and basically puttering like a maniac. also, we dropped off the roasting pan. lol!

met at the hospital, got hooked up to a jillion tubes and monitors (fetal heart rate monitor, contraction monitor, i.v., oxytocin (to induce labour), antibiotics) and settled into the hospital bed at 4pm. at that point, got a check, cervix was practically almost fully effaced...so the breaking of the bag of waters wasn't without precedent - my body was obvs preparing for labour. the dotytron went off to do a shoppers run for food and stuff we didn't have and i snoozed off an on for about 2 hours. woke up at 6pm and asked sarah what was up. she was like, "well you're having contractions every 3 minutes, do you feel anything?" me: "no." i was watching the contraction monitor and at that point my contractions were peaking at about 20. i get checked again and i'm 2 cm dilated. at this point, i was like, "dudes, labour is awesome! pain free labour here i come!"

she gradually ups my oxytocin (NOT to be confused with oxycontin, aka hillbilly heroin - i WISH). and the contractions start getting stronger and stronger. here's the thing that sucks about hospital delivery - a lot of the relaxation techniques that we learned for epidural-free childbirth aren't available to you. going to the bathroom is a huge production - you have to get unhooked and carry your pole with the five billion iv bags attached to it. you can't take a hot bath or a hot shower, walking around isn't really an option, the massages aren't feasible, a lot of the pain-relief positions you can't do, so you're basically stuck labouring in bed. the contractions started getting stronger and stronger - there's no way to describe them. it kind of feels like someone is grabbing your uterus in an iron fist and twisting them for about a minute, every 3 minutes. it's not painful, per se...i liken it to extreme discomfort. you really want out of your body.

the dotytron was amazing. during a contraction, i just did the slow breathing, in and out, in and out, and i would squeeze the heck out of his thigh and he would press his head against mine. i really wanted to feel counter-pressure against the tightness in my abdomen. at this point, the contractions were about 60-80 on the measurement...they would soon top out at over 100.

before that, sarah was in touch with my primary midwife, who was busy hosting a thanksgiving dinner for 30 and was super bummed not to be at our birth. she did ask sarah if she had told the roomie yet. sarah texts the roomie, who i know was in niagara celebrating thanksgiving with l'army's fam-bam. roomie gets on the horn and talks to me and we do the same dance we've been doing - "i only want you to come if you feel comfortable being here" "well i only want to come if you're going to feel comfortable with me being there - it's your labour" blah blah blah. the final decision is that the roomie is going to come back to toronto after having dessert and when in toronto will call again and see if i've come to a decision. unbeknownst to us, the scene in niagara consisted of the roomie turning to l'army and saying, "WE'RE GOING BACK TO TORONTO RIGHT NOW!" and l'army going, "uhhh, i thought you weren't sure if you wanted to be there at karl's birth" and her going, "well, seeing as how i'm packing up our stuff as we speak, it looks like i'm gonna be there!" so cute.

so at around 10pm, the contractions are SUPER intense. it's really hard for me to just breath through them, knowing that another one is coming in like no time. i also kept feeling like i had to do a massive deuce, but it's just the baby's head bearing down and being a jerk about shiz. also, having a contraction alone on the toilet = worst time of your life. i was basically asking if i could pee myself in the bed and they were like, "ummm...we can get you a bedpan, you know" FWIW - best pee of my life.

out of the corner of my eye, i can see the roomie's hospital crocs and i know she's there. she consults with sarah. as i learned later, their conversation was like this - roomie: "how is she?" sarah: "she's at 5cm" roomie: "3?" sarah: "no, 5!" roomie: "what the heck, she's making sounds like she's 2 cm" then she came in and the roomie was amazing. i honestly can't imagine how i could have done it without her and it meant so much to us to have her there. her and the dotytron coached me through the following hour of contractions, she let me grip her arm during each one and they breathed with me. it was awesome.

at this point i was like, "i want an epidural" and they all were like, "are you sure?" and after i suffered another contraction i was like, "yes, i want one" and they're like, "you're doing really well - you're breathing so well through these contractions, getting to 5 cm is the hardest, longest part, going from 5 to 10 is going to be much faster" and i'm like, "i hear what you're saying, but i still really want an epidural" so they tried to find the anesthesiologist on call and the person "wasn't available" and at that point, right when i thought i couldn't take any more i was like, "i think i want to push!" and the roomie was like, "we can't let you push until you're at 10 cm. do you feel like you want to push all the time or just when you're having a contraction?" and i said, with no small amount of resignation, "just when i'm having a contraction. i should've lied to you just now" lol! i also asked the dotytron to punch me in the stomach as a joke. "dude. do me a solid. next contraction, just punch me in the gut." lol!

the roomie, who has in her day witnessed some MASSIVE fights (read: me yelling at the dotytron for no good reason) between us having lived with us for a few years later told me that she was fully expecting me to be swearing and a jerk and demeaning (all the things i am, usually) but that i totally surprised her. i was cracking jokes in between contractions, being pretty funny (if i do say so myself), and being really polite. she was super impressed with me.

so after the next contraction, i was like, "I WANT TO PUSH." and they're like, "you have to be checked" and i'm like. "I. WANT. TO. PUSH. LET ME S**T THIS BABY OUT." and they checked and i was at 10 so then it was pushing time at ridgemont high. i basically went from 5cm to 10cm dilated in about 45 minutes.

pushing was ANOTHER jerky boy part of labour. i gave my first push (and when i say push, imagine bearing down with so much force you feel like your face is going to split open - i was making mad animal noises at this point) and i saw sarah and the roomie exchange a look, and sarah said, "i KNEW you were going to be a pusher!" and i pushed and pushed for 45 minutes and kept talking mad smack about how i didn't want the baby and how the dotytron did this to me and how the baby was a jerk, etc. after 45 minutes of pushing (average first time mum pushing time is 1-3 hours), the little chicken boo popped out and was placed all coated in waxy vernix on my chest.

TBH, my labour was pretty easy. 8 hours start to finish, with only 45 minutes of pushing, and 45 minutes of transition is kind of cray-cray. i only needed one stitch and the placenta came out intact. when i had a home visit with tracy later she was like, "the midwives are all going to be fighting to have you as a client if you ever have another baby" and the roomie won't stop talking about my insane pain tolerance and threshold. i really think that after having my foot burned, all pain is in perspective. and as i said, it's more discomfort than pain, really. even the "ring of fire" wasn't that bad - i've taken deuces that were more traumatic. that being said, i don't know what i would have done if my labour had followed the more typical trajectory and been like, 15 hours long...because when the contractions are strong and coming every minute, you really want OUT of your skin in a bad way. but once they put the little squawking chicken on your chest, you forget EVERYTHING. you don't feel the tear, you don't feel the stitches, you don't feel any of that stuff that you hear about and internalize and fear.


so the little chicken boo was 6 lb, 11oz and was 20 inches or so long. because he was a preemie and was breathing fast when he came out (he scored a 9/10 on the apgar test), they had to keep us at the hospital for 36 hours because the poor little guy had to have his blood sugar tested every 3 hours to see if he was processing stuff quickly. the roomie helped latched him onto my boob and despite being 4 weeks early, his latch was strong and he had a good suck reflex. i honestly got the cadillac of midwifery care...there were like, 4 midwives and the roomie there at the time of the birth...it was hilarious...the pediatrician walked in (because he was a preemie, ped had to be there, just in case shiz went sideways) and was all like, "uhhh, how many midwives does it take to deliver a baby anyway???"

we were itching to get him home - 1 day and a half in the hospital was way too much...we finally got a private room, which was nice, but the first night there was nowhere for the dotytron to sleep! so we all crammed into the same bed and the little chicken boo slept on my chest.

here's another shot of him as a freshie - this is him at less than 6 hours old. look at his little eyes!

this is him at about 24 hours old:



and this is him just shy of his one week birthday (gnome hats on babies 4 life):


guys...he's kind of the best. it's instant love x 1000000000000000000000000. all we did last week was stare at him, cuddle him, spoil him by co-sleeping with him and smushing him skin to skin on our chests and basically kissing him all over. the dotytron calls him "star eyes" or "boobla" and i call him "chicken boo" and we're totally obsessed. we love everything about him - down to his stinky farts and his googley eyes and his monkey toes and long fingers and his cute little button nose and his little rosebud mouth.

i can definitely see the appeal of never going back to work, or going back to work when they start to get annoying (pre-teen?) and now i understand why people co-sleep for so long. their breath and snuffles next to you in bed - GAH GAH GAH!

i can't believe he's already a week old. i can't believe that all this time, for the past 9+ months, it's THIS guy who was inside me. with his crazy long arms and legs and his dark hair and eyes and chub chub cheeks. it's so weird to conceptualize. we're totally besotted with him...and to get sappy for a moment, it makes you love your partner that much more. WE made this. this little guy is US! and the dotytron is already fantastic in so many ways. we have a system set up where his role is the poopsmith, which means in the night, when the chicken boo starts to cry, the dotytron gets up to change the diapers, then passes him back to me, and goes to sleep while i feed him. we're doing okay on the sleep front. he wakes up to feed every 3 hours, which means we get about 6-7 hours a night. the tricksy thing with feed times is, that like contractions, you measure from the START of one feed to the START of another, so if i'm up feeding him for 40 minutes, that's WITHIN that 3 hour period. i'm finding that if i can get 6 hours a night, even if it's broken up, and i snag an hour nap during the day, i'm good to go about my regular business.

today was my first day on my own. my mum and mhui are coming for a visit later, but i was feeling a little overwhelmed (milk coming in hormone alert) when i was contemplating today a few days ago. it's been okay...i'm a busy body so i know i'm just going to find my own schedule and rhythm. there's also that pesky masters degree of mine. i took the stroller on a practice run around the block yesterday - just to get used to it. we're going to start going on daily outings...probably tomorrow - just to the library and down to leslieville for groceries and whatnot. so far, mat leave is pretty boss, if i do say so myself.

so now thanksgiving is even better than ever. or, i have something really spectacular to be thankful for...my son. guys, i have a son!

fin.

on hold

life's on hold for the moment.

the dotytron's poppa (granddad) and patriarch of the dotytron clan was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer about two months ago. it happened really suddenly. one minute he was fine, then he suddenly had trouble breathing so he went in, and then through a series of tests they found out about the cancer. last thursday he took a turn for the worse and was admitted to the hospital with trouble breathing and weakness and dehydration. momma and poppa d told us to go to the farm anyway and that they'd let us know if anything happened.

yesterday he felt really weak and requested his family come to visit him. so we took off work and headed out there.

he's doing better now. he has pneumonia that they're fighting with antibiotics. they're stopping the chemo and when space becomes available in a hospice they're going to be moving him there.

this really sucks, guys. poppa is the glue that holds the dotytron unit together - he's a doty through and through and he's so strong and proud and good natured and it's just awful how quickly everything happened. nany kept commenting on how one moment they were going around their usual business and suddenly now he's where he is. we're just trying to make sure he stays comfortable and we'll get out to see him as much as we can - the visits are tiring for him though.

this getting older business is the worst. and i know it makes me an awful person for saying it but i just wish it was happening to someone else. i know we all have to die, but it doesn't make it any easier and it's a curious injustice that we can't just all go in our sleep.

i just really want him to meet his great grandson. the first little guy to carry on the doty name in this branch of the family, all the way down from the first doty who stepped off the mayflower onto the americas, edward doty. poppa's super into genealogy and tracing family trees. granted, the fatburger isn't going to look the way poppa might have expected the doty lineage to turn out, but still, a doty's a doty, a doty. and we can only hope that spumante is as good and strong and caring and loving and full of grace as his great grandfather.

i'm a bit of a hormonal emotional wreak lately. leaky all over. a while back my friend N hepped me to this blog, pacing the panic room, by this guy in florida - who writes about life, parenting, etc. he did a series for this woman called "walk to 40 weeks" which documented a pregnancy and the growth of a family week by week through this woman's pregnancy. it culminates in the birth of their baby in this video which you can see here:

the last moments of 57 hours

i watched it at work with the sound off and was bawling my eyes out. just the strength of that woman, the calm, the peacefulness (i'm sure the calm and peacefulness was facilitated by me NOT having to listen to devendra banhart playing over the video) as they brought that squealing, slippery, little babe into the world had my usually cold, black heart a-melt. life is a miraculous thing to behold in all its terrible wonder.

fin.