Real men wear babies

I told you so

Many of you will argue that I should be lucky to have a husband who does middle of the night diaper changes, true. But that doesn’t make this story any less funny -for me.

Every night for the last 2.5 weeks (I cannot believe Maggie is that old already) I have calmly… and also not so calmly explained to the Husband that he is changing her diapers wrong.

Boys are different. When you change a boy diaper you have to duck and cover. Switch the dirty diaper for the clean one quick or you WILL get peed on. He has been complacent now that he has a girl. They don’t pee all over you. It just trickles out and before you know it- puddle.

Each middle of the night (and any daytime) change he performs he removes her diaper completely, folds the dirty one, wipes her off, knits a sweater, makes maple syrup from scratch and then puts on the new one.

Last night it happened. Puddle. All over his side of the bed. Husband, meet couch.

Let that be a lesson to you, husband.

Girl, boy…. All diaper changes at this early stage require CONSTANT VIGILANCE!!

Maggie’s Birth Story

I suppose I have to decide where this story begins. I had been contracting for weeks. Starting on Thursday 3.22 I was experiencing broken sleep at night because my contractions would wake me up in the middle of the night, I was still 2cm dilated as per my 38 week appointment. Friday was a good day. I drove to a birthday party (an hour away from my house, an hour and a half from my midwives) and I promised the hosts I would wait to go into labor. That night a low pressure system rolled in the rain was tremendous. I woke up in the morning feeling not well rested (again) and crampy. My contractions were consistent, 5 minutes apart and I lost a golf ball sized chunk of my mucous plug. They were the real deal, but they weren’t too hard to breathe through. I decided to call my parents and have them take their time coming up but I had a feeling that later that day or over night would be “time” so having them already here would make that easier.

I called my midwives and they said to come to the office and they would just check to see how things were going and confirm labor. I called my doula, Jocelyn, and she agreed to drive me to my appointment so I wouldn’t have to drive myself (I don’t mess with nap time if I can help it). At the appointment that Saturday I learned that I was 4cm dilated and my contractions were tracking on the monitor. The midwife said “not today, but probably tomorrow.” I agreed and went home.

While back at the homestead…

I decided to kill some time by working on Maggie’s blanket. I’m still shocked that I’m not in pain and begging for an epidural.

We took one final belly shot, 38 weeks and 2 days.

There might have been a bit of controlled chaos, but it didn’t bother me at all.

At 2:00am that morning I woke up to contractions 3 minutes apart. They were certainly stronger and longer than before, and since giving birth in the car wasn’t actually part of my birth plan we decided to call Jocelyn the Doula and the midwives and head to the hospital.

When I got there I was 5cm, but the contractions had slowed down again. This seemed to be the way of things this time around. Speed up, slow down, speed up, slow down. So long as I was still feeling okay and able to breathe through the pain I was comfortable with labor moving a little slower.

We used a mobile fetal monitor which looks exactly like the first generations of cell phones. It had its own purse to carry the thing in. I made the Husband or Jocelyn the Doula carry it, because that thing just screamed “Cancer Risk” to me.

We changed positions.

We walked the halls.

We breathed deeply and remained loose during the contractions.

By 7am I was 6cm dilated. Still feeling good, still feeling like a person. Then I had a decision to make: do I let them break my water and hope that helps to encourage things along or do I check out of the hospital and go home and wait for another day. Thinking about my lack of sleep for the several days prior and looking at my husband make his “Please don’t go home and accidentally have this baby in our living room or in my car” face I decided to let them break the water.

While I will argue that research concludes that home birth is safe, I don’t feel comfortable gambling the possibility of an unplanned unattended by a professional midwife home birth. I don’t have any equipment needed to birth at home or in the car. Not that you really need much, but a nasal bulb and a towel does not a home birth make.

Pop goes my water.

So we shower and walk and squat and pelvic rock from 7am till just about noon.

This is what 7cm looks like.

At this point my midwife’s supervising physician puts him between a rock and a hard place.

The OB doesn’t like that my labor is taking so long. Who cares? I feel fine. Baby looks great. There are plenty of empty L&D rooms on the floor, I keep walking past them- I’m not taking up a bed that someone else ‘needs’. Who cares if this labor lasts another day? I’m totally rocking this labor? But OB’s are limited in their scope of knowledge, they think that using modern medical intervention makes labor safer. There is an obscene amount of medical research indicating otherwise, but who cares about a little thing like data, when signing an order for Pitocin feels sooooo good.

My midwife comes to me and says “I don’t like the position I’m in, but the OB would like to speed things up. How do you feel about pitocin?”

Honestly, I feel like that’s a stupid idea. But I say “How about I take a shower and do a few laps and then we can start it?”

It’s a deal.

My doula and I walk the hall in silence.

I keep flashing back to letting them break my water. Wondering if that was the wrong choice. Could that have been the decision that lead to this? Technically I can refuse care. Technically I can leave the hospital. I have rights, I’m not impaired. These medical decisions are mine to make. What have I done? This is my only chance for a med-free birth. I’m not doing this again.

We get back to the hospital room. I get ready for the shower. I ask my husband to go and talk to the midwife, explain that we don’t want to get him in trouble but that we aren’t really comfortable with this course of treatment. Can we have more time? My doula says “I totally agree!”

Yes, I’m starting to get tired. My bones are starting to ache. I’m starting to wonder how many hours more I have in me before I decide that a long nap with an epidural sounds like a brilliant method for coping with the pain of transition.

We have until 2pm.

No real change.

I agree. Pitocin it is. The smallest dose they can give me. With a scar across my uterus from Jack’s birth pitocin is a risky choice. Natural labor is only marginally more risky to a VBAC mom than an unscarred mom. But pitocin isn’t natural, it doesn’t creat the same contractions that my body would on its own. I’m worried about the increased risk of rupture, but I’m more worried about how much pain I’m about to be in because I know what’s coming. I know what 7-10cm is. This is about to be transition. This is what separates the women from the girls (proverbially speaking). I’m not going to wander into transition with a smile on my face. They want me in bed. They are aware of the increased risk of rupture, they want to VERY closely monitor my contractions and her heart rate.

Into the bed I go.

I occasionally glare at that little bag of saline and the drip drip drip of pain.

I lay on my left. Husband and Doula take turns providing counter pressure to my sacrum while I breathe in deep and blow it out. I’m still okay. It’s starting to hurt, but I’m tapping on the side of the bed like a rhythm. Like a drum from the start to the end of each contraction. Because I know that each contraction will end and then I will be okay and I will breathe. For 40 minutes I breathe and tap.

Then I feel it coming.

I just want to give up. Where is the nice man with the epidural? I can’t do this anymore. Someone get me some drugs. Tears are running down my face and I’m crying. Trying to keep my body loose and my face from tensing up I sob slow deep sobs. I want to tell the Husband and the Doula everything I’m thinking. They need to go get someone to stab that needle into my back. But I can’t even speak. I know if I start to try and talk I’m just going to scream.

Then a nurse comes in and tries to tell me that I can’t cry. I’m not allowed to labor with my eyes closed. I’m not allowed to hold on to the rail of the bed and tap. I seriously want to kill this woman. My doula is trying to convince me to change positions. I’m willing but completely unmotivated. This nurse walks in and pushes the button on the bed to force it upright. If I could have walked or moved at all I would have tackled this woman and beaten her to death. She was totally damaging whatever last shread of calm I was holding on to. She pages my midwife. I’m one of those non-compliant patients.

David, my David. Deliverer of my Henry comes back in. Looks at me and gets the birth tray. He’s being too optimistic. I’m totally still 7cm. I’m going to have to cave and get the stinking epidural. After all this work too.

“Let’s check you.”

“Okay, with this contraction, I want you to push.”

“You’re a 9.” Okay, 9cm is good but it ain’t no 10.

“Lets push with this next one too. Lets try to push you to 10.”

“Okay! Great!” David, we’ve been here before. I pushed for 2.5 hours with Henry. I was happy to do it. I was happy to get to push at all. But you sound a little too excited. This is going to take a while. I don’t think I have a while left in me.

“We’re having a baby soon. Get ready.” He’s placating me. I mean blow a little smoke, sure, but you’re…. wait… why are you putting on the delivery gown?

“Hey, Emily, lets not have this take too long. These gowns are kinda hot, okay?” He’s making fun of me?! Seriously, what is wrong with people?!

The third contraction comes. “Oh no” Is all I can say. “Okay, push! That’s it. Reach down. Feel her head! Breathe in and push again!” Same contraction. Second push. Her head is coming out. Third push. Her head is out. Oh, what the hell…. I breathe in and push just a little and out she comes. Right into my arms.

Bam!

High fives all around.

And then there were 3.

I’m almost embarrassed to admit this

My husband handles the technology.

In my relationship I find myself holding various designations, for example I manage the schedule. I know what each child is doing, when the appointments are, and I keep track of his appointments and commitments. This includes reminding him about times of doctors appointments and other plans.

But this post isn’t about what I do. It’s about what I don’t do. Technology.

It’s laughable what has happened to me. I was never afraid of technology, if anything I was more capable, or at least more willing to experiment, than many of my peers. In college I was a developer of a website for one of my student clubs. And for the year 2000- I can say that website was pretty swanky. I upgraded my own RAM, and knew what it was, on more than one occasion. When my computer needed to be upgraded, I helped my dad (a true tech geek) rebuild from the motherboard up. I don’t mean I merely held the screwdriver and handed him lemonade.

That was me then.

But now?

If the apps on my phone need updating, I make him do it. The little red number will sit there for weeks, growing and growing to an embarrassing number (I think the highest was 7 updates). Every time I use my phone I just think to myself, I’ll get to that later. Until he got a hold of it, and asked me why I was living in the dark ages?! And: Didn’t I know there was an update to Where’s my Water?!

If Jack somehow changes a setting while playing on the computer. I call my husband and complain that the text ‘on all the websites is small now’. Fit it! somehow thinking back to a time when I knew exactly how to fix this seems harder than picking up the phone and passing the buck.

A few weeks ago the cable went out. It wasn’t working all day. I texted the neighbors, theirs was working fine. I went to the basement to unplug the FiOS main box and try to reset things. No luck. I tried resetting the router. I tried praying, okay, I didn’t pray…. but the thought crossed my mind. When the husband came home from work I insisted he explain our local network and how it tied in, so when the Verizon guys came the next day I would know what I was talking about. So he started pointing out the network vs. coax cables and within 5 minutes we realized that the cable wasn’t working because someone (Jack) had unplugged the coax from the wall, right next to the router. I never saw it. It never even occurred to me to check.

The final tale in the unraveling of my technical ability was last night. It was brought to my attention that in order for my tablet to work it needed to be charged periodically. “Yeah? Aren’t you in charge of charging the technology too?” Wow, I have really let myself go.

I realized I haven’t charged my camera battery, my tablet, even my laptop in months. I hardly use the mental settings on my camera, but for the record, I do know how. I clearly run this blog, and I usually do the photo, widget and banner changes myself. But every once in a while I run into a problem with that and I have to ask him to check my HTML.

How did I go from a self-sufficient technology-empowered woman to someone who finds her cell phone charging on the counter and things to herself, “Awww, thanks, hon.”? I suppose I devolved the same way that he went from someone who cleaned up dishes after himself to someone who didn’t even notice he was leaving the dishes on the table and the bookshelf and his desk.

Oh well.

So, am I the only one? Are there things you notice you don’t keep up with the way you used to?

Project phase 2: communication error proofing

When working on a project with my husband I have noticed two things: 1. He doesn’t like to spend time time talking about the plan and 2. He doesn’t read plans very thoroughly, especially if he has to read them in the rain or cold.

My poor husband doesn’t really want to do this project anyway. So combine all those issues and it becomes really important that I make it easy for him.

Why not use the circular or table saw yourself you ask? Because I saw this episode of Rescue 911 as a kid where a guy chopped his leg most of the way off using a circular saw, and I haven’t been the same since.

So I make the plans.

I prime and tape and measure and mark the wood. I might be allowed to use the new drill press, but as this will be its maiden voyage, I’m willing to let my husband do the honors.

How do my plans look for the base cabinets?

My husband takes a stand

I was shocked to learn my husband has an opinion.

He has many opinions, some incredibly outdated, some silly and some evolved over time (meaning- I wore him down). It doesn’t happen often in our relationship that he tells me what he is thinking and I’m surprised by what he says. Usually I know what he’s thinking.

His stance on socks was quite surprising:

“Feet need to breathe, therefor it’s unsanitary and morally wrong to wear socks to bed at night.” -I might be paraphrasing.

“Dude, you know I wear socks to bed every single night. Right?”

So now I’m wondering… Do you wear socks to bed? Do you have a strong opinion about socks and sleep?

Small-ish Spaces

In the grand scheme of things our house is plenty large enough.  It holds all the members of our family, our belongings, and our food.  We don’t need it to be anything more than that.  If I’m maintaining true perspective this is my point of view.

But that pesky American dream of acquisition and upward mobility is tough to shake.  So we endeavor to improve our home and maximize the use of the space we are thankful to have.  More to the point, remember our shed project?

It’s finished, and it’s fabulous!

He’s so proud of himself. It’s very endearing.

I love that some of our most often used ‘handyman’ items are right on the door for easy access!

Moving the workbench into the shed provides a working surface out there, and frees up some space in the house so I can properly organize the belongings I already have! (My art and craft shenanigans is going to get its own consolidated home in the storage room. While the idea of painting in a room with no natural light isn’t an ideal for me, the idea that I could set up my paints and then not worry that the kids might get into them, well, that’s pretty much awesome!)

Our bicycles and the double jogging stroller also found a respectable home in our new shed.

My favorite part? That there is enough floor space for furniture work I’m thinking building, refinishing, repurposing. Oh, the decadent possibilities!

5 Years

1 house, 2.5 adorable kids, 1 European vacation, 7 million renovation projects, 1 yoga teacher training, 250 discussions on how to survive the zombie/robot apocalypse, 3 veggie garden summers and many, many laughs both at each other and with each other.

Remember, remember the first of Movember

This year a certain husband of mine will be growing a mustache. To raise awareness of men’s health issues. Like prostate cancer. Prostate cancer is highly unlikely before age 45 but it’s common for men around age 70. You know what helps prevent prostate cancer? Sex.
Admittedly, mustaches make me think Knight Rider, not ooooohhhhh sexy. Maybe the sexy comes after Movember when the mustache is gone….

Perhaps I will have a comical mustache photo to share with you in a few weeks.

I Survived

I have climbed down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. I even managed to crawl back out.

We camped on the south rim for a few days and then took Bright Angel trail down to Phantom Ranch and the back-tracked up Bright Angel to get back out the following day. I will have a whole post with photos (like amazing, great photos) and funny stories of things that happened while we were on our adventure. For now I will leave you with this:

Should I title the big post
1. My husband tried to kill me but I survived
2. The Grand Canyon = Mordor, ask me how
3. If your partner convinces you to hike the Grand Canyon here’s what you really need to know.