L-O-V-E

Thump.

Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

That's my heart thumping. It's bigger than it used to be. Each time I see my guys my heart swells up so big that it breaks a little. It breaks the tiniest bit every single time I lay eyes on these two. Then, when it repairs itself like any good muscle will do it's a bit bigger than it was before.

At this rate I'll need to gain back that pregnancy weight just to give my body some more space for my heart to spread out.

To embarrass him later in life... Almost naked 2 week old Jude.

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This face says "mischief"

Jude. 13 days old. Incredible.

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The best laid plans...

I want to write about Jude's birth. It's important to me to set it to words in this space. It will be a reminder for me of what I went through and how much hard work it took to get that little bean into the world. Everyone worked hard - Jude, me, Matthew, my sister in law, my parents, our doula, our friends. To say that it didn't go as planned would be the mildest way of putting it.

I labored at home for 24 hours. Matthew and I counted contractions for a day and then called our doula. We headed to the hospital 12 hours later and had to wait for a couple of hours to be checked in because all the rooms were taken. Nothing like leaking amniotic fluid and having very painful contractions in a waiting room. Nothing like it.

Several hours later we got a labor and delivery room. My contractions got progressively more intense and I was still only dilated a couple of centimeters. It stayed that way for a few hours. My midwife talked to us about using some meds to get my cervix in better shape to get the baby out because nature was not cooperating - I was having transitional contractions but I still wasn't dilated more than a couple of centimeters. She knew we wanted a natural birth and she gave my body lots of time to see if we could overcome what obstacles stood in the way, but it wasn't working. Cervadil, then pitocin, then an epidural... all things that I was staunchly against going into the birth. My contractions were so hard and fast I was exhausted and they were afraid I would have nothing left when it finally came time to push the baby out.

After 48 hours of labor it turns out that I had a dysfunctional labor because of cervical swelling (I finally got up to 7 centimeters, but then became very swollen and got back down to 4 centimeters). At that point I was getting into a high risk category and a c-section became the only option. It was my worst nightmare before labor started. I did everything to avoid it. My midwife gave me a lot of time to see if my body could overcome, but there was no chance. She explained everything and we both cried about it. I was so upset. She was upset for me. Everyone knew it wasn't what I wanted, but we all knew that the only real goal was to get the baby out safely. If we waited much longer both of us would be in danger.

Matthew got ready to come with me to the operating room. Our midwife helped him put on the scrubs and mask. His cool checkered Vans slipped into the shoe covers and he was ready - more or less. He prepared himself to see his wife and the mother of his child get cut open on the table. He always said he thought he would have made a good doctor... but he said later that he could never detach enough from the patient to cut into them.

So I had a c-section. At 2:48 on 3/12 Jude came into the world and my surgeon passed him through a hole he cut in the drape so I could be the first one to kiss him. The surgeon said he wanted me to be able to kiss the baby first, that just because I didn't push the baby out didn't mean I wasn't the mommy. That meant so much to me. He told me we had a boy and I got to give little, slimy Jude his first smooch.

The surgery was frightening and I had a bad reaction to the anesthesia - I got the shakes very badly and couldn't control the upper half of my body. I was twitching and jerking and it was very scary. I knew I was in good hands and that Jude was in good hands, but that was the hardest experience of my life.

In the end, we got our son. That's all that counts. I came to grips with all the medical intervention and was actually grateful for it afterward when my midwife told me how close I was to something disastrous. She explained that when you hear about women in remote areas developing fistulas they most often result from the exact scenario that played out for me. Except, those women don't have medical care, so the option of a c-section doesn't exist. If I were one of them I would have likely died. Matthew just kept saying, "I know you don't want to hear this, but we can make another baby but I can't make another you. I can't go through this life without you, so this surgery is what needs to happen. Please." That was all I needed to hear.

And when Jude cried for the first time and I heard that tiny voice coming from across the OR I knew we did the right thing. I tried and Jude tried and we did our best. All that counts is that we made it through and our family is at home, happy and healthy. The poopy diapers and the sleepless nights, the spit up and the endless burpings, the coos and cries, the sore nipples and the achy belly - it's all worth it. It's all worth it and I'd do it again tomorrow if it meant my little family would be as happy as we are right now.

Life awaits. The future is here. The three of us will face it together. Hey, ho! Let's go! As Matthew says, Ramones fans are born, not made.

Yet another Jude pic. I can't help myself. Day 8 and a little deeper in love than the day before.

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Nice 'do.

Jude. Day 4. On the nursing pillow. Hanging out. Making his mom cry and laugh and stare in amazement at the same time.

And look at that hair!! I was bald as a cue ball as a baby. I guess he gets the hair from his dad. I kept joking before he was born that if the baby was a boy he'd come out with a full beard. Almost. I still can't believe I got my boy. He's healthy and happy and that's all that matters.

Morning, day 4. Asleep with his mouth open. Looking exactly like his father. I'm completely in love with them both.

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Meet Jude. 48 hours of labor and one c-section later he's here. I feel like I've been hit by a truck, but this boy is worth all of it.

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Where there's a Will...

I wrote our Last Will and Testament recently. It includes very little about assets (pretty easy to gloss over that part when you don't have many of them) and details about things that are so adult and mature and responsible they make my head spin. Things like who will be our child's guardian if something catastrophic were to happen to both Matthew and me? Who will be the executor of our will/estate? Who will be the secondary guardian if something catastrophic happens to the primary guardian? What do we want our advanced healthcare directive to say? When do we want artificial life support and when do we want nature to take its course (previously this was very cut & dried for me... but previously I didn't have a baby on the way - that changes everything)? These are things that are important to get into writing, even though the mere thought is extremely painful.

I wrote it out while Matthew was at a meeting and then we went over it when he got home. It's so basic, it hardly took any time at all, but it was tough to do. Our only assets as 30-somethings who rent our home are our car, M's guitars, and my retirement accounts. Not much when you add it all up. The easy part was thinking about who would get what should we both die. That took all of 5 minutes. The difficult part was typing out who would care for our child if we're both gone. The answer to that question is so obvious that it took a split second to make, but it took about half an hour and many lumps in the throat to type up.

Understatement: It's hard to think about your own mortality. It's even harder to think about not being around to raise your unborn child. Does it get heavier than that? I don't think so. Sitting down and writing up the plan for your child's care if you're dead is an awful thing to have to do. But it had to be done. No question about it. It wouldn't be right for us to skip along willy nilly and not have anything in writing - it would be irresponsible.

So, after our very adult evening spent writing up our Will we had a very adult conversation with 2 of our best friends this past weekend. Conveniently, they're married to each other, so that works out well. One was asked to be our executor and the other was asked to be the secondary guardian (in case my sister in law, the primary guardian, isn't around) with the understanding that they act as a partnership and do both as a team. We cried about it, we laughed about it, and then we ate lunch. They were honored and we were relieved and now it all feels exactly as it did before - we always assumed these friends would take care of our kid if we kicked it, but assuming and knowing are two different things. It's important to have it in writing and have the understanding out in the open.

I encourage you to write up a little something about what you'd like to happen if something awful were to happen to you even if you don't have children. It's amazing how emotions cloud family members' judgment when catastrophe comes calling and it's better for all involved to lay it out on paper. It's no picnic to do, but you'll be glad you did.

Operation: Mind Off Labor

(disclaimer: those are not my feet, although I wish they were)

I slept for an ungodly 11 hours last night. Apparently I needed the rest. It was a good thing since I haven't been sleeping well the past couple of weeks. I'd get comfortable and start to nod off, but then have to shift my hips because I had sciatica pain or the baby's position was making it hard for me to get a full breath of air. Just super fun late term pregnancy stuff. But last night? Last night I slept like I was going for the gold. Snoozed like a log. Pretty awesome stuff.

Today my mission is to occupy my time with things that don't have anything to do with babies or being pregnant. I'm trying to keep my mind off of my mounting frustration with labor starting and stopping, so I'm going to get some loose ends tied up and slip a little pampering into the schedule, too.

First on the list was to find out how to finalize my short term disability claim once the baby is born (Yes, that's how my employer does maternity leave, folks... it's a short term disability claim for a fraction of my pay - makes new moms feel awesome! I can't wait to be disabled. Groan.) I got my claim # and filed all that stuff away, so that's one thing checked off the list.

Next was to make an appointment to get a pedicure. Oh, the life! I got a gift certificate for my birthday back in September and have been saving it for a rainy day. Well, it's grey and kinda rainy out there and my feet could use some beautifying. So, in a couple of hours I'll hop on the subway and head to one of my favorite parts of Brooklyn to get my feet "all cuted up" for free at an adorable little salon.

On the way home, if I'm not totally wiped out in the energy department I'll stop by the library and return a DVD (woefully overdue - I've become that person!) and maybe check out a book or two.

Later on tonight I'll patch a pair of Matthew's jeans (yes, we're jeans patchers... he has his favorite pairs and they tend to wear out in choice spots - prime patching opportunities abound in this household), maybe check out online what exhibits are coming up at the Brooklyn Library, then have some friends over for dinner. That sounds like a pretty full day. A full day of stuff not having to do with fixating on labor and delivery.

We'll see how it all goes.

Get it?

Matthew took this photo yesterday. We've been saying how funny it would be to get a pic of the bump under the BUMP sign for months now. Good thing we finally took one. No clue how much longer there will be a bump instead of a baby. Been having contractions on and off since last week. Really looking forward to actual labor. Since Thursday I've been 1 centimeter dilated and in a holding pattern. I've been trying to keep my mind off of things as much as possible, but it's hard. Being calm and letting go of anxiety when every move you make is uncomfortable is not easy.

Orange you glad I didn't say "banana"?

This was taped in my neighborhood this week. Not just in my 'hood, on my block. Too funny. This is the kind of zany thing that makes me love Brooklyn even more.



By the way, I totally missed my 4 year blogiversary last month. So yeah, been spewing my own brand of nonsense across cyberspace for 4 years now.

I know you didn't just toss that.

Lyn reminded me of something I meant to write about here last week and then life got in my way. Let's hop in the way-back machine and go to last Wednesday. I'll set the scene...

I was walking to the subway around 4PM to go into Manhattan to get a massage. Have I mentioned that my massage therapist is also my doula? It's such a sweet deal. Anyway, back to the matter at hand. I was walking to the train and it was broad daylight. For some reason, that strikes me as a very important part of the story. Broad daylight, folks. I was headed down the block and a teenager approaching from the opposite direction took the last sip from his Snapple bottle, put the cap back on, and when he was about 10' from me he tossed it on the ground.

He. Tossed. It. On. The. Ground.

This goes back to the broad daylight comment - it was not dark, it was not in a bad part of town, the kid was not the only person on the block at the time. In fact, there was a middle aged man walking right behind him who said nothing. The man said not a word. So, if you know anything about me at all, you know that I 1) cry at the drop of a hat, 2) really hate puking, and 3) believe wholeheartedly that it is up to each of us as individuals to stand up and speak up when we see things happening that are not OK by our societal standards. If we don't do #3 we (the royal WE) are destined to let bad crap happen over and over until we decay into the kind of people none of us want to be.

Again, back to the matter at hand. The young man tossed his bottle on the ground and I look to the older man to say something. I wasn't looking for an out, I just happen to think that perhaps a few guiding words from an older black man would have more of an affect on a black teenaged male than those same words from a 31 yr old me. The man said nothing, so I realized quickly that it was my responsibility to speak up.

"I'm sure you accidentally dropped that bottle, my friend. I'm sure you didn't just toss that."

Silence, the kid kept walking but glanced back at me.

"You really think it's OK to toss your trash around this neighborhood? We both live here and I'll tell you right now that's not OK."

At this point people are looking at me, but no one is looking at the kid and no one is joining in what should be a chorus of sane voices speaking up against ridiculous behavior.

"Alright, I see how you want to play this one. I'll pick this up for you this time since your mother clearly isn't here to clean up after you and I refuse to live in a neighborhood covered in trash. I'm bending down now (getting louder at this point to make sure he can hear me halfway down the block) to pick up your trash. All 9 months pregnant of me, cleaning up after your sorry self. I really hope your mother doesn't know you act this way. Have a great day!"

I picked up the bottle, carried it to the corner, deposited it into someone's recycling bin and that's when I heard the laughter. There was a teenaged couple walking behind me laughing and I heard the boy say to the girl, "Yo, she picked up that fucking bottle, yo! She fucking picked that shit up! Hahahahaha!"

"It's funny to you? It's not funny to me, and it wasn't hard, either. I picked up someone else's mess because I live here. Did you grow up here? Do you want this place where you grew up to look like shit because someone else is too selfish and lazy to take care of his own business? I bet you don't. I'm sure you don't want that."

Another important note in this story is that I didn't get heated. My tone of voice was calm and assertive, but not aggressive. No use in acting like a crazy person just because I'm pissed off. You do far more good when you're calm than you do when you're irate and just screaming at folks. It's like when I need a seat on the subway because I'm hugely pregnant and people are acting like they don't notice or acting like they're sleeping (mmm hmm, both of those happen all the time). I don't get all huffy. Instead, I calmly go to the largest, strongest man sitting down and ask politely if he would mind giving me his seat. "Excuse me, sir? Would you mind if I took your seat? I hate to ask, but I'm 9 months pregnant and my balance is pretty awful." It works every time. No yelling, no crazy antics. That man (and everyone else on the train) is far more likely to notice the next pregnant woman and give her a seat instead of remembering the loony pregnant chick they saw on the train yelling at some dude.

Moral of the story? Do good, be good. When you see something that doesn't fall into either category, calmly encourage the person doing it to reconsider. You just might make a real difference. It's not as gratifying as screaming in outrage in the exact moment it's happening, but 30 seconds later you'll feel so good you might surprise yourself.

We got dumped on!

We have 9 inches and It's still coming down!

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