At my final ultrasound (36 weeks 6 days) Roux was officially deemed to be a macrosomia risk, weighing in at approximately 8lbs 2oz. My doctor decided that an induction at exactly 39 weeks would be the safest way to proceed. She gave me the option to schedule a C-section due to his size, but I turned that down and wanted to try a vaginal birth. I showed up to the hospital on July 16th weighing 158lbs.
The nurse in charge of my admission was full of head shakes and discouraging words about my doctor. “There’s no way you have a big baby in there.” There was also some confusion amongst my care team about exactly when and how my induction would begin, so I sat in my room being monitored for hours (I was naturally having contractions but was unable to feel them) before Cervidil was finally inserted. Cervidil is typically a 12 hour treatment, but mine was removed after only 6 hours due to continued confusion amongst my care team about how far dilated I was and how well I was progressing (spoiler alert: I was not progressing well at all).
The rest of the story is a little hazy for me, as one of my nurses convinced me to try the painkiller Stadol, which had me in and out of consciousness for the rest of the day. Here’s what I know happened:
- Pitocin was administered through my IV and eventually turned all the way up to the max, where it stayed for many hours without helping me progress.
- I asked for an epidural many times and my nurse kept brushing it off. After hours had passed, I got a little more aggressive and kept demanding information about when I would get it, knowing that my doctor had approved it (and recommended it) from the start.
- After my water was broken by my doctor, I got to experience the joy of forced contractions. The pain blinded me. Finally, my sadistic nurse agreed to get the anesthesiologist and my epidural was administered, only after I was repeatedly threatened that I needed to be able to sit still through my contractions in order to get it.
- My epidural worked, yay. I then slept for hours and woke up to find that I hadn’t progressed even a tiny bit and my doctor was ready to proceed to a C-section. I asked for a couple more hours. Since Roux’s heart rate had handled everything exceptionally well, she agreed. In the end, there was still no progress and I was prepped for the OR.
The C-section itself was a surreal experience, and an equally foggy one since I was put under halfway through. The spinal is supposed to numb you in a way where you feel “pressure but not pain” and I tried my hardest to believe that but holy shit did I feel pain. I suffered through it long enough to meet my son, but I tapped out when it was time for them to put me back together. Right before going into surgery my mom and I made our final guesses about his weight. She guessed 9lbs 6oz and I guessed 9lbs 7oz. Since it was close to midnight, we also weren’t sure which day his birthday would be. For whatever reason, I was hoping for the 17th. I ended up being right about his weight and he was born at 11:59pm on the 17th. Lucky 7’s all around.
My mom was the only person who was there with me, and before going to the hospital I had told her the plan was for her to stay with the baby should a scenario such as this unfold. She always dismissed it as an unnecessary plan, the diehard optimist that she is. While I was unconscious on the operating table, they asked her if she wanted to stay there with me or follow the baby to the NICU. He had low blood sugar and needed to be fed formula before I even woke up. She remembered my wishes and stayed with the baby and she even took a lot of great pictures so that I could see his first moments, which I would otherwise have missed out on completely.
I was woken up at the end of surgery and wheeled into a recovery room where I had to wait for two hours. I felt at peace knowing that my mom was with him and I felt like everything was going to be ok. Towards the end my mom did come to see me, she assured me that the baby was perfectly fine and she just wanted to make sure I was ok since “it was taking a really long time.” Finally I was wheeled to my room in the postpartum unit, where I received the infamous vaginal car wash and began sporting diapers of my own. Roux had just pooped all over one of the nurses who quickly brought him over. I was still too drugged up to interact with him, but since my mom was there they allowed him to stay in my room.
I stayed at the hospital for the next three days. That part is also a giant blur thanks to continued painkillers and seemingly endless visits from nurses, doctors, etc. Towards the end I was really fed up with everyone pressuring me to breastfeed and just wanted to go home and be left alone to recover in peace. I’ve been home for three days now and have experienced extreme jealousy and sadness over physically not being able to take care of my son the way I wanted to. My parents had to step in and do most of the work, which led to me doing a midnight Amazon shopping spree where I bought any product that I thought might help me take care of him and be closer to him. I shed many tears over breastfeeding, something I previously never thought I would care much about. Recovery-wise, the pain is gradually becoming more manageable, but I’m still incredibly weak and can’t walk far without feeling faint. Tomorrow is Roux’s first pediatric appointment and my mom will have to be the one to carry him.
I know everyone thinks their baby is perfect, but Roux really exceeded my wildest hopes and dreams. He inherited his dad’s beautiful blue eyes and he’s such a sweetheart. He makes squeak sounds that I never knew babies make. He’s not picky about what he eats or where he sleeps. He loves being cuddled. He is constantly making me laugh with funny faces, appropriately timed farts, and unexpected mannerisms. He has truly brought joy into my life. He was worth all of the pain and I just can’t wait to feel better so that I can give him more of myself.
I’ve been warned that I’m going to forget all of the details of my pregnancy if I don’t write them down. I think I’m okay with forgetting, but just to be safe, I’ve gone ahead and documented the highlights. Turns out there weren’t many high points at all, so this is really just a list of my symptoms which I will hopefully come back and read if I ever consider having a second child.
First Trimester
Got bulldozed by nausea, fatigue, mood swings and a heightened sense of smell which is a form of torture you can’t really imagine until you have experienced it. In addition to being able to identify what the guy across the room ate for lunch, I learned that there are chemicals on everything. Chemicals on my clothes. Chemicals in food. Chemicals on my skin. It was impossible to escape that chemical smell.
My nausea was triggered by stressors rather than food. I felt unbearably nauseous anytime I thought about boys, working, or colorful clothing. I desperately ended up purging all three of these things from my life as best as I could at the time.
Fatigue has been the main symptom that won’t leave me alone. I’ve had it throughout my entire pregnancy and have been diagnosed with anemia. It’s a total mood killer because it’s hard to feel good about yourself when you’re always too tired to accomplish anything.
I got an ultrasound at around 10 weeks, and that was the first time I saw my baby move. He looked like a gummy bear and he was swimming around like crazy. He even surprised the doctor with how much energy he had. My aunt was with me and we agreed that he seemed like a boy, even though the rest of my family was convinced I’d be having a girl.
I got the gender results a few days later (via blood test). Even though I had always pictured myself having a girl, I found myself daydreaming about having a boy in the days leading up to the big reveal. At that point, I honestly wanted both, which meant I’d be both happy and sad regardless of the result.
When I found out he was a boy, I was unexpectedly hit with a wave of heartbreak (but not disappointment). The idea of bringing a boy into the world without a dad in the picture was initially pretty upsetting to me. I took some time to process it and ended up feeling okay about it. I’m going to take care of this little guy, and we’re going to be good.
Second Trimester
I learned what acid reflux is and stupidly avoided treating it for weeks until it reached a point where I could neither eat nor sleep. I finally talked to my doctor about it and have been taking Pepcid twice a day ever since. I proceeded to gain a ton of weight, seemingly overnight, probably because I was so excited to be able to eat again. My ultrasound tech confirmed that baby does, in fact, have a head full of hair (allegedly correlated to pregnancy heartburn), so I’m glad my suffering has not been in vain.
When I reached the halfway point (20 weeks), it really hit me just how long pregnancy is. It felt like I had already been pregnant for an eternity, which meant I still had another eternity to go. It was around this time I started to think it might actually be fine with me if this is the only baby I ever have.
Second trimester served up a slew of potentially serious medical issues that all turned out to be nothing. I had a subchorionic hemorrhage (a blood clot behind my placenta) which has now resolved. I had placenta previa (low lying placenta blocking baby’s exit through the cervix) which also resolved itself - now I just have an anterior placenta. I had glucose in my urine but ended up testing negative for gestational diabetes. I have tachycardia (fast pulse) and an abnormal heartbeat, but several trips to the cardiologist have assured me that these things should not cause any issues.
Third Trimester
I’ve reached a point where I’ve done pretty much everything there is to do to prepare. The nursey is ready. The pediatrician has been chosen. The baby books were read. The childbirth, CPR and breastfeeding classes were attended. I’ve already purchased more than enough clothing for his first two years of life (thank God he has two closets) and I’ve completely filled his bookshelves with a range of children’s literature that I spent weeks intensively curating (I truly believe my first books helped shape my character). Money has been set aside for his future needs - a drastically larger amount than I’ve ever succeeded at saving for myself. I’m so ready for him.
I’ve started developing some signs of ICP (Cholestasis), but so far my levels are still below diagnosable, which means my little babe is safe for now. Actually, ‘little’ is probably not the best adjective - he’s been measuring big for months now. He even looks chunky on the ultrasounds, which I love. It has been hard work carrying him everywhere, though. I’ll start seeing a chiropractor this week to help manage my sciatica.
After enjoying a short window of ignorant bliss, my heartburn has returned with a vengeance and laughs in the face of my little Pepcid Maximum Strength pills. I wake up choking on my vomit multiple times per night. Sometimes the acid even comes out my nose, burning my nostrils in the process. I don’t know how I haven’t died yet. I’ll be asking my OB for something Rx strength this week.
I’m told these last few weeks will drag on and I can tell they will be painful, so I’m just going to go ahead and rate this whole experience a 1/10: would not recommend. I do look forward to sharing my birth story here after baby Roux is safely in my arms and my body has begun resuming its original form. I know he will be worth it all.
Baby’s Weight
20 weeks: 15oz
26 weeks: 2lbs 11oz
30 weeks: 4lbs 3oz
My Weight
Pre-pregnancy: 112lbs
35 weeks: 145lbs
This time last year I was going through the worst break up of my life (don’t ever sign a lease with a Libra). I never would have imagined that a year later I’d be in my third trimester of pregnancy with a different Libra’s baby. I have had what feels like should have been ample time to come to terms with my new normal, yet every morning I wake up wondering if the past 365 days were just a dream.
The breakups surprisingly ended up being the easiest thing for me to digest. Boys have been disappointing me my whole life, so my brain already knew the motions for mourning a relationship. But the important final step of moving on to someone else will have to wait. Letting someone into my life means letting them into my baby’s life, and I don’t want my baby to turn out like the men I’ve dated. I acknowledge that it will probably be years before I find someone worthy of potentially fathering my son, if I ever find them at all.
Single Mom is my new identity. I am good with the Single part. The Mom part is what still feels unbelievable to me. Is there really a whole boy chilling in my torso? I lay in bed waiting for him to move - I need the repeated confirmation that he’s real. I don’t live in New York anymore? I realize now that my 5 year relationship with New York may have been more significant than any of my romantic relationships. I always kept the city in perspective, intending for it to be a place where I would work hard and meet people, and then move somewhere else to settle down. But at the end of the day, it was my home, and it is an odd feeling being away from it for this long.
Maybe I won’t be able to fully believe this baby is real until I am holding him in my arms while the rest of my body is being stitched up. And maybe it will take a lot longer for Florida to feel like home. Maybe it won’t hit me until I see him laughing in the sand at the beach, or catching lizards on the driveway, or excitedly getting into the car at the crack of dawn to go to Disney World.
I still have approximately two months before I meet my little guy, but my family is kindly choosing to celebrate my motherhood already. This time next year, my baby will be here celebrating with me, and again, my life will be completely different than it was the year before.
(via ahn-f)
That’s what your Medicaid card says since you technically don’t have a name yet. You do have a name, though. It’s Roux. You probably won’t have red hair like all the other French boys named Roux, but I think you’ll be okay with that.
Roux, I want you to know how full my heart felt when I found out about you. Those few seconds of my brain registering your existence were pure joy.
There were a lot of things I did not know at the time, and anxiety would set in shortly. I did not know how your father would react. I did not know where we would live. I did not know what my own father’s fate would be without my donated kidney. One of those things would turn out worse than I could have ever imagined. Another would work itself out. The third thing remains uncertain.
Though I have cried a lot these past five months, it is important for you to understand that I never once felt anything less than unconditional love for you. You have given me the gift of motherhood, which was something that I had somehow convinced myself I might only experience in my dreams. In return, I readily give my whole self to you. I will raise you to be happy, loving, honest, generous, and good.
You are the light of my life.
Sometime around mid-November I noticed that my period was a day late. I had taken the morning after pill a couple weeks prior, so I figured that was responsible for throwing off my cycle. Mostly for my own entertainment, I googled early pregnancy symptoms and marveled at how they are all practically identical to PMS. Before I put my phone down to fall asleep, I came across a pregnancy symptom I hadn’t heard of before: vivid dreams. That night I dreamt I was in a hospital, painlessly having my stomach cut open. The doctor pulled out a baby.
I woke up and stayed in bed waiting for cramps that would never come. I doubted the possibility that my $40 pill had failed to do its one job. I had recently been accepted as a kidney donor. Maybe the dream symbolized my anxiety over the upcoming surgery. After a few texts to my best friend, I realized I was probably making a big deal over nothing. I decided to go ahead and buy a pregnancy test, if only to get the baby crazy part of my brain to shut up. I put a tampon in and drove to Walgreens, still expecting a gush of blood to hit at any moment.
I splurged for a digital test. I wasn’t about to stare at a faint line and allow my mind to continue running away with possibilities. It only took seconds for the stick to display an unmistakable result: PREGNANT
That’s the term baby forums use to describe a positive pregnancy test. I wasn’t expecting to see one in my 20’s so I had already begun researching fertility rates, endometriosis, egg storage, menopause and the like. In a perfect world, I would have gotten married shortly after graduating college and I would currently be working on popping out my third kid. But I live in a world where I have made some very questionable decisions in choosing my partners and as a result have found myself playing house with 30-somethings who act more like 18 year olds. And so I continued to use birth control, not because I didn’t want kids, but because I wanted those kids to have a loving, responsible father.
After years of going out of my way to avoid writing of any kind (including but not limited to: choosing emojis instead of words for Instagram captions, deleting Twitter, insisting on being a photography-only blog, and, of course, burning bridges with companies that actually wanted to pay me to write for them), I am finally succumbing to the fact that the shroud of mystery doesn’t suit me.
At the age of almost 29, I find myself halfway through my pregnancy in a self-imposed isolation with not much to do but wait for my baby to arrive, so I’ll be using this space to turn myself inside out until then.
Her name is Nana. 16-year-old high school student.
Her instagram id is here. (@nanagirl7)
(via ahn-f)