They Made Me Do It

Turns out, Miles is a tank.  Good thing, too, because Eva is up in his grill every single day.  Pile driving, steam rolling, body slamming goodness.  Those are the only WWE moves I know, but I'm sure there are plenty more that happened on my living room rug this morning.

But that's not what we're here to talk about.

Today, we're going to talk about my first session of personal training.  Go ahead and roll your eyes. I just did. I've been thinking about this for a really long time. Two pregnancies have shot my middle to shit and carrying these nursing cans around is killing my back. I hurt 90% of the time. I've tried massage and PT which were helpful, but not enough.  It's time to kick it up a notch.

My trainer is awesome.  She has three kids (6, 7, and 8 WHOA!) and, like me, had the type of body that held onto every single calorie while she was nursing. I envy the women who can nurse their weight away.  My body does the opposite...all those ass-padding calories sticking around just in case we encounter the Apocalypse.

We (my friend and I) spent the first session talking, answering health questions, doing physical tests and failing miserably, and finally making a list of our training goals.  I thought about stuff that would make Oprah proud like 'a healthy body' and 'my best self', but when it came right down to it I blurted out, "I wanna be BANGIN'."

Insert sound of screeching record player.

My sweet friend giggled and started to translate.  The trainer, however, assured us she needed no help with translation and put 'SHE WANTS TO BE BANGIN' on my list. Like a moth to the flame, I continued on and on about my postpartum ass which led me to mumble something else incoherent like, "I wanna de-saddlebag-ify." That item became number two on my list of goals. And on we went.

I want to be healthy and realistic and careful and measured with my body, but I also think that bringing two children into the world entitles me to a little chutzpah. I wanna be bangin'. And if I can crack some of this back pain in the process, I'll chalk that up as a major success as well.

A labor story 2.0, part three (the finale, I promise)

Miles and I are laying low today. We're trying desperately to heal from a barrage or bugs that have kept us from being healthy. Seriously, this winter is kicking our asses.

While he sleeps, I'm going to finally finish our labor story by starting (again) where we left off.

There are two things to talk about. The first is to, simply, finish the story. The second is an indulgence on my part. I really want to talk a bit about the experience of having vs. not having an epidural. Lets begin.

Everything changed once the nipples had been twiddled and the contractions regulated themselves. I was in full-on labor, my mind and soul had escaped to the world of laboring women. After it was all over, I told Ferris I barely saw him during the whole thing. I think I said something excruciatingly insensitive like, "You weren't as present in this labor." He took one look at me and put his foot down, "Listen, lady. I was riding your ass for three full hours. I was totally THERE. It's YOU who wasn't there." Riding my ass? Wha?

Apparently, I demanded constant pressure on my lower back. Because Ferris was the strongest, I threw a hissy every time he tried to take a break from pushing on my tail bone with the palms of his hands. Ferris, my dear lover, was literally riding my ass the entire labor. As for my presence? He is correct. I wasn't 'there', in a manner of speaking. Once the contractions started, it wasn't long before they became fast and furious. Three hours, to be exact, was the length of time it took to become fully dilated from 4 cm.

In those three hours, I stood by the side of the bed, rocking and moaning. I hopped up on the bed, ass in the air, arms flopped over the headboard, rocking and moaning. It was there that I stopped being able to converse. It was in that position that I closed my eyes and never opened them until they put Miles in my arms. I also spent some time in the whirlpool, sitting, standing, rocking and moaning. It was there, in the tub, that my body started to feel like it was being slowly ripped apart.

Then, it was back to the bed for those final few 'transition' contractions. Anyone who's been there knows that this is the hardest part. Luckily, there were only a handful of contractions were I tried to crawl out of my body. Lindsay and Ferris said I was composed and focused, but I wasn't feeling any of those things. I was feeling pain, panic, terror, and then...

This is were the story changes into something fairly spiritual...maybe even mystical, if you'll allow it. This is where, for me, there was a big difference between having an epidural (for my first labor) and having a natural birth in a way that had nothing to do with pain. I've often heard women talk about how special it is to deliver without intervention. It's almost as if the pain becomes an integral ingredient in the mind/body's experience of labor.

Something happened to me in the moments before I started to push. The pain was horrific as my cervix was opening those last few millimeters to allow for the baby to move through me. In one of the brief moments between contractions, I opened my eyes just for a second and took a deep breath. I've since tried to find a way to explain what happened to me and can only come up with this.

My labor with Eva was the closest I'd ever been to experiencing the divine. During those last moments of Miles birth, it was the closest I'd ever come to actually being divine. When people talk about death and tunnels and moving toward the light, I can't help but think that that also happens at birth. In that moment, I was the tunnel. I was the light. When I started to push (which I hated, BTWs. Whoever said pushing feels good is out of their mind), I felt the full power of what I was doing. Regardless of religious or spiritual orientation, there is nothing, and I'm serious when I say this, there is nothing more Godly...nothing closer to divinity...nothing more divine than giving life.

There you have it, folks. Four days of sleepless early labor, some fun with nipples, three hours of heavy labor, a brief brush with the miraculous, 45 minutes of pushing, and Miles was born. I believe, with all my being, that having a baby is a miracle no matter how they arrive, but I can't deny the experience I had doing it without any intervention. Now if only they had some sort of injection for parents of newborns that don't sleep.

A labor story 2.0, part two

I woke up this morning to the sweet sighs and coos (and some less sweet grunting) of our three week old demanding to be fed. I also noticed the absence of Ferris who left us in the middle of the night to attend to our 2 year old who is having trouble sleeping. When Miles and I decided to throw in the towel to head downstairs into the brutal morning, we passed the guest bedroom to find Ferris and Eva pretzelled together under a mound of blankets. We're slowly getting use to this...ever so slowly, but it's happening.

So lets go back a few weeks and finish the story.

It's important to start the labor part of the story with the understanding that I went into it feeling defeated. Although I was comfortable with my decision to induce by breaking my water, there was a fair amount of guilt and resignation that came with the package. It's always better to wait until things happen on their own, but that was no longer an option for me and I was subconsciously beating myself up for it. The desperation was getting the better of me.

On Christmas Eve at 2:30pm, my water was broken. Seven hours later, my contractions had almost completely stopped. Let me walk you through it.

After we broke my water, I continued with the same old 'NOT ACTUAL LABOR' contractions for a long while. With Ferris and Lindsay by my side, we walked the hospital halls and bounced on the birthing ball with very little luck. Nothing...and with each hour of nothing that passed, we all started to feel the heaviness of that nothing. I was petrified, totally and completely out of my mind terrified that I'd made a mistake, a colossal mistake. Ferris was silent. Walking behind me through the halls, staring obsessively at his iPhone as he timed the less frequent, weakening contractions, his face was starting to show the concern. As my stress increased, so did his, and so on and so forth. Pretty soon, Ferris was coping by killing all of my Snood scores on the laptop while Lindsay and I continued with the pointless walking.

The hours of nothing had taken my head out of the game.

There's something about labor, at least my labors, where I become somewhat internal...very internal, in fact. It almost feels as though my body is no longer on Earth, time doesn't feel the same, the people around me don't feel the same, and I'm consumed by what's happening to my body and to my baby. For me, becoming internal is one of the most vital parts of the experience. It's as though my soul needs to go to another world in order to come back with a baby in my arms. All of the nothing, the stress, and the feelings of guilt and defeat were preventing me from letting my soul go to that other world. The result? More nothing.

As we approached hour 7, we started to rack our brains for ideas. Lindsay asked the nurse if we should use nipple stimulation to get things going. The nurse said it was a good idea and added that we would need to monitor my contractions because the process can be explosive. Seriously? I'm no prude, but the last thing I want to do is have someone monitor me while I twiddle my nipples, especially if that someone isn't my husband. So we bagged the idea and decided it would be better to take a nap while we waited for the contractions to worsen.

At 9pm, everyone left the room except for Ferris who turned on some Paolo Nutini and then sacked out on the couch next to my bed. It only took a few minutes for me to realize I was never going to be able to sleep. So...um...I took the secret opportunity to...um...well...go for the explosion, as they say. Unmonitored. That's right, folks. I twiddled my nipples, and I'll be damned if not 30 seconds into it my contractions didn't upgrade at least two gears.

I'm not even kidding. Nothing to full on labor in less than a minute.

I'd love to give my explosive nipples and the subsequent rush of oxytocin all the credit, but I also need to recognize that having several quiet moments of uninterrupted focus helped me get my head in the right place. Within an hour, with all systems in full gear, I finally took a moment to look at Ferris. Between the strengthening contractions, I caught his gaze just long enough for both of us to feel the relief. I started to cry and then lost myself in his protective grasp. We were having a baby...at long last.

I realize this is totally unfair and slightly lame, but I need to pause here. This story was only suppose to be a two-parter, but my 2 year old has the patience and attention span of a gnat and my newborn needs to eat. I'm also realizing just how much I'm enjoying walking through this story again. Until then.

A labor story 2.0, part one

I've spent some time trying to figure out when this story actually began and how best to tell it. Truthfully, there are two stories, the one leading up to the labor and the labor itself. It's probably best to give a timeline first which means we should start where we left off. I want so much for this story to be happy and inspired and full or anticipation, but that's not at all what I experienced. The week leading up to Miles' birth was one of the most trying of my life. I was challenged both physically and mentally. My heart ached to hold my baby as I willed my body to move forward.

Monday, 12/21, noon: Contractions every 5-10 minutes, 3 cm dilated, doctor strips my membranes and sends me into a wicked, beyond uncomfortable early labor.

Tuesday, 12/22: Same shit, about four hours of sleep. Ferris and I go to the hospital and quickly get sent home. Every time someone tells me I'm not in 'actual labor' I want to throw a very sharp object at their head. I want to cause PERMANENT damage.

Wednesday, 12/23: Same shit, different day. With a sleeping pill, I only get two hours of sleep because this 'NOT ACTUAL LABOR' doesn't feel very good. Doctor visits. I'm 4+ cm and get stripped again. Contractions get worse and then stop and then start and then stop and then start and then stop and then...I'm starting to reconsider the merits of stripping membranes.

Thursday, 12/24: Same shit, another different day. With a sleeping pill, I get two hours of sleep. I have now played one bazillion hours of snood by the glow of the MacBook between the hours of 1:30-6:30am. I'm starting to enter 'the bad place' in my mind and soul. This must end...very soon. My doctor has given the option of breaking my water to see if things will progress. Since I'm not in 'ACTUAL LABOR', this is considered an intervention and comes with a set of risks. When you break the water, you start the clock. If labor doesn't start, I'll have to get meds to make it start. If that doesn't work, I could eventually end up with a c-section...and on and on we go. I get conflicting yet supportive advice from friends and professionals. I'm unbelievably pissed and anguished at being in this position. This feels unendurable.

11am: I decide to go for a walk. No one wants me to go alone, but I insist that I need to spend some heady time on my own to make a decision.

11:45am: My mind is clear and confident. I have decided that breaking my water is a reasonable, safe decision. I talk to my doula, Lindsay, to make plans. I call Ferris at work to tell him we're going to meet the doctor at the hospital to get this show on the road. Ferris is terrified because he knows too much about the risks. Now that I've made a decision, I have set my mind on my labor and on my baby. On the way to the hospital, Ferris is quiet and pensive. I look at him and say, "The decision is made. We're now on the baby train, lover." He forces a smile and squeezes my hand. This could not feel any different than last time.

Christmas Eve, 2:30pm: The doctor breaks my water. Game on.

Miles John Hatzenbuehler

December 25, 2009
12:59am
8 lb 7 oz
21 1/2 inches