Styling!

For the past couple of weeks, I've been sporting a look I like to call "You're lucky I showered!" It consists of clean but frizzy and unstyled hair, soft, stretchy, baggy maternity clothes, glasses (never contacts or makeup), and slippers.

It's a good step up from the "What? You expect me to shower?!!" look, so I feel I'm doing pretty well.

I had to laugh at breastfeeding group the other day. The only other woman who managed to drag herself and her baby out in the terrible weather (cold, hard rain and ice) had the exact same haircut as me, with the same side flipping out and the same baggy pants and the same empty pregnancy top and the same cumbersome car-seat basket to lug around. I think all new mothers must look roughly the same.

Actually, I don't have it so bad. In fact, I'm incredibly fortunate. Elsie is a champion sleeper. I mean world-class, as far as babies go.

When the baby first arrives, they tell you "you have to feed her every two to three hours." Anyone hearing this might think, "okay, feed her, then crash for a sleep cycle, then do it again."

No no no no no.

A three hour feeding cycle means feed her at 10:00 pm... for 45 minutes (a half an hour once you get the hang of it), then burp her, change her. Then change your outfit and hers, because projectile spitup always happens by surprise, as soon as you put down your burp rag. Then change her again because you hear her poop and you don't want to be that terrible mother that just lets your baby sit in her own refuse, then sooth her for another hour because all the changing has her wide awake and agitated. By the time she rests, it's midnight, and you have about an hour to nap before you have to do it all again.

If she's on a two-hour feeding schedule, you're plum out of luck. No nap for you. Time to pull out your poor tender breasts again.

You can see how people go a little bit crazy with a new baby.

This is the way I felt in the hospital, before my milk came in. She just wasn't getting enough to eat, and she was ravenous! I was at the end of my rope. Fortunately for me (and hub, and anyone else who has to deal with me), as soon as my milk came in, Elsie has been much easier sated. She drinks her fill, then, if left to her own clock, she rests for three hours during the day, and sleeps for long spells at night. Last night she went seven hours between feedings! That means that I got six hours of sleep and then a three hour nap. Amazing. I feel like super-woman!

The lactation consultant in the hospital told me that I had to wake Elsie up every three hours through the night to feed her. Set an alarm and wake up. This is exceedingly unrealistic advice, and both my new lactation consultant and Elsie's pediatrician say that she can sleep as long as she likes at night as long as she keeps pooping up a storm of yellow poops and gaining weight. No problem there! Hooray!

I can't say that I've done anything special to deserve this amazingly good fortune, it's mostly her disposition, but I have found a few tricks that help get Elsie down sooner and keep her asleep longer. I'll share for anyone who might like to try them:

• Hot Water Bottles -- The pediatrician gave us this trick. Elsie hated her crib at first. She hated lying on her back and hated being on her own on a flat surface. Now we pre-warm her spot in the crib with a hot water bottle. I fill it with hot tap water and put it in her place when I pick her up for late night feeding. By the time the feeding is through and she's nodding off, her spot is nice and warm, and it doesn't jerk her awake when I put her down. It saves me maybe 15-30 minutes of soothing, and that can mean precious minutes of sleep between feedings.
  
• Swaddling -- baby straightjackets! You can swaddle in a traditional blanket, but it always comes undone. I use this thing that has velcro and keeps her wrapped up tight like a little baby mummy. It keeps her asleep longer.
• The Happiest Baby on the Block -- Cheezy pop science/medicine book for new parents. I don't like the writing style, but I have to say that the methods really, really work for soothing Elsie. Take it out of the library and skip to chapters 8-13 and chapter 15. I can summarize for you here: Swaddle your baby tight, arms in; lie her on her side or stomach; "shhhh" loudly and continuously in her ear; jiggle her so that she shakes like jello (not like a shaken baby, obviously); if she'll take it, you can give her a finger to suck on. Presto: baby stops crying. I don't know if it works so well for every baby, but it's like magic for Elsie if she's well fed but just fussy.

In any case, life is pretty sweet in this household! Thanks to Elsie and her amazing sleeping ways, I'm managing to keep myself rested and clean, rocking that "you're lucky I showered!" look. I even cook simple dinners some nights! Makes me feel like super-mommy. Maybe one of these days I'll try wearing pants with a fly again too.

Wonders of Breastfeeding

Pregnancy was strange. Lactation is stranger.

Oh, sure, for the first few days it's just a matter of manipulating this little creature around your nipple for the elusive latch. It shouldn't look anything like sucking on a straw. A huge portion of your breast has to end up in the baby's mouth for effective breast feeding. Her lips have to be big and wide and flanged like a fish's, and she has to form a seal, sucking the nipple back to her soft pallet. It takes a bit of getting used to, but it's not that bad.

The strange stuff starts when the milk comes in. My milk came in with a vengeance. One moment I looked like a deflated version of my pregnant self, the next, I looked like some sort of manga character -- a little woman with big, levitating, round, hard breasts. They kept getting bigger and bigger and rounder and harder as the day wore on until they were downright obscene: huge and painful and hard as rocks.

It felt like some cautionary grass-is-always-greener tale. TheTitty Fairy paid me a visit and bestowed upon me these huge, rutabega-like breasts, as big and round and globe like as any surgeon could ever give a girl, with but one catch: these magical breasts spray forth fountains of sticky, sweet milk that must feed my baby day in and day out for a year and I must suffer all the ill effects of the rapid change.

"But why?" I ask the Titty Fairy. "They're so sore and so big and they're always spraying milk all over everything! I was perfectly happy with my old breasts. What have you done to me?"

"Oh Kate," responds the Titty Fairy, "Remember when you were an insecure teenager? Big breasts were just what you always wanted!... Always wanted... Always wanted..."

(Cautionary tales always echo off into the distance like that.)

So here I am, stuck with these double-Ds that swell up like crazy if Elsie has gone too long without eating and drip milk like leaky faucets every time I get out of the shower or hear the baby cry.

The kicker is that Elsie is an amazing sleeper. She's 12 days old and goes 4-5 hours between feedings at night if left to her own devices. That means that, in theory, I can get three three-hour or two four-hour stretches of sleep a night. (I say "in theory" because I've had two minor emergencies at the 2:00 am feeding this week that have undermined this sleep pattern.) Two stretches of four hours is about as much sleep as any new mother could hope to get. I'm very lucky.

I pay for this luxurious rest in engorgement. This morning I awoke in excruciating pain, breasts as hard as rocks and so round that Elsie could barely latch on to relieve me.

I'm attending a breastfeeding mothers' group. It's very helpful to get the reassurance from the lactation consultant that my troubles will not last forever. My body will regulate. Soon, she says, I will be able to actually enjoy my sleep (if Elsie obliges) without such dire consequences. It's also a lot of fun to commiserate with other new mothers. We laugh about our enthusiastic little baby girls who, in their excitement for a meal, often shove their tiny fists in their mouths stymieing their own attempts to find the nipple. We laugh at ourselves and the way we tear through bras and shirts as, unbeknown to us, our breasts drip and drip and drip sticky milk on everything. Every garment that is spared spit-up ends up soaked in milk.

This is weird stuff, lactation. Very strange indeed.

And just in case you were wondering, my breast milk tastes like sweetened coconut milk. Not too bad! Elsie sure seems to love it.

Breastfeeding: The Logistics

I'm going to save you all the lecture on the benefits of breastfeeding. I've received said lecture about a half a dozen times in the last week, and it's sounding a bit annoying and sanctimonious to me -- a breastfeeding woman. I can't imagine how it sounds to someone who, for whatever reason, has chosen the bottle instead.

Suffice it to say that I want to breastfeed this baby. I want to pass on my antibodies, I want the complete nutrition for her, I want the uterine shrinking for me and the closeness and bonding for us both and the cost-saving convenience of the on-tap food source. I'm committed to breastfeeding.

Elsie came into this world a great eater. She hadn't been on my chest five minutes before latching on big and wide and effectively. Many babies struggle with this, but little Elsie opened her mouth wide like some sort of funny little monkey-fish and took that teat right in her mouth, sucking back to the soft pallet the way she should. This was good news! A good latch bodes well for good, comfortable feeding.

Everyone seemed surprised, looking at that big, broad latch, when I complained of nipple pain.

"It shouldn't hurt." They told me. "She's got a great latch!"

"Well, it does hurt." I responded.

It hurt a lot. There's very little more annoying than being told, in your extreme discomfort, that you should be feeling just dandy. I wondered if maybe I just had more sensitive nipples than most. The nurses gave me lanolin cream in the hospital -- which I hate. The last thing in the world I want to do whith my sore, raw, chafed nipples is RUB something viscous on them and then have to WIPE it off before every feeding. It's like putting chapstick on an open wound and then having to wipe it off every two hours. Not too effective and not too comfortable.

I got a bit better relief from hydrogel pads, these cool, soft, gummy round things that protected my nipples from any kind of rubbing against my bra. They made life livable those first few days. I highly recommend them.

I also got relief from a break each night in the hospital. Those first few days, my body produced only colostrum -- a watery, sugary pre-milk that's just full of antibodies but lacks a lot of the sticking power of real breast milk. Elsie was starving and wanted to eat all of the time. By the time night came around, I was sore and tired and at the end of my rope, so I let the nurses take her to the nursery and feed her a little bit of formula while I slept. According to a few lactation consultants, this is a big n0-no, but I have to say that it helped me a lot. It allowed me to sleep and to feel better about breastfeeding again in the morning. I have no regrets about this. I might well have given up without the break.

On day 3, my mom came over to help me out a bit. She took one look at me and exclaimed,

"Well, your milk came in!"

It's true. My breasts were huge. The milk came in around 72 hours, and it came in with a vengeance. It just kept coming and coming and my previously petite breasts (recall, cup A before pregnancy) swelled to epic proportions and started dribbling sticky milk at the slightest provocation -- a shower? Sure! A crying baby? You betcha! Drip drip drip. Strange stuff.

As the first week of breast feeding went on, it was clear that things were going very, very well from Elsie's end. She re-gained her birth weight by day 4. By day 5, she wanted to go four hours between feedings instead of just two. She had more than enough wet and soiled diapers to assure us that she is eating her fill and then some.

On my end, though, things became increasingly uncomfortable. The gel pads had helped my nipples at the beginning, but they were beginning to bleed a little bit again. Latching on was toe-curlingly painful. I swear that if babies weren't at their very most adorable when rooting for a nipple, they'd all be left to starve. No woman would ever let anything less cute near her poor, sore breast!

I also suffered (suffer) from engorgement. I'd wake up at night, breasts huge and round and hard as bad implants. It was (is) incredibly tender and sore and painful, and hugs are currently my worst enemy.

Note to readers: don't try to hug me too tight! My current impulse is to punch you in the face if you try to hug me. It makes afternoons with the very huggy in-laws a little bit difficult.

I saw a lactation consultant on Friday. I felt a bit sheepish about it. My baby is obviously feeding well, and I thought this kind of discomfort is just the kind of thing a woman's meant to muscle through, but I kept my appointment anyway, and I am SO glad that I did.

The lactation consultant was amazing. Unlike the preachy one who chastised me in the hospital for letting the nurses take my baby at night and told me, "well it shouldn't hurt!" when I complained of sensitivity, this woman didn't bat an eye when I told her about the formula and hopped right to in trying to help me feel better. She noted the engorgement and my bleeding nipples and told me that we definitely need to make some changes.

I returned home with a prescription for APNO (all-purpose nipple ointment) to help heal my cracks and prevent infection, a new method of helping Elsie latch, and a strict regime of heat and cold and feeding and pumping to try to get my swelling and engorgement under control.

It was both encouraging and an emotional letdown. I had barely complained about my suffering for the past week, only enough to inform the enthusiastic relatives that I really wasn't up for hugs (an utterly futile warning), and the occasional plea to my own mother, "Please tell me it gets easier!" I just kept nursing right through it and biting my lip when it hurt and resisting my urge to push loved once right across the room when they came to hug me. To have someone acknowledge that something was wrong was such a relief. Now, though, it's down to business. The engorgement is the trickiest part to manage. Some days are better than others, but I think it's getting better.

I'm writing this with four ice packs stuffed in my bra and a well-fed baby bouncing in her bouncy chair. I apologize for the long, dry entry. I will write a funny one about breastfeeding later.

I really am glad that I'm sticking with this. It is challenging at times. It means figuring out how to work with my body. It means getting up all through the night and not being able to let hub or anyone else take a turn for me. It means having to be on call whenever Elsie decides she's hungry. It means that I have to be all business with her right now, as we both learn our way around this process.

It also means closeness on a level that I don't think anyone else can have. As much as I wish I could sleep through the night, there's something so special about that time with Elsie contentedly sucking away, be it at 2:00 in the afternoon or 2:00 in the morning. It is amazing.

Naming The Baby

When Hub and I went to the hospital, we had a short list of names. It was still longer than most people's short lists, but was comprised of the names from our much longer list that both of us really liked. Here is the list, in no particular order:

Sophie
Rosie
Lila
Josephine
Celia
Allegra
Vera
Elsie
Violet

Elsie was a last-minute addition to our running list. Hub picked it late in the game and it was his front runner for a few short weeks leading up to the birth. He favored Elsie Marie at that time. I was partial to Josephine, Rose, and Violet.

We hoped that somehow meeting our daughter would help us narrow it down.

It wasn't as immediate as we might have liked. As soon as she was born, the neonatologist whisked her away to suck the merconium out of her lungs and stomach (poor thing!), the OB swooped in to deliver the placenta and give me a few stitches, and it was chaos and pandimonium for about 20 minutes before we got to really meet our baby.

As soon as we did meet her, our list was dramatically shorter. We both agreed, she was a Violet, an Elsie, or a Lila.

The little one stayed in limbo among those three names for a few hours after birth. The nurses were so curious about our choices, so we told them our list. Everyone had a strong opinion about one or another.

"Lila's getting popular." Judy warned us. "We had two Lilas and a Leila in the nursery last week."

This is why nurses are better than social security reports -- you get up-to-the-day feedback on the popularity of names. With the SSN list, you have to wait until their annual review, and even then it's country-wide, so you don't hear what's stirring in your community.

In the end, Hub's top runner was Lila, but he was discouraged by the popularity trend. Upon seeing her, I changed my favorite from Violet to Elsie. She had so much of my dad's side of the family in her from the very first minute, and Elsie suits that well. Violet is also really, really hard to match to a middle name. I still can't think of one that rolls off the tongue for me.

There is an Elsie in my family, though I've never met her. She's my paternal grandfather's aunt, and she's known, in our circle, for her cranberry salad. We didn't name the baby in her honor (having no idea what she is like), but it is somewhat cute that our little Thanksgiving baby shares her name with the most awesome jello-salad ever. (Seriously, it's great.) It wasn't purposeful, more of a neat little coincidence.

We settled on the name during a short quiet minute before my little bleeding incident. Everyone has been really positive about it, which is great! We love it. It feels old-fashioned, but not dowdy. Simple, but not too plain. I think it really suits her, our little Elsie Rose.

The Aftermath

Warning: If you can't take blood and gore, skip this one. Trust me.


Unfortunately, my trials did not end with the birth of Elsie Rose. I want to reassure everyone that, though rigorous and difficult and long, my labor was not the end of the world. It was never a risk to my health or the baby. C-section was never on the table because, aside from the dehydration, everything was healthy. I'm glad I don't have to give birth again tomorrow, but it isn't something I'd rule out ever doing again. I don't want to scare anyone out of it!

My complications came after the birth, after dinner, after the tender moment with Elsie and Hub. We settled into our room in the maternity ward and were just discussing whether or not to try rooming in for the night. I got up to brush my teeth and take a much needed shower. Somehow, a rough wipe-down just doesn't get rid of the blood and amniotic fluid and merconium and vomit in quite the way that I'd like. I was looking forward to my shower.

I was lucky I had the chance to brush my teeth. As soon as I spat into the sink, I felt a huge rush of fluid! The four maternity pads and an absorbent hospital pad that lined my mesh hospital-issue disposable pants were no match for the puddle of blood that gushed onto the floor. I took down my pants to sit on the toilet, and three chunks of tissue the size of my fist plopped into the already gory mess.

"Hub!" I called. "I need the nurse!"

He called and said "We have a question about bleeding." The nurse didn't come right away, so he called back, "My wife's passing big chunks of tissue. Can someone come look at it?" That brought someone a bit quicker.

"Holy moly! It looks like a murder scene in here!" The nurse exclaimed. She was surprised I hadn't fainted and, I think, even more surprised that Hub hadn't fainted. I was actually quite calm. I was blissfully ignorant of what was to come.

The nurse called more nurses, and soon my little room was full of four nurses. They took the baby to the nursery and sent Hub away, underestimating his stomach for gore. "Go get some dinner." I told him. He hadn't eaten more than a granola bar in over 24 hours. He was a bit reluctant, but the nurses wouldn't let him stay anyway, so he followed my orders and went for takeout.

I remained quite calm through all the poking and prodding and hustle and bustle -- until I heard the words, "Let's cath her."

If there's one thing I'm more squeamish and afraid of than poop, it's catheters. I am incredibly, incredibly afraid of catheters. I had to get one during the birth with the epidural, but that was different. I was dead from the waist down. This would be done with no such anesthetic.

I lost it. I started crying and I told them how afraid I was, but they were adamant about the catheter. They had to keep my bladder empty. "I made it all the way through the birth without crying once," I blubbered, "and now I'm falling apart over a catheter! I'm so sorry!"

They worked fast. One nurse shoved four suppositories up my poor, hemmarhoid-swollen butt. Another set up an IV line full of pitocin. A third readied the catheter. A fourth pressed hard on my abdomen to squish out more gushes of blood. It shot clear across the room and spattered one of the nurses (the surly one) in the face. They called for my OB to come back and help out.

It was pretty horrible. Much more traumatic than anything I experienced in labor. I was falling apart. I had no idea that the solution to my bleeding would be so painful and invasive. Three kinds of medicine brought back my contractions (though not as bad as in labor, as I feared). The catheter went in. The suppositories were pushed in without lubricant. The kneeding of my abdomen was intensely painful, and when the OB came in, she put on surgical gloves and reached deep, deep inside of me, pushing right past my stitches -- possibly past the cervix, that's how it felt. I couldn't handle it, so they gave me some pain meds in my IV and tried again. It still hurt like hell, but more of those big blood clots came gushing out, and that was the point.

At this point, Hub returned, Wendy's soda cup in hand. Poor Hub. Neither of us had any idea that this was coming. I saw his eyes go as big as saucers.

"Come here." Said one of the sweetest nurses. "She needs your hand. Just squeeze it, honey. It'll be over soon." This nurse had gone through the same thing with her second child. She was all compassion.

It was over soon. Between my trials and my breakdown and my bloodloss and the pain meds, I could barely keep my eyes open. They cleaned me up and filed out, leaving only my primary nurse, an angel who told me that I had done everything right and been so brave and exhibited such self-control, despite my blubbering and whimpering. She told me not to worry about the baby, just to sleep.

When they all left, We turned off the lights. Hub looked at me with tears in his eyes and told me how impressed he was, how he had never seen anyone so brave, how amazing I had been from beginning to end. I couldn't even respond. I heard every word, but I couldn't say anything back. All I could do was fall asleep.

Nurses and doctors were in to check on me all night, roll me over to look at my bottom, change my pads. I slept through most of these exams, only opening my eyes wide enough to see Hub, still staring at me from his cot, watching over me all love and adoration and protective instinct.

When the whole nightmare was over, that's what I take with me: that I have the most loving husband a woman could ever hope for.

Thank You

I just want to thank everyone for all the interest and well wishes that have been flooding in since the birth. I haven't been able to respond in the way that I would like to all of the love and attention. My phone has been on silent for the last week. The only person I call back is my mom. My email has goes unchecked for days at a time. I do read all the comments here and on my facebook and I appreciate every comment, every card, every call, and every gift that has come in the mail, but it may be a few weeks before I start getting back to friends and family. In the meantime, just know how much I appreciate everything. I will try to write here occasionally and keep you all posted when I can.

Everything is going really well! Elsie now goes 4 hours between feedings, which is AWESOME (though I expect the lactation consultant is going to chastise me for not making my 8-12 feedings a day, she's definitely getting enough). The breastfeeding is going beautifully. She's a champion feeder and has already gained back the weight she lost since birth and then some. Elsie soothes easily and has a great disposition. She's a little heartbreaker! Hub and I are just loving every minute with her.

Thank you again, all, for the flowers and cards and comments and well-wishes. We are so lucky to have such friends!

Birth Recap

Hub and Elsie are down for a nap on the couch. As much as "sleep when your baby sleeps" is probably the world's best advice, I just can't settle right now, so I thought I'd catch you all up.

I started timing my contractions around 3:30 pm on Friday. They were just about five minutes apart for hours, but I waited until I got one solid hour of close, long contractions before I called the doctor on duty. Laboring at home in early labor was wonderful. I truly mean it. I turned the lights down low. I put the radio onto the cheesy new-age spa station, and I just rocked my hips through each contraction. My favorite position was leaning on the counter and swaying my hips in figure eights. Every hour or so I'd practice my hypnosis. I ate plain white rice between contractions to keep my energy up. For a while, I tried to nap between contractions, with some success. Hub rubbed my back and stayed out of my face -- he's a natural at this labor coaching stuff. I was in the zone and it was honestly an uplifting, exciting, and spiritual experience. It wasn't easy. Some of my contractions were exceedingly intense. One made me vomit. For the most part, though, I was positive and happy and just thrilled to bits to be into it.

When I first called the doctor, he told me to come in. Hub told me to call back and press him to labor at home for a while longer. He thought that sounded fine, so I stayed home until midnight when things started picking up. Meanwhile, Hub's family had landed in Boston and my dad went to pick them up at the airport and greet them. The word was out that labor had begun and everyone was excited.

My mom met us at the hospital, and we were shown to the labor and delivery room which was, at the time, harshly lit. We met our first nurse -- a sweet, upbeat, encouraging young woman named Wendy. Wendy was pregnant with her second. She expressed her support of my wishes for natural childbirth, but also offered some cautious opinion that sometimes it gets really emotionally difficult, and that changing your mind is not failure. With that, she set to her review of my condition.

I was only 1 cm dilated. I had been laboring intensely at home for nine hours, and I wasn't any more dilated than I had been two weeks ago. She considered sending me home again, but I was 70% effaced, and my contractions were getting incredibly strong. Things started to get tough for me. I hated being on the monitor. Contractions are much harder to take lying down. The bright lighting and all the hustle and bustle made it hard to stay focused the way I had been at home. The contractions, too, were getting worse.

I hadn't anticipated the sickness. I started throwing up every few contractions. Nausea's tough. It's harder to meditate through than pain. It was miserable and discouraging and it weakened me physically and mentally. Mom wouldn't have let them send me home. We opted for the hot tub instead.

The hot tub was great for the moderate contractions, it was warm and dimly lit and soothing, but didn't do anything for my nausea. I got dehydrated. They kept telling me to drink water, but I just couldn't keep a drop down. My mom went to find Wendy. Wendy worried that I might actually be ill. I wasn't ill. It was just tough labor. We decided that it was time for my first intervention: IV fluids and anti-nausea medication. I had to get back into the bed for that.

I can't remember exactly how long this stage went on. The fluids did their thing and the medication stopped the vomiting, but I was on a time limit. They can only give you so much, and I had to pace it. My contractions started coming in straight sets of five or six without a break, then a five minute break between sets. I was exhausted. I got through the whole night like this. When they checked me for dilation, I was at 1.5 cm. It was so disheartening. I tried to sleep between contractions. Hub said that I'd sleep for three minutes, then wake up to suffer through the next set, then sleep again for however long my body would let me. At some point, the nurses shifts changed, and I met Judy.

Judy would be my delivering nurse. She was much older and more experienced than Wendy, and also much brusquer and more matter-of-fact. She immediately started moving me around and changing things up when she came in to try to get the baby into the best position and keep my labor moving. She put my hypnosis cd on a speaker, and for the ten minutes that it ran, it actually helped a lot. I stopped moaning. I started getting back into the mindset. But I was spent. I was exhausted and nervous and completely discouraged. As soon as they put me back on the monitor to check the baby, that moment was gone.

At 10:00 am, Judy gave me the good news. I was 4 cm dilated. From here, it should be really quick! A whole 1 cm per hour!

Six more hours? Holy shit.

It was a lot harder than I had expected. A lot longer. I was crestfallen. I only had about 2.5 hours of anti-nausea meds left. I hadn't even reached transition and I was having a hard time taking it.

"You know," Judy told me, "You're doing a great job. You're being so brave. If you were on pit, we'd be turning it down. Your contractions are a lot harder, longer, and more frequent than most people's are at this stage. I can see that you're fighting yourself. If you want to do this naturally, I will be with you every step of the way, but don't just fight yourself if you decide that you want some help."

I was fighting myself. I was afraid that an epidural would slow down labor and lead to pitocin which might put my robust little baby into distress. I asked Judy if I could refuse pitocin if I got the epidural.
"You can refuse it until the cows come home." I think was the phrase she used. "You don't have to have it if you don't want it." She assured me that, at this stage, at 4 cm, it would not slow down my labor.

After a few moments with my husband and my mom, I decided that I wanted the help. I asked for the epidural.

Everyone left me alone with Judy and the anesthesiologist. I was terrified of the contractions that would come while he inserted the catheter. They came. Judy helped me through them. The anesthesiologist was quick. I was scared. It went just fine. In ten minutes, I couldn't feel a thing.

Judy arranged me so that I could labor tipped on my front, to help the baby's position. I fell sound asleep for three hours. When I woke, I was complete. I chatted cheerfully with everyone for a while. Amazing what a little rest can do for you. By the time my OB (who happened to be on duty!) came in, the baby was engaged several inches into the birth canal, and it was time to push.

Pushing was a piece of cake. I actually had a window in my epidural -- a small spot on my belly that felt everything, clear as day. It hurt, but it helped me feel my contractions and be more aware of my body despite my dumb, dead legs and my utter oblivion to the rest of my labor.

I pushed for 40 minutes total, but it wasn't straight through. There were rests. I got to watch in the mirror, and it was great motivation! I could see that little head pushing through. Judy was attentive with mineral oil to try to help stretch my perennium. The baby's heartrate only dropped once, and only for a brief moment. She was very strong through the entire labor.

"There's hair!" Judy announced. When asked what color, she replied, "Green!"

I forgot to mention the merconium. My water broke on its own during labor in the hospital and the fluid was heavily stained with merconium. The neonatologist was called in to inspect the baby after birth and vacuum her lungs and stomach (poor thing!).

Hub held my left leg and Judy my right. I watched in the mirror as this little pruny head pressed and pressed and pressed its way out. It was incredible. The most incredible thing I've ever seen.

When I delivered her head, I burst out crying. My mom was crying too. Hub held it together for a few minutes longer. In no time at all, the baby was out and in the hands of the neonatologist and Dr. F was stiching me up. I had second degree tearing, which is not that big of a deal and sure beats an episiotomy!

I was elated! My only sadness was that I couldn't hold her right away. I understand the need to inspect her, but I was impatient. Eventually, of course, she checked out just fine and they brought her and placed her on my chest.

I have no regrets about it. I'm glad I labored so long on my own. I'm glad I tried the natural route. I'm also really glad that I asked for the epidural when I did and got to rest. The whole experience was amazing and incredible. Healthy mom. Healthy baby. Happy, happy family! All pain and sickness and discouragement were wiped away in a matter of moments.

I'll never forget seeing that little, wrinkled, green-haired head deliver, and I'll never forget the tears in my mom's eyes, or in Hub's eyes when, after all the hubub finally quieted and mom left to join the rest of our families, Judy brought me my supper and Hub his daughter. They just gazed and gazed at each other, those two. Incredible.