Labor Story, Part II

Bradley book.  Check.  Birth plan.  Check.  iPod.  Check.  Jolly Ranchers.  Check.  Flavored ice chips.  Check.  Husband/Coach.  Check.

The only thing missing, it seemed, was a little thing I like to call dilation.  I walked the halls carrying my I.V. pole and heard a woman screaming in agony a couple of rooms down.  Later, I watched a male nurse wheel a new mom and her precious new baby to postpartum.  I hadn't seen any action for hours and it was easy to forget why I was there.  When I saw that baby, I suddenly remembered that at some point in the near future, I would meet my Liam.  All of this waiting...all of this pain...would be over soon and it will have been worth it. Besides, by the time my midwife, Tina, finally arrived around 5pm, I was sure I had progressed.  Contractions had resumed, and I was probably a 6 or 7 at least.

It was hard to be mad at Tina for letting her pager batteries die and not getting back to us for HOURS, because we were just so relieved that she was finally there.  Maybe her presence would kick my cervix into high gear (Paging Cervix... Midwife has arrived.   Time to dilate!)  Maybe Liam would remember that he too had a job to do.  17 hours into labor, she checked my progress.

3 cm dilated.  90% effaced.  0 station.

No. Words.  I had postponed getting a second exam for over 9 hours because 1) the risk of infection increases each time you're checked, 2) I didn't want to be disappointed if the number was low and 3) I didn't want the hospital staff to equate a low dilation number to an imminent C-Section.  The Bradley Method teaches that a low dilation number can often result in sudden, RAPID dilation.  We had heard stories of women who were dilated to a 3 for hours and then dilated from 3-10 cm in one hour.  At this point, I was still holding out hope that this would happen to me.  But, 17 hours?  Really?  

We asked Tina for advice and she told us to "get out of here."  She told me to change out of my hospital gown and go outside for a change of scenery.  Take a walk.  Let Wes get a pie at Marie Callender's.  All of this would "expand my world."  The nurse gave Tina disapproving looks at this suggestion and told us that hospital policy required us to stay on hospital grounds once admitted.  We were a liability once we walked out of those sliding glass doors.  Whatever.  I felt like more of a liability in the hospital than out.

We took advantage of the momentary freedom and started on a lap around the hospital grounds.  It was a beautiful fall afternoon and I felt like I hadn't seen the light of day in years.  I stopped every 10 yards or so to handle a contraction and then kept trucking.  Walking supposedly speeds labor by 28%, on average.  I really needed to be on the higher end of that spectrum.  We were shooting for around a 75% increase in speed.  Go Speed Racer, Go!

After a grueling loop around the Women's Pavilion,   I needed a break.  Wes guided me to our car in the underground parking garage so that I could sit down and sneak some bites of a Balance Gold bar.  Processed protein had never tasted so good.  I had just started to get comfortable when POP!  "Umm...my water just broke...AGAIN."

Thank goodness we kept towels in the backseat of the Volvo.  I doubt the guy who ends up buying our car will appreciate amniotic fluid stains on his luxury leather seats.

I now had to figure out how to make my way back up to Labor and Delivery without leaving a trail of fluid behind me.  Wes assured me that if there was a perfect place to walk around with a makeshift towel-diaper tied around me, this was it.  Not to worry.  Pride?  Out the window.  As I waddled into the elevator, we ran into a young boy who had lost his grandma.  Wes decided to take the boy to the front desk and let me go up to the 2nd floor on my own.  (He's such a good samaritan.)  "Don't worry- I've totally got this.  You go ahead..."  Water breaking?  Been there, done that.

I didn't dwell too much on why this was happening again.  I was just looking forward to getting things moving.  Liam probably moved his head or something and released the rest of the water.  Within 20 minutes, I was feeling contractions that were of a different species than I had ever experienced.  Velociraptor contractions.  But these were not even close to the Exorcist contractions that I would experience later on (of course, I didn't know that at the time)...

At this point, I was working very hard-- enlisting every brain cell I had on each contraction that came my way.  It was difficult to find a comfortable position.  I leaned over the counter, sat on the labor ball, and at one point curled up on the (hopefully) sterile hospital floor.  This was what they meant by HARD labor.  I was in it, I thought, and I was committed...but scared.

A few hours after my water broke the second time and after a respectable streak of intense contractions, Tina came in to check my progress once again.  Everyone in the room was certain that delivery was close.  PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE BE DILATED.

Tina was quiet after the exam.  As I was struggling through a painful contraction, I noticed her shake her head at Wes.  Her attempt to avoid scaring me to death failed when a shocked Wes exclaimed "No??" well within earshot of me.   Way to lay it on gently, Wes.

I knew from her tone of voice what was coming.  "Rachael, we need to have a talk."  I was walking straight into the land of Worst Case Scenario.  "What is your ultimate objective?"  In a totally defeated, delirious sort of half-cry, I recalled the Bradley mantra..."Healthy baby, healthy mother, healthy family." She nodded her head in agreement.  "Then, I think it's time to get serious.  For some reason, your cervix is not responding and the baby's head is elongating.  This may be your baby's way of telling you that he needs some help."  PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DON'T SAY C-SECTION.

"I think we've done everything we can to follow your birth plan, but I'd like to start you on Pitocin."  Suddenly, that scene from The Business of Being Born flashed through my head with the frightening sequence of various Pit-crazed nurses and OBGYNs... "Start her on Pit.", "She's on Pit.", "It's time for a little Pit." "Pit, Pit, Pit."  Attention medical professionals of the world: Pitocin is NOT an equal substitute for Oxytocin.

But Wes and I were in agreement; something wasn't right.  I concluded that I was not in the 86% of Bradley couples experiencing a "normal" childbirth and we were out of options.  They hooked me up and I braced myself for what has often been described as murder.

And murder it was.  I always thought that there is a certain degree of pain that is so intense that your body just rejects it and you go into shock.  The only good thing about being eaten alive by sharks, I thought, is that you wouldn't feel the loss of limbs, etc.  Same thing with being burned alive.  Well, for roughly two hours, I endured a kind of pain just before the point of shock.  Actually, I kept waiting for my body to just reject the pain and for me to slip into a state of shock.  It never happened.  Wes talked me through each contraction and massaged my lower back.  He told me that I was doing a great job, that it would be over soon, and that he loved me.  He let me know when a contraction was about to begin, and when it was about to end.  I literally hung on his every word.  He told me later that he felt completely useless repeating himself a million times, but he'll never understand how crucial his role was.  I wouldn't have lasted half the time without him.

You know that movie Event Horizon where the spaceship accidentally travels to hell and back?  Well, I was the spaceship.  I watched the contraction grapher on the computer draw jagged lines that looked like Mt. Everest reaching far above the thin red line.  The nurse increased the intensity of the Pit every half hour.  After two hours, I was at a level 8 (8 ml/hr).

I asked her how many levels there were.  "30."

It was at that moment that I gave in.  It was not the kind of giving in that they talked about in class, not the surrendering to the pain to let labor happen.  No, I had already done that.  I was surrendering to the world of drugs.  Narcotics, hallucinogens, barbituates, whatever you've got...GIVE IT TO ME NOW.

I begged Wes to call my parents.  They've been so good at "fixing" things for me throughout my life, perhaps they could fix this.  Or maybe nothing could be done.  Even worse, maybe I wouldn't make it out of here alive after all.

I vaguely remember a nurse telling me that she would be starting me on Phentenol.  Someone mentioned the word "narcotic."  This would serve to hold me over until the anesthesiologist could break free from a long night of grueling C-Sections to administer the epidural.  Visions of a limp, drugged-out baby flashed through my mind as I silently apologized to Liam for not being able to give him the drug-free birth I had intended for him.  I put my trust in the medical professionals surrounding me and hoped that the horror stories of never-ending childbirth interventions would not apply to me.

My parents arrived just before the Phentenol kicked in.  I wish they hadn't seen me in my tortured and defeated state.  It wasn't pretty.  Definitely not my best moment.  My mother had gone through natural childbirth for two out of her three children.  I should have been able to do this, right?  I scrunched my face so tightly and closed my eyes attempting to disappear into a contraction and hopefully not DIE, when my mother got in front of my face and started shouting "Rachael- look at me!  Focus on something in the room!  Don't close your eyes!" I should have warned her ahead of time not to do everything she could to distract me from the pain, because there was NO distracting me from this kind of pain.  In a weird way, I had to focus on it to get through it.  I just had to survive.  In true Exorcist fashion, my head spun around a few times and I snapped back "I'M NOT DOING IT THAT WAY!" I had been taught for months to imitate a "sleep-state" while contracting and to visualize my cervix opening to let Liam down.  It was too late to relearn relaxation.  Sorry Mom, not going to happen.

Narcotics are wonderful things.  As the medicine flowed through my veins, I slipped into a sort of magical state...an alternate reality, if you will (That's for you, Wes.  Now you know why I don't care to watch Sci-Fi.  Already been there.)  I knew something awful was happening to me, but I didn't care.  I smiled for the first time in hours.  I was in a forest bower and the fairy sprites would be coming any minute to deliver Liam.   I probably couldn't tell you where I was or why I was there, but I felt great.

Time passed quickly from this point on.  Randy, the anesthesiologist and consequently the nicest man I have ever met (Wes told me later that he reminded him of Dr. Death...all business, no small talk, no smiles.  Whatever- he had the goods!) arrived and plugged in my epidural.  I've talked to many women who have claimed that the epidural needle is the worst part of labor.  LIES!  Okay, so it is like a foot long, but it was a summer day on the beach compared to the misery I had experienced.  It was actually kind of interesting--a little pressure and then ice water running down my spine, gradually numbing the pain I thought would never end.  My parents headed off to the waiting room as Wes and I tried to get some much-needed rest before the pushing stage (assuming everything went as planned and I didn't need a C-Section after all...fingers crossed.)

Tina came in to check my progress after about an hour of being on the epidural.  The nurse had cranked the Pit up to 30 ml/hr, so if there ever was a time for my cervix to wake up, this was it.

6 cm dilated.

YES.  Things were happening.  Now, all we had to do was wait for the Pit to do the rest of the job.  C-Section was not yet off the table.

The room was dark.  Quiet.  Softly in the background, my ipod was on its fourth repetition of my 7-hour "Labor Mix".  Every once in awhile, the automatic blood pressure machine would turn on to check my BP and then make that "Game Over" sound from an old Atari game.  Wes was sleeping like a baby (I've never understood that expression.  Babies are renowned bad sleepers.), or maybe more like someone who hasn't slept in days.  I didn't get one second of actual sleep.  I had some serious shakes.  I had seen this reaction to epidurals over and over again on Birth Day and Baby Story on TLC, so I knew it was considered "normal." It was aggravating to not be able to lie still, but I was counting my blessings.  I shut my eyes and breathed steadily and resigned myself to this state thinking, "This must be what it feels like to have Parkinson's.  Poor Michael J. Fox."

The deep breathing must have helped, because I was finally able to get a few minutes of real rest.  However, just as I settled in and got comfortable with the numbness and shaking,  I started to feel a confusing sensation of enormous pressure and movement within me.  Something was coming out whether I pushed or not.  I called for Wes, who was lying in a reclined chair beside my bed.  "Wes!  Weston!  Wake up! -  -  - Wes?  Are you okay?  Weston!  Hello??  Something's happening.  I have to push!  HELLO??!!"  He was dead to the world.  Totally unresponsive.  Didn't even flinch.  A few more minutes of this, and I was looking for the button I was told I could push in case of an emergency.  I couldn't find the dang button.  One would think they would make it more obvious!  I mean, this baby was coming OUT.

Finally, my loud yells stirred my unconscious husband, but it seemed that he was more drugged-out than even I was.  Maybe he slipped a bit of narcotics by Kathy the nurse while she wasn't looking.  I explained to him what was happening and that he needed to go find Kathy or Tina and tell them that I'm ready to push.  "Okay.  Wait...what?"  I tried to be as patient as a sleep-deprived, tortured, starving, laboring woman could be and explained things a couple more times and sent him on his way.

He came back with Kathy, my parents and my big brother, Bret (aka Scone Delivery Guy.)  Kathy checked me and calmly told me that I was a little over 9 cm with a small lip of cervix left, but that I could start pushing if I felt like it.  It was a little less anti-climactic than I had envisioned...no fireworks, applause, etc.  Just "push if you feel like it."  Awesome.

So I did.  When Tina came in, I really got down to business.  I had a second wind of energy that I didn't think existed, and I pushed with each contraction.  I kept thinking, "Why do I know when to push?  I thought I would be totally numb and someone would be counting for me..."  Tina told me that that's how the epidurals of the 90's worked.  Now, women are able to feel the pushing contractions without the pain so that they can better control the force of their pushes.  Wes held my left leg and my mom held my right.  I told Bret he could stay as long as he "didn't get up in my grill" and my dad was charged with being the labor/delivery photographer while overlooking the gory details.

Liam was coming.  After so many hours (I didn't even know what day it was at this point), he was really coming.  I focused on listening for his first cry.  Tina kept encouraging me "we're not done...keep pushing...you're doing great!"  Wes and my mom told me that they could see his hair.  It was dark and thick.  For some reason, this didn't surprise me because I had dreamed about a sweet little baby with big eyes and a dark brown mohawk.  45 intense minutes went by, but it felt like 10.  No one told me when his head was out.  (Maybe they were focused on my 2nd degree midline tear instead.)  They just kept talking about his hair and kept saying "He's almost here!"

And then, "reach down and grab your baby."

I've heard this moment described before as spiritual, the sweetest moment of your life, indescribable, etc.  It is all of those things and more.  As I reached down to grab my first-born son, all purple and slippery and fragile, as I heard my family weeping in the background, as I looked into his calm and knowing eyes, I knew that this was as close to heaven as I would possibly get on this earth.  I was so full of love and gratitude and joy that I was afraid I would explode.  I thought of all of the women I had talked to over the years who told me they didn't want to have children and I thought, "those people have NO idea what they're talking about."  There is no way to describe it, but believe me, you want this.  This is what life is all about.


This is love.

Liam Rawson Charles was born at 2:53am on October 27, 2009 weighing in at 8 pounds 1/2 ounce and measuring 21 inches long.  After 26 hours and a lifetime of waiting, I looked at my darling husband and my darling baby boy through tears, sweat and runny mascara, and I knew I was home.

And yes, it was all worth it.

Labor Story, Part I

For those who care...the story of how Liam came to be, literally.  


Every pregnant woman obsesses and agonizes over the exact moment at which labor will begin.  Well, at least, I did.  Will I be shopping the frozen desserts section at Albertson's when my water breaks?  Will my contractions start gradually or hit me like a ton of bricks?  Will it really feel like I'm being slowly eaten by sharks?


For those of us trying to avoid planned induction, we try to convince ourselves that knowledge is power.  You have CHOICES in childbirth.  For the most part, this is very true.  (Although, now I wonder if labor is the one area in life where ignorance really is bliss...)  They forget to remind you that you do NOT have a choice about when and under what circumstances your labor will begin.  You spend weeks...months...preparing and "planning" for a completely unpredictable and un-plannable event.  There is no book that can make you feel ready-- no friend's story that you can count on as yours to hope for.  You just-- wait.  You play hours and hours of Tetris Battle with your husband.  You try not to leave the house so that you don't have to worry about water breaking in a supermarket.  And you wait.  And you agonize.  And you play the "I wonder if today's the day" game.


And then your due date comes, and you're still preggo.  And the next day comes and goes.  And the next...

Wes and I got to bed late on Sunday night, October 25.  It was after midnight.  Just before I dozed off, I leaned over and told him "You know what would really suck?  If my labor started in the middle of the night, before we've had a good night's rest.  That would be terrible!"  It was literally not minutes later that I felt a sudden gush...


It was 12:40am and it had begun.


My water breaking was possibly the strangest physical feeling I had felt up to that point in life.  Hence, the "Holy $*@!!" expletive to which Wes violently awoke (I HATED that he could fall soundly asleep within minutes of hitting the pillow.  It always took me a good hour or two in my third trimester if I was fortunate enough to sleep at all.)  For a moment or two, I was frozen in shock as I lay there like a child who knew she was too old to be wetting the bed.  I laughed when Wes asked me if I was sure my water had broken and I immediately thought of Hugh Grant in the movie Nine Months who responds to Julianne Moore's water breaking with "We'll get you another!"


I waddled into the bathroom and grabbed some towels to clean things up.  The water just kept coming.  I was surprised at how much was there.  (They say to expect about 4 pints.)  My heart was beating fast.  The adrenaline was flowing.  Liam is coming today!  And then...OH CRAP WE HAVEN'T SLEPT I'M GOING TO BE EXHAUSTED...


I put the finishing touches on my hospital bag and tried to calm down and think things through.  I wanted to labor as long as possible at home because I despise hospitals and wanted to avoid being hooked up to anything as long I could get away with it.  I knew that once I was admitted, they wouldn't allow me to eat anything or go home if things were moving slowly.  I would be held hostage.  And the ONE thing I had control over was when I would arrive.

But, my water had broken.  (Less than 10% of actual labors begin with water breaking.)  Wes and I hadn't really studied this scenario.  What about risk of infection?  What about the penicillin drip I needed because I had tested positive for Group B Strep?  This was not the PLAN!

Contractions started within thirty minutes.  They were irregular at first.  10 minutes apart, 3 minutes, 5 minutes, 8 minutes.  They lasted between 45 seconds and 1 1/2 minutes.  I remember the Bradley book saying "Don't get excited too early."  But didn't that only apply to labors that started with contractions, not water?  I also remembered a million people telling me "Plan on things not going as planned."  And, voila!


Wes urged me to try to get some sleep so that I would have at least a couple of hours under my belt before the real work began.  HA.  YOU try sleeping through these things.  I was glued to his iphone for the next few hours as I logged each contraction into the "Labor Mate" contraction tracker (yeah, there's an app for that.)


We paged our midwife several times.  She could tell us if we should rush to St. Mark's or wait things out.  No response.  We even texted our Bradley instructor, but we knew she was on vacation in Chicago.  No response.  This was not how it was supposed to work!  We were on our own.  Contractions were getting stronger.  I had to start thinking my way through them.  


Squatting and sitting on the exercise ball felt good.  Wes made me an Egg McMuffin on a whole wheat bagel and had me eat some yogurt so that I would have at least some energy stored up for the work ahead.  Contractions were strong relative to what they had been and coming every 3 minutes or so.  They say the formula for deciding when to leave for the hospital is the 4-1-1 rule.  4 minute contractions, lasting 1 minute each for 1 hour.  It had been much longer than 1 hour.  


After much deliberation, we decided to leave for the hospital.  It was about 6:30am.  

Can someone please tell the Salt Lake Department of Transportation to repave 3900 South?  You would think that a road leading directly to a hospital over which thousands of laboring women must drive would be smooth and comfortable. Oh, no.  I felt like I was driving through a third world country.  Every pothole felt like we had experienced a head-on collision.  Having said that, Wes was a great driver despite the less-than-ideal circumstances.  


I was proud that I refused the wheelchair I was offered when we finally arrived.  I'm not an invalid!  I waddled my way up to Labor & Delivery and filled out the registration form that St. Mark's previously assured me I wouldn't have to complete immediately upon arrival.  I struggled to remember my own birthday.  I was happy that a room was available with a jetted tub, and didn't fathom then that I would not set foot in it my entire stay.  We distributed my "birth plan" to everyone involved, making sure they knew that we were fairly anti-intervention.  Yes, we were one of those weirdo "Bradley couples."


Amy was my first nurse.  A nice enough lady, but it didn't seem like she really appreciated that I was about to perform a miracle.  She acted like what she was doing was no more exciting or important than a  postal worker's daily duties.  Maybe I  would feel the same if I had to look at vaginas all day.  (Wes doesn't think I should write vagina in my blog.  VAGINA VAGINA VAGINA.)  Amy took my vitals, hooked me up to the external fetal monitor and insisted that she check to see how dilated I was.  I was hoping to wait until my midwife arrived, but we weren't the only ones having trouble tracking her down.  They would send me home if I was less than 5 cm dilated and if my membranes hadn't really ruptured.  I was fairly certain they had.  The hospital has a policy that once your water breaks and you're at the hospital, you MUST be admitted because you are at greater risk of infection.  


I had been 2 cm for over a week, so I had to at least be a 5 or 6 after all of the work I had been doing.  Amy proceeded to give me the most painful exam of my life.  Wes said it reminded him of the movie Fletch when Chevy Chase says "Did ya use the whole fist there, Doc?"  


3 cm dilated.  80% effaced.  


Umm....EXCUSE ME?  You have GOT to be kidding me.  After roughly 8 hours of labor, I had dilated a total of 1 cm.  My cervix must be broken, I thought.  If this is how it feels to dilate to a 3, what must it feel like from 3cm-10cm??  Sharks.  Great white sharks.  


Amy hooked me up to an I.V. for the penicillin drip.  What should have taken 15 minutes took over 2 hours.  In addition to the pain of a needle digging around in the veins on top of my hand, the concentration of the drug was excruciating.  It felt like someone stabbed me in the hand with a jagged knife, jiggled it around and then slit through my arm up to my elbow, like when you gut a fish.  Amy diluted the penicillin with so much saline that my dream of being very mobile during labor turned into just that.  


The next several hours went by very slowly as we awaited word from my midwife.  My contractions had stalled and my worst fears were coming to fruition.  I was trapped in a hospital, but I wasn't sick...


To be continued...

They're Here

I saw one of the most incredible things of my entire life night before last.  The view from our master bedroom faces west, and I happened to be looking out over the mountains at about 12:30am (trying to fall asleep) when, all of a sudden, the sky turned green and gradually got brighter and brighter until it seemed like daylight.  I woke Wes up as I started to panic that the end of the world was here.  

Then, a streaking flash of orange fell across the Utah sky which then turned into red, then bright white.  It looked like a comet, but WAY too close to be that...It seemed so huge and near, like it was crashing into Little Cottonwood Canyon.  Wes reminded me that a huge meteor killed off the dinosaurs, and things like this can be quite dangerous.  Awesome.

I was pretty sure that aliens had landed and had a hard time getting back to sleep (ironic, since it was the first time in many nights my sweet newborn baby slept 4 hours in a row.) Witnessing a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle made my lack of sleep a little less excruciating.

I told my family about what I had seen, and my brother replied, "No more weed before bedtime."  Seriously.  I swear I wasn't the only one who saw it!  Someone down in southern Utah even caught it on his security camera... They claim it was a type of meteor known as a bolide, but I still think it may be time for me to make myself one of these:

October 27, 2009

We have a new little man in our lives!  Weighing in at 8 pounds 1/2 ounce and 21 inches long, Liam was born at 2:53am on October 27th after a 26 hour marathon labor (more details on that to come).  He arrived with mohawk in-tact.  

Click on the adorable toes below to see more photos.  We're in love!

One Year (Plus a Few Months)

Wes and I celebrated our 1st anniversary this past June 14, 2009. I meant to write about it back in June, but I think I got distracted by a little guy named Liam... Everything they say about the first year of marriage is true. It can be difficult at times learning to adapt to someone else's living habits (yes, Wes leaves the lid up) and learning to mold two very different backgrounds into one, seamless, independent household. BUT, it is also wonderful. It really is an extension of the honeymoon.

And while I've often felt like I've been living some surreal life and at times "playing house," I've also appreciated every day that I get to spend hanging out with my best friend. I often wonder what I would be doing if I hadn't have married Wes. Grad school? Working for Glenn Beck? Beach bum? Honestly, there is nowhere I'd rather be. Every day, I find something new that I absolutely love about my husband that I didn't realize the day before and it just confirms that I made the right decision a year ago. I feel so lucky. Every day.

Although it took him a few decades to get here, I think Wes was made for marriage. He's just good at it, and he helps me be better at it. We want to be good for each other. Although I could probably come up with a million reasons why I love Wes, I'll share just a few:

1. He makes me laugh hysterically nearly every single day.
2. He is constantly trying to improve himself in every way a person can.
3. He thinks I'm most beautiful when I think I'm the least and tells me frequently.
4. He is encouraging and supportive of my interests and passions.
5. He likes to play and will forever be a kid at heart.
6. He has an incredible work ethic and hopes to teach the value of work to our children.
7. He sings with me, watches chick-flicks and plays Tetris endlessly with me just because he loves me.
8. He is open-minded and a critical thinker. We could talk politics for days on end.
9. He brings me breakfast in bed from time to time for no good reason.
10. He is quick to put others' needs ahead of his own (especially during my pregnancy).
11. He's really hot!

I love you, baby and I'm so happy we found each other!

Wes surprised me with a romantic dinner at The Roof in Salt Lake. I don't think I've ever eaten more in one sitting in my life. Check out the view!

After thawing out the top layer of our wedding cake, we reenacted our wedding day cake fight.

This time, Wes won.

Lydia cooked us a fabulous anniversary meal! What a great roomie.

June 14, 2008

The Cat's Out of the Bag

Well, the secret's out (not that we had anything to hide...)  A few friends of mine have hinted that if I don't announce this on my blog, then I'm not ACTUALLY pregnant.  I promise you,

I am.  I am pregnant with a GIANT, big-headed baby boy (estimates of his head size are in the 95th percentile), and I'm already head-over-heels in love with him.

Liam Rawson Charles is expected to join the Wes and Rachael Charles family sometime in late October (I hear that babies can't read calendars, so no need to put down a due date, eh?)  Life is about to change forever, and frankly, it already has.  This little guy consumes my thoughts.  I mean, how weird is it that I'm MAKING a PERSON right now?  I just can't get over that humans have the ability to turn a tiny egg and tadpole looking thing into a living, breathing, thinking, laughing, independent person that could literally change the world (hey, if our country can be fundamentally changed into something unrecognizable in a matter of months, why can't little Liam fix it?  I don't have high hopes or anything...)

Now, since I haven't really documented this pregnancy anywhere other than my personal journal (most entries begin with "Well, I still weigh less than Wes, but more than most of my guy friends), I'd like to share with the blogging world some tidbits about the past 33 weeks in the life of my family.

Wes found out that he was going to be a daddy on a snow-shoeing/mountain top adventure on February 14, 2009.  Many of you also will remember that he proposed to me on a similar outing (using his Braveheart proposal, no less) which just happened to be almost exactly one year prior (February 16, 2008).  And so it seems we have a little tradition... I put the positive preggo test in a little pink box with a silver bow, and had him open it at a hidden, wooded amphitheatre behind our house in Bear Hollow.  I'm pretty sure he thought the test was a thermometer at first.  Sharing the moment of realization with him was divine.  (I caught it all on camera, but for some reason I keep getting error messages when I try to upload it to the blog.  Someone help!  I'm sure you can imagine- hugs, tears, laughing, inappropriate comments about how great his "swimmers" are...)

Here's how I looked the day I found out I was going to be a mamma.  Don't I look totally ready to take on the world?  You should see me now.  Overly-tired, overly-large, overly-emotional.  Yes, I think RADIANT is the word you're looking for.  I literally want to KILL all of the women who say "I've never felt more beautiful than when I was pregnant."  Lies.  All lies.  Pregnancy is NOT a pretty time.

We first got to see Liam (but we didn't know Liam was Liam) on April 6, 2009 when my doctor couldn't pick up the tiny heartbeat with the Doppler and had to resort to a quick ultrasound.  He looked like a bean pod at the time- half head/ half body.  He even did a couple of dance-moves for us (the worm).  I still didn't think 8 weeks was too early to tell that he was cute.

At 19 weeks (June 1, 2009), we found out that he was a he.  My parents, Lydia and Wes were all there to make sure the technician got it right.  There was really no question- the little guy was completely spread-eagle (I'll leave that picture out of respect for the future adult-Liam, who I'm sure values his dignity.)  I had a feeling he was a boy pretty early on (I have proof in my journal) and I know Wes was hoping for a he, so we couldn't have been more excited when we got confirmation.  One of my favorites below is his little foot.  Is it just me, or are his toes RIDICULOUSLY cute?

Our first family photos (Note that my mom brought one pair of girl shoes and one pair of boy shoes to the ultrasound):

I agreed to let Weston complete a list of his top five boy names and I would choose the final name from that list.  I should've known he would come up with this (June 16, 2009):

OK,  I've put a lot of thought into this, and here's our final 5 names from which you can choose:

1)  William Wallace Charles, "What will you do with that freedom?!!  Will you fight?"

2)  Aragorn - we can also call him "Stryder" from time to time.  He will be one of the last of the Dunadain, the rangers from the north, descended from the ancient kings.

3)  Maximus Decimus Meridus - "Death smiles at us all.  All a man can do is smile back."

4)  Starscream - evil cohort fighter jet of Megatron.  Has a really cool voice.

5)  Any of the names Bronco Mendenhall used to name his three boys - "Breaker, Cutter, or Raider".

Good luck in slimming it down, and I love you!

Wes

A few minutes later, I received this:

OK, the serious list (just because I know you wouldn't go for the others):

1)  My favorite is Liam.  It's not just because of Liam Neeson, or even because of Braveheart, I just love the name.

2)  Tristan - Love this name, although it can be a girl's name too.  Hard to make fun of, I like the sound of it, and of course, Tristan was a knight of the Round Table.  Hey, at least I didn't pick Galahad!

3)  Nathan - We would call him "Nate", probably - I love the name and he was my best friend in HS and part of college.

4)  Jasper - nothing to do with "Twilight", just think it's a great guy name.

5)  Still not in love with "Cole", but I'll include it since you like it so much.

Tell me what you think...

And so, Liam Rawson Charles came to be.  It just felt right, and I think our son will appreciate that we didn't end up with "Jasper."  (No offense to all the Jaspers out there- that's just not my boy's name.)

My first pregnancy has been...interesting.  I hear stories of women who were sick for nine months straight, and I thank the heavens that I wasn't.  I got "evening sickness" for about three weeks in my first trimester, and it went away in the second- but that was replaced by almost daily headaches.  I've never felt more tired and slow in my life.  I lasted about five months being preggo at work, and then threw in the towel.  Now, I go in and "consult" occasionally.  Much better.  Sitting in a cubicle nine hours a day is exactly NOT what preggo-women are supposed to be doing.  My hat is off to all of the women who stick with it or are forced to and am so grateful that I had a choice. 

I'm now well into my third trimester and am just at the point where I'm becoming permanently miserable.  I won't get into the specifics, because some are just, well…gross.  I take comfort in the fact that most women tell me it’s all worth it.  But now I understand what my mom was talking about when she said "I would have rather gone through natural childbirth every day for a week than go through nine months of pregnancy."  

Of course, it hasn't all been miserable.  There are times when I feel Liam playing in his little home, and I feel SO connected to him.  It's crazy- he has a sleep and play schedule already and he seems to have very little regard for day versus night.  I love to feel him react when Wes and I sing together or when I play piano- I think he wants to join in!  I’ve had extremely vivid dreams about him.  I remember one where he was lying on his back on the floor sporting a tiny mohawk, and I was on all fours above him giving him Eskimo kisses and nuzzling his face.  I remember feeling a kind of love for him that was SO powerful, it’s hard to even put into words. Wes had a similar dream involving Liam and a little girl (next in line?) playing at our bedside.  He told me that they knew he was their daddy and it was totally different than the way our nieces and nephews look at him.  I think that’s how it’s going to be, actually.

So, I apologize that I haven’t been more resolute in keeping up with the preggo-blogging, but there are definitely more to come before Liam arrives.  Look for one soon on why I’ve decided to try my very hardest to have an unmedicated, natural birth…

And since these seem to be in high-demand, enjoy some preggo-pics!

Summertime, and the Living is Easy

Now that the weather is allowing for time spent outdoors, my Dad and I are taking advantage of the beauty of Park City by doing a bit of hiking.  He loves to tell me all about the wildflowers, birds, and weeds that we see along the way...

Dangit, I can't remember what this one is called.

Oh!  What is that girl eating that is making her belly so HUGE?

Saturday, June 20, the Spanish Branch threw an "asada" for the Jensens who have moved to Bountiful.  We'll miss those guys!

Wyatt did a great job as the farmer in the Utah Dance Center's rendition of The Wizard of Oz at Kingsbury Hall on June 18. 

12th Annual JudgesRun 5K- June 13.  Bret's boss and our dear friend, Peter Stirba, formed the Judgesrun Foundation in memory of his wife, Utah Judge Anne Stirba who battled breast cancer and passed away several years ago while their daughter, Emily Stirba and I were at Princeton together.  Bret's family, Wes, Lydia and I were able to participate this year.

Lydia won a prize for traveling the farthest to get to the Judgesrun (all the way from New Jersey!)  I still think I should've gotten a Preggo-Prize!

We are so grateful to Peter Stirba for helping Lydia land her summer job at the Huntsman Cancer Institute.  We hope that she makes some great contacts while she's here so she can complete her residency in Utah.  While parents frequently tell their children that they can do anything, Lydia is really the only one I know who is actually working on finding a cure for cancer.  I guess she took her parents seriously.

Wes and Lydia finished the race in about 30 minutes and I walked it in 55, so they came back to see me through to the finish line.  Go team!

Wyatt is a little athlete!  He skipped his way through the race and finished with a great time.

Rachael and Lydia are for healthy breasts.

Wes's new best friend is 2 month old Peter Jackson, born to our dear friends, Molly and Vic who lost their precious little girl, Lucy last year in a tragic accident.  Molly and Vic are an inspiration to everyone who meets them and we feel so lucky to have found them.  

My last day at Zane Benefits, Inc and 2nd anniversary there was June 11.  While sad to say goodbye, I'm proud of the work we've done as a team to get the company where it is today.  From left to right: Ben Dilts/CTO, Debbie Graybill/Accountant, Sam Clarke/New Guy, Tyler King/Software Developer, Rick Lindquist/Health Benefits Specialist, Paul Pilzer/Founder & Chairman, me/Senior Benefits Consultant, Alison Wistner/CFO.

Isaac was featured in the Park Record last month after having participated in the Asian Occasion at the Summit County Library.  Wearing his authentic "hanbok", he was the sweetest little Korean baby ever.

I got skunked again while fly-fishing the Weber, but at least I got to see the munchkins!  I WILL catch a fish this summer.