How to postpartum like a boss

I used to be a fool when it comes to postpartum.
I bet we kinda all were. And not because we didn't mean well!
I couldn't wait to use my new sling. I couldn't wait to show my baby off to people. I couldn't wait to put her in a miniature pair of baby jeans (cringe!). And so I did all those things. And I felt like shit.

I just don't think there is a better way to say it than that.

I remember coming home from going out for the afternoon with Hero at 7 days postpartum. After we got back to our tiny apartment I came down with a fever. I was probably wearing the cutest non-comfortable outfit I could squeeze into. I probably didn't think that 7 days after giving birth required anything of me other than "getting back to normal." Life went on, and I urged it faster. In fact, that's the way I parented, too. Smile, laugh, roll over, sit, crawl, walk, run, milestone, milestone, grow, grow, grow.

When I think back on my postpartum times (for the most part) I remember being exhausted, being emotional, being upset at Kirby for not doing enough, feeling fragile, feeling sad, and feeling weak. And then I got pregnant with Peter... And by the time I had him, I had interacted with enough wise mothers who had screwed up enough to know better and they told me what to do and I listened. After five babies I could finally say I did it right. I'm not saying you have to do it like me. Maybe you've already got your postpartum flow down and you need no such advice. In that case, a w e s o m e.

But if you are struggling or feeling like postpartum life is the worst and like you don't know what you should or shouldn't be doing then let this be the advice for you. Maybe you will even nail it on the first try. It's the easiest and harrrrrdest thing to do after you have a baby. (And it's only one line of advice long).

Stay in bed for as long as humanly possible.

That's it.
Stay in bed.

Don't put your baby in the sling, don't go hang out with people, don't go out to lunch and get fevers. Just stay in bed. When I get stir crazy you know what I do? I go to the couch. Party time.

And this isn't because I'm recovering from major surgery or suffering from a third degree tear or anything. It's for two simple reasons: 1. I just had a baby 2.  I need it.

And sometimes it's super duper hard to give ourselves what we need.

Now I realize that some moms can just go, and they are happier that way! I get that. But it took me too long to realize that that's not me. And I don't want you to spend too much time thinking that should be you if it isn't. Don't spend four days, don't spend four weeks, and certainly don't spend 4 entire babies feeling like a shell of a person trying to figure it out (moi -_-).

I am lucky, lucky enough to have a husband that can generally take a week off work after we have a new baby. Not everyone can do that and I wish it were longer but I am grateful for what we get. Since Peter's birth we developed an agreement- I take care of the baby (from bed), and you take care of every other thing. Of course the kids come in and cuddle up and we spend a really lovely amount of time together, bonding and recovering and adjusting as a family. But when I've had enough I don't hesitate to send them packing (w/ luv). I kiss them all and send them off and shut the door and power down. And it's theeeee best.

I had to do away with all my (mainly pointless) standards for our other kids and our house. You have to do that, too. They are your kids and it is your house together, remember? Tryyyyy to not care. I still have to try. It's not easy. Are your kids eating Cheetos for dinner? DO NOT CARE. Are people sliding tiny toys and other various objects underneath your locked bedroom door? DO NOT CARE. Are there dishes spilling out of the sink? DO NOT CARE. Is your husband doing a lot of day drinking? DO NOT CARE. Believe it or not, dads can keep people alive and even really, really happy. LET THEM. (Although let the "happy" part be way insignificant. All you care about is alive. Take note.)

Dads: DO IT. And don't make her ask. Just do it. Don't act stressed out or exhausted because it will make her feel super guilty and then she'll get out of bed and try and take over. I know you probably are (stressed, exhausted, etc.), but just take this one for the team. It's good for you. Here is an easy script for you to refer to in the future:

"Hey ______. I'm taking care of everything so I don't want you to stress. I want you to lay in this bed with our new baby and relax. I love you. You need this. I'm taking care of everything else, ok? And we are all doing great. Everyone is fine. Holler for me when you want something to eat. I'm locking the door so the kids won't bug you. Here is a cup of tea and an iPad."

And here is why you need this... yes because your body is healing, yes because you're bleeding and achy and recovering from an array of possible injuries to your everything. But also because you are going back to life soon. You and your sweet new baby are going back. At some point, a day or two or a week or 6, your husband or your helper or whoever is there to keep you locked in your room is going to leave for the day or for the night. And you are going to have to walk out of that den of bliss and face the life that is yours. And maybe if you have a lot of kids like me, your new baby will be passed around from lap to lap to bouncer to swing to lap and it will be real, real hard to get back to the days of just you two in bed with no one else around. I know this isn't gospel- but I know it's what I need. And I regret not doing it sooner, I really do.

I look at that one week postpartum as a little sacred space that I will never get back. It's a space where, for the most part, it's just that brand new baby and me. And I'm selfish about it. And not sorry. Life will keep plummeting forward rapidly and I won't ever stop it. But I can have a week with a floppy new baby on my chest in my bed and I'll take it. And I'll protect it.

AND IF THAT DOESNT TUG AT YOU MOTHERLY HEARTSTRINGS KNOW THIS... (super practical advice I got from my midwife with Peter)
When you have a baby you are recovering from an injury that is deeply internal. Your blood needs to stay concentrated there to bring essential nutrients to heal your organs and make you strong again. When you get up and walk around, your blood abandons your core and flows into your extremities, which can massively prolong your recovery. Stay rested and keep yourself down as much as you can. Just think of your organs! They need you!

**(resting, thinking of my organs, etc.)**

When Kirby goes back to work I feel recharged and ready for life. I'm actually excited for it because being in bed gets boring after a while. I am bonded with my new baby and have stored up a zillion sweet memories of our first week together. Physically, I feel strong- I'm hardly bleeding, I'm rested. I've spent lots of time really focused on my baby and being connected, so I'm happy. And I'm happy seeing him passed all around, enjoyed by every member of our family. I had him all to myself and I know how good he is.

Maybe this isn't going to be your style, but hear me when I say you need as much chill as you can get and you can't feel bad for it. Your body did a huge thing and your heart just got cracked wide, wide open. Feed yourself all the rest and newborn snuggles and Netflix binging and chocolate you can handle. Take a nap, take a bath, day drink. Life will come rushing back and your baby will suddenly be six weeks old and you'll be wishing for a week in bed alone with him. And you won't be wishing for a floppy baby in baby jeans at a busy restaurant at a week postpartum... trying to be normal... with a fever. You'll never, ever wish for that.

Parenting Amnesia

Is this a thing? I think it's a thing.

Lately, Peter has been super duper Jekyll and Hyde-y with baby Joe.  One minute it's hugs and sloppy 20-month old kisses, the next minute it's WHAM full throttle, flat-palmed slap on the face. Pobrecito! Lo violento! Or a poke in the open newborn eye. Or a bite on the teensy newborn foot. Que triste!

And you'd think that I've got a fully loaded bag of tricks at this point, that I should just know how to parent a tiny toddler baby who beats upon a tiny newborn baby. Yeah, like, why do I not have a post titled Top 10 tricks to Get Your Old Baby to Stop Being Violent to Your New Baby or How to Punish Very Small Children? It's because I have no idea.

Q: How would you respond to a toddler slapping a newborn. A: yo lo se.

Lately, I've found myself just whipping any old consequence out of the book for Peter when he busts a move on bb Joe. A toss in the crib here, a robust "NO, NO GENTLE" there, a little hand smack here, some standard ignoring there. Zero consistency, zero progress, zero method. A recipe for success if you ask me!

But the thing is, I feel like I did know how to manage crisis' such a this once upon a time. I mean, I had to have, right? I've done this already! It's just that I don't know now. I have super mush brain and when I brought it up to a friend she confirmed that super mush brain is actually a thing postpartum, and that it can take up to 7 years to recover full brain capacity after having a child and that made me just Zzzzzzzzz time for many naps.

I know I need to basically just pick my poison and be consistent but he's such a baby still himself. I think disciplining someone Peter's age is super silly and pointless (for the most part) but I want to try to get him to get it! Kick/bite/poke/slap baby = no. I'm thinking plopping him in his bed when he isn't gentle with the babe is the best course of action but the violence mostly happens when I'm nursing and 1/2 of my arms is tucked under baby and incapable of blocking Petey boy and his flailing appendages. So do I get alllll the way up to throw him in his crib? Do I just keep tossing out my random consequences even though they are flippant and potentially unhealthy? Should I buy and read multiple books like this? Do you think Peter is just jealous cuz Joe has more hair than him? Should I send him to boarding school? SOS.

But, really, they are the cutest.

There are just 7 quick things I have to tell you rn

Goodness there is always time to squish in a couple (7) takes, huh? In no particular order...

1. Yesterday I decided that I was ready enough for my inaugural postpartum workout. I was 20 minutes in and cursing the fates because I had spent about 4 min halfass crunching and about 16 min being buried under the weight of my various children. I had recently ventured to Target and picked up a few "tummy tucking" nursing tanks and so I was wearing one. A white one. With flab spilling in various directions and nursing pads fully glorified in big, obvious circles on my chest. I had just sprawled out on the rug about 3 feet from my front door (why do I make these choices??) to do some halfass leg lifts when KNOCK KNOCK and peering over my shoulder I see two Mormon missionaries staring down at me through the screen door. So, obviously all I could do is ask them to hold on and scuttle to my room to put on a shirt. And then drown in my shame. (WHICH I DID) (Why they didn't have the decency to quietly turn away upon seeing me leg lifting on the floor I'll never know...)

2. Joe was baptized a few weeks ago and it was so beautiful (always!) Our dear friend/confessor Fr Paul Donlan baptized him in a private little baptistry where we could be "as loud as we wanted," he said. OK, Padre, will do. Peter went into a full on tailspin over not being able climb up inside the baptismal font and swim around and yelled the e n t i r e length of the baptism because of it. Father Paul suggested that he direct the prayers of exorcism towards Peter and finally Kirby had to take one for the team and stand outside of the glass doors wrangling the demoniac while we went on with the baptism. Anyway, it was still perfect and here are a bunch of cute pictures to prove it.

 (father + godfather = not twins)

 (godmother + mother = not twins)

 (All kids together for a pic = biggest lol)

3. If you've been missing pics of Joe it's because he has the worst case of baby zits I've ever witnessed. It's embarrassing, frankly. (JkjkJK)! I slathered some coconut oil on him once and I also bathed him ONCE (since his first hospital bath. Perhaps this is the problem??) Do you guys have any other tips? Should I just not care and move on cause I kinda 75% am.

4. Since we are on the topic of slathering and hygiene, let me share an epiphany I had today. I follow a few essential oil enthusiasts on IG and I'm always so impressed by their commitment and slathering practices. So often they talk about their oil regiments and what they apply to their kids every morning and every night and I'm just flabbergasted by this. I mean, I'm sure it does amazing things and that's why all the committed oil applying but I sort of feel like my kids are basically on their own when it comes to health and wellness. Let's take teeth brushing, for example. I think I walk into the bathroom about every three days and find a few sticky toothpaste tubes and about 15 toothbrushes and I stuff them all back into the cabinet and just sort of cross my fingers that they are *actually* brushing their teeth. I honestly have no idea. How could I slather oils on the bi-daily when I can't even tell you whether or not my kids are brushing their teeth or just sucking on the end of a toothpaste tube or neither? Is it my serious lack of parenting skills to blame or am I normal? (Plz refrain from answering that).

5. I know this is being covered by virtually everyone but if you care anything for the Bach franchise this is where it is all the way at.

6. Bosco. I feel a particular affection for this baby since his mother endured QUITE the text inundation from me during my whole pregnancy and labor and hospital stay. And then he came just 3 days later! It is really special to spend a whole pregnancy alongside a friend and end up having babies within days of each other. The other day I was recalling this to Kirby and I said "They (he and Joe) are basically twins!!" and he said, "No, no. Actually they are not even close to being twins" (based on the fact that they don't even share a mother, etc.) but I still feel like well, basically!

7. I am sorta following Jenna's model by devoting numero siete to GRAN HOTEL ARE YOU WATCHING STOP READING START WATCHING DIRECTLY!!!!!!!!!!!11 This show is such a part of me now I find myself dreaming in Spanish. **All the th's** Plus, it's subtitled so it counts as reading not watching. Zing!

*Bonus pic of baby "nursing my mouth" as Clem says. O__o

Summer Jammies

Of course I found the time to bust out a three parter, birth story novel, but I have no idea how I really did it. Where oh where is blogging going to squash into days that are mostly dishes, meals, nursing, wiping, crying, The Bachelorette, Gran Hotel, rinse, repeat? Oh and end of night dishes dance parties. Somehow there is always time for that.

So, I made you a mixtape.



It's mostly a mashup of songs that totally contradict each other. I also painstakingly**  hunted for edited versions of the ones that require editing so now you can listen while folding laundry amidst your children or kicking them back into bed 97864048689450 times at night (ala moi). It should be noted that Drake's If You're Reading This It's Too Late belongs here but I couldn't find any edited tracks and ooooh boi. Y do I enjoy such explicit musical styles? K, here is a photo of my baby for you to see.

**jk it was easy, I just typed "edit" after the song title.

Happiest of Wednesdays!

A grade A birth with a side of WTF: When a baby comes out at the end

So, where were we?

4.5 centimeters, Jess there, husband not there, epidural in, epidural not working, much despair.

Well, actually, almost much despair. I was mostly laying on my left (as the authorities that be so instructed), with my hands clenched around the bed rail, just begggggging God for this epidural to spread all over my whole belly like a thick, rolling fog that swallows up the land. Teetering on the edge of my right shoulder was a tiny baby angel voice that kept whispering "I am the handmaid of the Lord etc..." but mostly that sweet little voice was getting pushed way aside by WORK, DRUGS, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, WORK!

At some point in there (maybe around 2:45ish) the anesthesiologist repositioned the catheter in my back ("maybe it veered to the right," he said) (it probably just won't work said nursey).

Gosh, the more I think of it, she wasn't a very nice person in those moments, was she?

So, the cath was repositioned but there was still no change. I was moaning and groaning on my left side as the contractions kept slamming me. Sweet Jess was there with her soothing words... You got this, you got it... My ob came in a few minutes to 3 o'clock to check on me. He was clearly upset that the much awaited for epidural was a flop which made me love him so much in that moment. He checked me and I was a 6. In hindsight, I realized this should have surprised me. I went from 4.5 to 6 in 45 minutes. But I was so intensely focused on my current predicament, simultaneously trying to beg my epidural into submission and handle my intense contractions that I didn't want to be handling, that it didn't register to me that I was progressing faster than before. I still assumed I would be laboring for hours, I still hated that I was laboring so.damn.hard.

Kirby got there at 3 and Jess took off. Between contractions I filled Kirby in on my failed epidural, and he mocked my epidural obsession by telling me that even the valet guy new I was here for the epi. Then he mocked himself for being the deadbeat dad who shows up 2 hours after his wife checked in. The nurse at the desk had asked him if we had the same last name, my nurse had asked if anyone would be joining me today. It felt good to laugh and be with him at last.

Maybe it was the laughing, or being in the presence of my baby daddy, but my contractions took a leap into another level after he got there. I was LOUD. Like, those yell-moans you do when you're pushing a baby out-loud. After a few of those in a row I asked Kirby to go ask for the anesthesiologist. He had mentioned earlier that the only other option if things still weren't working properly was to redo the epidural entirely. I was not leaving any stone left unturned here so I told K to tell the nurse I was ready for epidural try no. 2. Get it in me!

I should probably mention that the meds were def working in my legs. They felt heavy, like a thick, wool blanket was over me, but that was it! I could feel all touch and I could lift my legs and wiggle my toes and errthing. Definitely not "dead dog" style like my nurse so pleasantly described. If anything, I feel like he administered it perfectly. It just... wasn't perfect. OH! I'm also just now remembering that the battery pack on my epidural drip kept beeping the entire time. I feel like everyone that came to look at it just kinda jostled it and wacked it a few times and shrugged like they had NO IDEA how to resolve the beep (NEW BATTERIES). But you know when you're helplessly in the middle of hard labor and even if you want to communicate something you just cant? I'm pretty sure Jess had told someone to change out the battery pack but I'm not positive if it ever got done. Can there be any more epi problems happening in this short but painful window of time?? Me thinks not.

Ok, so now it is about 10 minutes after 3. The anesthesiologist comes in but I'm starting to feel some pressure during my contractions. They can't be more than 30 seconds apart at this point and are wildly intense. As he begins to prep his supplies, the nurse decides to check me juuuussst in case. 8 cm. Again- I do not register this! It's been 15 minutes or so since the doc checked me at a 6 but all I can see is a red, flashing PAIN sign. I want her hand OUT of my body and new epidural IN my back. STAT. The anesthesiologist tells me to lay on my left side and be still. OK. He peels the tape off my back and I feel him removing the tubes and cleaning my back and prepping to start allllll over, nice and fresh like. And then the contraction of all contractions hits me. And looking back, I know I've felt this contraction before but I didn't think about that then. It's the grand finale of all contractions. Do you know what I'm talking about? It peaks and starts to mellow out a leeeeeetle bit and then WHAM, PEAK, and then it mellows a bit and then WHAM, PEAK AGAIN. And it maybe does that 4 or 5 times before the intense pressure of baby takes over? Well, that's the one. It started when he began prepping me for the second epi and it lasted the entire time he spent placing it. This poor dude. He had to have been sweating unmedicated bullets trying to place this epidural. Meanwhile, I started to shout PRESSURE PRESSURE PRESSURE and the nurse gives me a very serious talking to. Do NOT push, you are in control, I need you to breathe, you are IN control, breathe. And she was convincing! I managed to stop baring down and started to breathe. In the fuzz of this forever peaking contraction and pressure and remembering how I had to stay perfectly still for this whole second epidural business, I heard her call for the doc. She sounded verrrrry cheerful and calm as she paged him to come in now, right now. And in my head all I could think of was how I needed to incline this freaking hospital bed! I knew the baby was coming and I was not pushing flat on my back, on my left side. (SO over the damn left side at this point!) As soon as I felt him finish taping all the saran wrap on my back, I rolled over and hit the incline button. The moment was like one (funny) fluid dance between the anesthesiologist, the ob, and me. In one movement, the anesthesiologist pushed his stool away from my bed, I rolled on my back and started to push while I hit the incline button, the doctor swept in, pulling on his baby-catching shirt as he walked and he sat right down at the foot of my bed.

I remember him saying "I'm here, I'm supporting you." And in those chaotic few seconds with the inclining bed and the anesthesiologist scootching back and the doctor sitting down, with that one push in that one moment where time slows all the way down, the baby's head was out. And I felt it all, without any pain! All the pressure, the relief of having just pushed a head out of your body, all of it. No ring of fire, no stretching, burning, etc. It. was. awesome. I peeked up and saw Kirby bopping around above everyone's shoulders trying to catch a good view of the birth of his child (realizing later that he had been asked to stand back for the epi placement and never made it back into the inner circle as the baby was being born. HA! Deadbeat dad move no. 47)

"One little wiggle for the shoulders" and I pushed again and my baby was born at the foot of the hospital bed. It was 3:20 pm. 2 hours and 20 minutes after I waddled into the hospital at 3 centimeters, 20 minutes after Kirby got there, 2 epidurals and 2 pushes later.

And then that post birth glory/insanity swept over me. As soon as I saw him I realized how badly I wanted him right on me, right now! My second thought was- this hospital gown is a problem!! So (naturally) I reached down to the hem and pulled THE ENTIRE GOWN UP OVER MY HEAD like a puffy Victorian collar. As the doctor was (briefly) suctioning him at the foot of the bed I started to yell GIVE ME MY BABY! GIVE ME MY BABY! with my arms outstretched. If you are wondering if this all means I was a fully naked, arms reaching, yelling, happy crying, psychopath woman with a baby at the foot of my bed the answer is YES. Just like that crazy pushing moment that felt like hours even though it was just a moment, I feel like I reached out yelling there forever. But after just a fraction of time, my baby boy was up on my chest and we were buried in warm blankets and I met Kirby's happy crying eyes, too. And it was heaven.

Oh, the glory of that moment. It is the very best.

The warm blankets were thee best. Some nurse, somewhere snuck a hat on the baby and we just laid there. Meanwhile, all the rest. Placenta, removal of tubes and tape, cleaning up, fresh chux pads, more blankets, some new lady hustling around spraying rubbing alcohol on every surface of the room. And then silence. Everyone left and it was just us three. Basking in the joy and craziness and hilarity of the entire situation. "Do you realized you almost missed the birth?" "Do YOU realize there is a giant bag of pee hanging off the side of your bed?" "Can you believe this is done?? We are done! I'm not pregnant anymore!" "Thank God" "He is so cute, huh?" "I am so happy" "I am so happy" "I am so relieved" "This is so great" "I can't believe it's over"...

After an hour or so the nurses started to trickle back in. The baby had nursed and pee'd all over my belly and I felt wonderful. I asked the nurse if the anesthesiologist had even re-hooked the epidural bag to the tubing. She said he hadn't had time and that all he could do was give me whatever he had in the syringe as he finished up the epi placement. I think it worked perfectly that time, as I had no after birth crampy pain for hours after the baby was born. I also realized later that I had no discomfort in the immediate moments after the baby was born. I always HATE being examined and checked for tears after giving birth. It's like someone rifling around in an open wound. But I didn't feel any of that! I still felt all touch and I was totally aware of everything that was going on with my body, just no pain. And let me tell you, even a semi-failed epidural is worth it for lounging with your moments-old baby, pain free, under a pile of hot blankets. It was so worth it. Exclamation point!

**(I'm actually remembering now that I did realize how gloriously pain free the post birth tear-check was because Kirby mentioned later how funny he finds me after I have a baby and am in my no shame/no social boundaries emotional state. I guess I was saying all sorts of fun things to my doctor like "OH MY GOODNESS I love that you are checking me (insert more colorful language here) and I don't EVEN CARE!" But really, I didn't. And it was awesome.)

When it was time to move us to the recovery room, I sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched my back out like I'd been asleep for months. And in a way, it felt like I had. The final months of pregnancy can turn your body into a foreign thing. Suddenly I could move and bend and stretch and it felt glorious. Kirby grabbed my bags and the nursed wheeled Joe and I up to our room and it felt glorious. He grabbed take out and I dipped my onion rings in ranch and it was glorious. Chocolate shake. Glorious. Lounging in our room together, replaying the day and laughing. Glorious. Saying goodnight as K went home to be with the kids for the night, and tucking in with my new baby in our quiet, dark hospital room. Glorious. Baby Joe, 8.1 oz, 21 inches long. Glorious. Nurse button for the endless request for Motrin and cranberry juice on ice. Glorious.

XO

A grade A birth with a side of WTF: When we start hearing the words "cervix" "membranes" "catheter", etc

So, a full 48 had gone by and zero contractions. I was so happy, though. My mind/body/soul felt so tired and I was happy to be sleeping and not laboring like a semi-normal human being. That Friday I had my scheduled 39 week appointment (I was 39 + 3 days) and had already planned to have my doctor check me and (if it was possible) strip my membranes to see if that could get things going. I was really hoping this little plan would work because A. it was day time and that would cancel out middle of the night frenzy which I was already feeling -___-  about and B. it would maximize Kirby's time off work (weekend + week off+ weekend). So, I drove off early the morning of Friday, June 12 to get to my 7 am appointment (I know, worst/earliest appt time ever). Kirby and the kids were still asleep as I snuck out and I had a super good feeling about the day. You know when your mood just shifts? For the first time since the hospital fail I imagined going into labor that day and I felt happy.

In the office my ob checked me and I was 2 cm so he was able to sweep my membranes. Woo! Step one. He offered to have me come back at 11:30 to sweep them again if things hadn't gotten started by then and I said yes, please and thank you. I got back home around 8:15 and started having contractions by 8:30. They were mild but steady and much closer together than my Tues. night special. Kirby left for work but I told him I thought the strippage (word?) had done the trick so I would be in touch. Side note: In the weeks prior Kirby had accepted a job at another company so this Friday was to be his last day with his current employer. We both wanted him to work as much as he could that day so that he could finish off all his projects, etc. I had fully expected him to get a full day in anyway as my labors are not the quickest, so off to work he went. My plan was to get the laundry going, re-pack my bags, get the kids set up with the sitter, and head back to Ventura around 11. If I was still contracting, at least my ob could check me again and see if anything was really happening. If I was truly in early labor, I figured I could walk around and kill time and be near the hospital and ready to go when things got serious. As I got the laundry going and kept moving, the more my contractions kept coming. I loaded a contraction timer app on my phone and took all the kids on a walk around the block. They were coming every 3-4 minutes on average and I had been home for almost two hours. YES. This is really it, I thought. I'm in labor.

My mom came by to walk a bit with us and hang till the sitter could come. I put my bags in the car and tucked Petey in for his nap and drove off. Maybe it seems crazy that I was alone but it felt GOOD. I felt like a wild birth adventurer and I liked it. I got in to see my doc around 11:45 and I told him things were def happening. He checked me and I was a 3. Even though I was still in the cervical dislike zone, I was so pumped to know things were putzing along. I told him my plan was to hang out, maybe walk the mall (so basic), and keep things moving until I was really, really in active labor. My contractions were getting stronger but they were still totally manageable and as much as I didn't want to be the lady giving birth in admitting, I also didn't want to be the lady jumping the gun cause I already did that and unfun. He told me to hang close by and make sure I called him when I was heading over so that he could give the nurses a "heads up" aka do not send this poor girl home. I jumped in my car around noon and made a little mental checklist- I would go drop a prescription off at the pharmacy, drive through the bank, finish saying the rosary, pick up the 'script, and re-access my situation after those things. As I drove off I had a string of pretty good contractions but I knew I was still only 3 cm so I tried not to get too hung up on how I was feeling ((eyeroll)).

I drove down the street into the pharmacy parking lot and sat for a minute for a contraction. Then I drove up the road to the bank and had a few more contractions. Then back to the pharmacy while I pitifully and speedily muttered the last sorrowful mystery, contraction, park car, contraction. It struck me that I was "ooooooohing" with my head back on the headrest and I thought to myself DO NOT BE THIS GIRL. Do not be all alone, in labor, moaning in your car, very much NOT in the hospital, all because you don't want to go there too soon.

You are being this girl, you are moaning in your car, all alone, running errands, in labor.
And this is your sixth baby.
And you want an epidural.

Right, I told myself. I'm going in. It was about 12:30. I picked up my meds and drove across the street to the hospital valet drop.

I very awkwardly told the post-pubescent valet that I was in labor and I slithered my wide, XL body out of the drivers seat. I grabbed my bag + pillow and waddled into admitting. I texted Kirby and let him know I was headed in but to stay put for now, I was fine on my own and only 3 cm and I would keep him posted once I was upstairs. I felt oddly confident/like a bad ass b and still really happy to be alone. I also figured I could spare Kirb the hour in triage with the monitors and the potentially heavily laboring stranger. That dude needed to finish the work day and I could take triaging on my own for a while.

I signed my name on a few papers, tried to look not awkward through a few contractions and felt very *all the single ladies* as I got into the elevator with my bag + pillow. Back up to the second floor, back to the nurses station, back. But guess what? Boom! No triage! I realize what that warning call to the doc meant. Right this way, Mrs Fike, we have your room ready for you. It all felt very fancy and upper clazz in a hospitally sort of way. I got into my room and my nurse met me there. I felt all those wild, fun emotions I felt when I first came to the hospital a few days earlier. I was here, in the place I would have my baby. It was all happening! I got on my gown and hopped on the bed for my intake questions and all that (total pro now thanks to false alarm night test run). I hummed my way through a few contractions while she typed and strapped monitors on me and then came time to check my progress. 3.5! It was 1 pm. Well, this is totally me, I thought. Slowish progression but HEY! actual progression. I texted Kirby that I was in the room and 3.5 and to keep working and I'd keep him posted. I knew we would be here a while.

Then came the most specialist question of all questions... Epidural?

SI.

And since she was so sweet and chatty I decided to ask her if she had any special, nurse-knowledge advice on when the best, most perfect window to get an epidural might be. I told her that this was to be my first medicated birth and I wanted to avoid any and all other intervention if at all possible SO if there is a magical epidural window that I should know about I would like to know! She turned to me and said, "Do you want me to be honest with you?" And of course I did! I assumed this meant she had some secret expert knowledge to reveal to me. Bring it, girl! Drop the knowledge!

DON'T DO IT.
Don't get the epidural, she said.

-__-
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Of alllllll the nurses. Of all of them.
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She said she had had three epidurals and they were ALL terrible and they were ALL the worst and you're stuck on your back and you can't feel a thing and you can't push (my biggest epi fear) and she'd never wish her experience on anyone and yadda yadda and if you can do it without, do.

I chuckled in my head and thought... Well, um, (clears throat) I *CAN* do it. I have done it five whole times. The point is I don't WANT TO DO IT. That's actually the entire reason I am even here in this hospital. And now here I am, all alone, in this den of intervention and medication and I'm stuck in a room with the naty birth nurse queen. May the odds be ever in my favor (with nurses).

I started to panic. Is this a sign?? Is naty birth nurse queen a guardian angel sent to warn me?? Do I change all my plans right now?? But I don't want to change my plans right now! Frantic texts to epidural having friends commenced... Please, help me. Boost my confidence. Tell me it will be ok! Tell me to steady the course. STEADY THE COURSE, WOMAN.

One of my dearest friends, Jess (who had started as a homebirther, too) responded to me with this..."I can be there in 5 minutes if you want me to come." YES.

The nurse had left me alone a bit and I reminded myself that I had not made this decision lightly. I had allllready thoughtfully considered all the possibilities, the risks, the pros and the cons and I had already made the decision. I knew it shouldn't be swayed by encountering one nurse with a bad track record and with poor epidural manners. I would steady the course (just with kinda a bit more insecurity...). My nurse came in once while I waited for Jess. She chirped, "Still smiling, I see! You don't need an epidural!" (grrrrrr.......allthewords).

But then I heard the door crack and Jess' voice and my heart sang. MY PEOPLE!!! (It was here I realized I should probably have Kirby come now, since he is, like, my person.) It felt suddenly SO good to be not alone. And to have someone there to knew both sides of the coin and who was on my side. An advocate. How hilarious. Here I was, five time, unmedicated, out of hospital birther, needing an EPIDURAL ADVOCATE during my first hospital birth. God bless Jess. Oh, and wtf.

When the nurse came in again I said to her that yes, I for sure wanted to get an epidural and yes, you can let the anesthesiologist know as soon as he is done (he was in surgery at this point) and yes, I would love total positivity and support from here on out. DONE DEAL, LADY. And you know, she was actually the sweetest, best nurse aside from her epi vibes. So, no complaints once we jumped that hurdle. Anyway, hurdle jumped. I felt renewed excitement for my hospital adventure. Onward and upward.

Jess was fantastic. Gently encouraging me through contractions as they got more moany. At around 2 pm she heard the voice of the anesthesiologist in the hallway and I felt a rush of relief knowing that this will happen! Turns out I really didn't want to be moaning and groaning through labor in a hospital bed! I could maybe even take a nap now, like everyone says they do!! HOO-RAY. The anesthesiologist came in around 10 min after 2 and started to prep me for the long awaited, much stressed over, shrouded-in-mystery epidural. My nurse showed some fabulous charity and nestled herself at the edge of my bed to support me as I was prepped. The placement was NO BIG DEAL! I had been so nervous for the poking and all the possible sensations. It was less uncomfortable than getting a lidocaine shot at the dentist. My nurse rubbed my shoulders and talked me through it. I felt a rush of fluid running down my back which was bizarre but not really painful. I felt the cold everyone told me about. And that was it! I was taped up and I laid down and it was ovaaaa. The nurse then reminded me that actually my most biggest epidural-related fear was getting catheterized. Even as she started I think I was saying things like "ACK WHY DOES THIS HURT?" and she was all "Because I am xxyyzzzz (fill in all the blanks)." Anyway, it was uncomfortable on the verge of painful but it was over quick and surely horrified Jess to witness more than it horrified me to experience so, all's fair. After that I had a quick checkeroo which logged me at 4.5 centimeters dilated and (lucky nurse) a broken water bag as she was exiting the place of checkery. Ok, I thought, I've been in here about an hour and 20ish minutes and I've dilated A centimeter. Right on track.

Catheter in, epidural in, blankets up. I was ready to lay back and enjoy the soothing effects of my medicated experience. Except for after like ten minutes I realized that I was not soothed! Why was I not soothed?? I asked the nurse what this could mean/WHY AM I FEELING THIS CONTRACTION RN? And she just kept saying these words, "maybe you just have a pocket where it just won't work"(dig that knife deeper and deeper, nursey). All I could hear was "wah, wah, wah" like the headless teacher in Charlie Brown. YOUR WORDS MEAN NOTHING TO ME. All the anethesiologist could do was furrow his brow and suggest that I turn on my side to let the meds distribute evenly. But I did that and still contractions. If I thought super hard about it, I could tell the right-ish hemisphere of my uterus was not seizing in pain, but that didn't really matter very much. I imagine it would be like if you smashed your thumb with a hammer but your second knuckle was numb. It just wouldn't really matter that much.

The more time I spent on my left side trying to will the meds over my whole uterus, the more I realized it wasn't working. "You may just have a pocket where it won't work" like a ghost voice in my head... "it won't work." It isn't working. And this labor was increasingly becoming different than the rest. Hard, transition-like contractions with very little break. "I can't believe this is how bad it is at 4 centimeters, it's never been this bad at 4 centimeters," I said to myself. I can't believe I'm laying here in the middle of what could be the worst labor of my life with a non-working epidural. Work. Work. PLEASE. Work. (Moan, moan/wail, etc.)

...

* Part 1 here
*Part 3 here