dearest daughters & son

You didn't ask. But, I'm telling you.

My OB told me not to tell the story of my labor and delivery. That women would be jealous. But, he also said (as he did during my pregnancy) that women can't help themselves: we like to talk about ourselves. The best response to women who like to "share" their birth horror stories, their opinions about belly size, their pregnancy dramas, is to "smile, nod and say 'thank you'," as my doc said.

And now I find myself on the other side. And I can't help myself. Plus, inquiring minds want to know...

It was an "abnormally fast and easy birth" or so I've been told by my doctors and nurses. It went a little something like this:

Thursday, January 22nd...
Me: Hi, mom, what's a mucus plug look like. Okay. Then, yippeee! This might happen soon!

Friday, January 23rd...
4:45pm-
My doctor: You're not having this baby until at least 41 weeks.
5:00pm-
Me: Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! I want this baby out. I want fried chicken. I hate my doctor.

Saturday, January 24th...
1:00am-
Me: Ouch. Hmmm. Kinda hurts, but I can fall asleep between the cramping. Maybe I should groggily check the clock and time these babies. 15 minutes.

3:30am-
Me: Okay, now I can't fall asleep in the 10 minutes between these silly pains. I'll go try to sleep on the couch. Um, never mind. I can't really get comfortable. It hurts, but I'm thinking this is going to stop. After all, my doctor just told me I wouldn't pop for another week. I'll just do something to distract myself. Facebook!

5:30am-
Me: Now they're 7-8 minutes apart. Dang. No one's updating their facebook statuses. I'll try to watch a movie. Nope that's not gonna work. I can't concentrate. I can't really sit still either; I'll sit on this exercise ball during these ouchy things.

6:30am-
Me: Now they're 3-4 minutes apart. I think that's when you're supposed to call the doctor, but only after they've been that way for an hour. What's that, beadle? Oh. No. I'm fine. You keep sleeping. I'm sure these'll stop any second now. I mean, my doctor said 41 weeks!

7:00am-
Me: Okay, beadle. I guess you should wake up now. I think I'll call the doctor in a half hour. Nope, there's nothing you can do to help. It doesn't hurt THAT badly.

7:30am-
Me: Hi, Mr. On Call Doctor Guy, I think I'm in labor. Question mark. My contractions are about 3-4 minutes apart and they've been that way for an hour.
Mr. On Call Doctor Guy: Sounds like it's time for you to join us at the hospital!
Me: Beadle? Mr. On Call Doctor Guy says we should go to the hospital.
Beadle: I'll pack the car.
Me: Don't forget the carseat. Ouuuuuch. That one made me cry. Maybe because it hurt more, but maybe because now I can't ignore the fact that I might maybe actually sorta kinda be in LABOR!!! I want my mommy.

8:00am-
Triage Nurse: Are you checking in? Sign here, here, here, here, here and here.
Me: Wow, my signature was really sloppy.
Triage Nurse: Let's examine you. Wow. 5 centimeters.
Me: Really?
Mr. On Call Doctor Guy (from behind the curtain after hearing about my progress): I'm sure glad she joined us here!
Me: Mr. On Call Doctor Guy sure sounds nicer than my OB. Hey, lady you just jacked up my IV. And oh, yup, look, there you go again. That's gonna leave a bruise.
L&D Nurse: I'll be taking over. You do have tricky veins, but there you go. A nice clean IV. Do you intend to have an epidural?
Me: No, but I might. I want to see how I feel once I get to the L&D room. I'll probably take narcotics though.

9:30am-
L&D Nurse: Let's walk to your room. Take your time. If a contraction is too strong we can stop.
Me: Stop... Okay, go.
L&D Nurse: Here's your room. This is how the bed works, yadda, yadda, yadda.
Me: Medication? For the pain? I want it now, thank you.
L&D Nurse: We'll give you blah blah blah blah blah blah.
Me: Sounds great.
Beadle, Mommy, Daddy, Auntie Jonelle: You're doing great.
Me: Hee, hee, hee, hooooo.
Beadle, Mommy, Daddy, Auntie Jonelle: You're doing great.
Me: Hee, hee, hee, hooooo.

10:00am-
Me: You should NOT get pregnant unless you really, really, really want a baby. Oh. Those drugs feel nice. I can still feel the conractions, but I don't really care.

11:00ish am-
Me: I feel like I need to push. Does that feel like needing to poop? Because that's how I feel.
Mommy: Yes. Excuse me, nurse, she feels like she needs to push.
L&D Nurse: Well let's examine you. Oh, my! Nine centimeters. I guess you can do some practice pushing. Here's what you do.
Me: Push, push, push. Can I rest? Do I have to push on every contraction.
L&D Nurse: No, you don't have to, but you're gonna have to face the music. If you don't push now, you'll just have to push later.
Me: Hey, wait. I thought this was just "practice"... oh, another contraction. I HAVE to push. No resting for me even if I want to.

11:30ish am-
L&D Nurse: I better get the doctor. He's in the other room with a woman giving birth to her second baby. He thought she'd go first for sure.
Me: Push, push, push. More drugs?
Beadle's Parents: We arrived just in time!
Me: Come on in!

11:40ish am-
Beadle, Mommy, Daddy, Auntie Jonelle: We see the head!
Me: Is there hair?
Beadle, Mommy, Daddy, Auntie Jonelle: Yes...?
Me: I just want to be done.
Beadle, Mommy, Daddy, Auntie Jonelle: We know, honey.
Mr. On Call Doctor Guy: I'm here!

11:48am-
Mommy, Auntie Jonelle: Gasp! Sob! She's here!
Me: Thank God. Let's deliver this placenta then I'm dunzo.

So, that's that. Eleven hours of labor, five hours of "active labor", about 45 minutes of pushing. And a sweet baby girl. Jealous?

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Five days down and many more to go! Thank you everyone for all of your thoughts, prayers, well-wishes and praises throughout our pregnancy, labor, delivery and first days at home.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone: from my six (SIX!) labor support providers to our first visitors at the hospital and to friends old and new, friends who I haven't seen in years and who I just saw last week, friends of friends and friends of friends of friends who have sent all their facebook love my way. I feel so supported and blessed to have so many friends and family in my life (and beadle's). And now in babybel's life! She is so lucky!

After THREE whole days at the hospital we were eager to go home, but now we're missing those delivered meals however bland they were and the expectation of doing absolutely nothing. We are glad to be back at home though with our comfy bed, Netflix subscription and an entire Trader Joe's freezer aisle stockpiled in our freezer. Lola and Lolo have come over often to help us make the transition for which I am very thankful.

Day four involved my first ever breakfast-in-bed made by beadle, who is doing an excellent job of being a supportive and attentive husband and daddy. Between doing the housework and cooking for one of us and changing/burping/holding the other of us he's got his hands full. Not to mention both of our crying. Lola came over for a bit too. She couldn't resist babybel's cuteness and cancelled a previously scheduled meeting. Auntie Sami and Uncle Tristan also paid a visit, but instead of the usual video games and potato chips that fill their near weekly visits to our place, they just sat there. And held the baby. Boring. Though I think Tristan and beadle snuck in a game of Madden eventually.

Day five began with a visit from Auntie Jonelle who brought us pastries and coffee. Believe it or not she just sat here too. Holding the baby. For minutes on end. These crazy people. She also helped us with our Say No to Jaundice routine in a patch of morning sunlight. Unfortunately, the coffee kept us awake all morning. First we tried to nap, but that didn't work so the baby and I just ended up staring at each other for a couple of hours, exchanging funny faces which in conjunction with a receeding hairline have earned one of us (I'm not naming names) the nick-name "old man." Besides great bonding time, the caffine high rather fortuitously blessed us with a caffine low and Babybel crashed just in time for our first family outing. She did not get to experience the joy of Target as her father and I experience it (both as former employees) nor did she allow us to school her in the finer points of Targetry (you know, clearance end caps, price scanners, everyday values, etc.) But, she slept door to door. And for that, Auntie Jonelle, Starbucks and the Target gods, I thank you.

Besides being a star eater and sleeper, our babybel has accomplished the following newsworthy feats over the past few days:

• burping
• projectile vomiting
• peeing in the exact 20 second time period it took for me to change her diaper... twice... in one day
• making smiling and laughing faces which I like to think are a result of my superior knock knock joke telling or her joy at seeing my blurry outline, but which I know are not true "social smiles"
• developing a comb-over hairstyle to hide her receding hairline (Boo hoo. I thought for sure the pregnancy heartburn would mean plenty of hair!)
• rolling not only onto her side, but also from one side to the other... sure, her head is heavy and falls to one side from the on-her-back position, forcing the rest of her to follow, but it still counts
• a "fast, fun and friendly" visit to Target on our first family outing
• hands to mouth action
• and being so sweet we all have toothaches

To Babybel on the occassion of your due date

Dear Babybel,

Okay, so you're not born yet. But, today is your due date. You and I both know that babies don't usually come on their due dates. But, I figured that I'd share some thoughts today since I might not be in a state to write to you on the occasion of your birth date what with the pain of you being torn from my uterus and all.

Don't get me wrong. I'm glad you'll be outta there soon. You've been kind of annoying to tell you the truth. There are some women who just love love love being pregnant. They are called liars. While I've loved loved loved having the excuse to eat whatever I feel like, not exercising, getting special treatment, I haven't loved loved loved being pregnant. I'm thankful that yours has been a "normal" and "easy" and unproblematic pregnancy, thus far. It has been special and amazing; an experience I would not exchange even if I could get it cheaper at another store. But it hasn't been the warm, fuzzy, glowing experience that I imagined. I thought I'd be one of those women who want to be pregnant forever. I don't hate it. I'm just "eh" about it. Mostly, because I, like every pregnant woman, could have done without the side effects of pregnancy I experienced: acne, heartburn, loss of appetite, stretch marks, heartburn, fatigue, heartburn, sciatic pain, oh and the heartburn. It's not that I blame you, but I do. I'm sure I'll forgive you. Some day.

I don't know much about you and I probably won't know much about you for awhile after you're born. I don't claim to know anything about you based on our time together so far. Some mothers say that their baby's time en utero was an indication of what was to come, but that's in hindsight and probably in comparison to other pregnancies. This is what I know about you: you're a girl, you're a human girl, you move, you don't move, you definitely have at least one foot that you like to kick my left side with, um, that's about it. Sorry, other than providing you with nourishment and a hospitable environment for sucessful development, I'm good for nothing.

So, maybe I should tell you instead about myself and your daddy. Here's our first family portrait that I happen to think is beautiful, but will one day cause you to cringe in embarassment, probably at the thought that it was even taken. Not to mention the fact that my bare stomach is showing or that your parents actually like or maybe even love each other.

We're very excited to meet you. I'm especially excited for you to meet your daddy, who was adopted and has no biological relatives to his knowledge; you'll be the first. And you'll look like him. Which for me isn't a big deal. Your uncle Kevin and I look alike, but your daddy doesn't resemble anyone in his family. So that's special. And your daddy certainly is "special": I'll let you make the call when you meet him.

Then, there's me. For now, what I want you to know about me is that I love you unconditionally. Wait. That's not really about me. That's about you. And from now on it's less about me and more about you. But, it won't be all about you. I'll still be me. Right? I'll be your mommy, but I'll be your mommy who likes to create, learn, teach, who wants to be an agent of change, to work with marginalized women, people of color, and children, who loves her family, who seeks justice, loves kindness and walks humbly with her God.

And you'll get to meet the rest of your family too! And family is very important to us.

And just a little about the world that you'll be born into. This is your reaction to the swearing in of President Obama on Janurary 20, 2009; two days ago. You were pretty stoked, like your mommy, because things aren't going so great in the country or the world at the moment. And we hope that this leader might help us figure some things out.

You won't know about it for awhile. You probably won't even experience it first hand. But, I want you to be aware of the conditions of the world, from the City of Oakland in which we live to countries and regions on the other side of vast oceans. We live in a world that for the majority of people is not a pleasant place, at least not by our Western American measure of pleasantries. There is injustice and discomfort, to put it mildly. But, you will be born into a country of wealth and priviledge. You will be born into a family of economic priviledge. You will have a roof over your head, food in your belly, an education, almost every human right you deserve.

You will be a woman of color, so some odds will be stacked against you. You should by no means have a chip on your shoulder about this, but it is important to be aware of how society, institutions and even individuals might percieve you and your family, despite how you view yourself. It's not all negative; it will also be a wonderful thing to count yourself among the strong, amazing women of color throughout history, in your community and in your family.

Generally and relatively, your life will be wonderful. And I can't wait to watch you experience it.

Love,
Mommy

I think I've found the holy grail of pregnancy.

That's it. Stick a fork in me; I'm done. I think I've died and gone to heaven and come back with Kool-aid marinated dill pickles. I want for nothing now.

Thanks to Rudy for tipping me off on this one: Kool-aid Pickles!!!

A Lifetime Supply of Slippers

When did I become the type of person for whom slippers are "The Perfect" gift?

About nine months ago, I guess.

The story really goes like this. My bestest friend in the whole wide world, KTA, bought me a pair of warm, comfy and very much appreciated slippers for my Christmas present. Perfect for my hardwood floors and poorly insulated apartment. Perfect for shuffling and rocking and feeding in the middle of the night. Perfect, in fact, for right now, cozy on the couch, writing a blog entry. So, thank you, Katherine.

I have nothing against Katherine.

I have nothing against slippers.

I'm just shocked (and amused) at an event that occured in my apartment this morning.

I had a lovely breakfast of eggs, potatoes, apple wood smoked bacon and the best biscut ever with my other bestest friend in the whole wide world, Ashley. We returned to my apartment to do some gift exchanging. Fine. If you must know: I had some Tokyo souvineers that I never gave her and a small homemade Christmas present. She gave me a "lame" (according to her) baby present, but it really wasn't. Instead of plastic toys from China that BabyBel doesn't really need, she got us diapers, wipes and the very important (and until now, unobtained) breast pads and cream. Superb baby gift, if you ask me. She ordered me something else, she told me, but she didn't have it yet. She'd bring it by next week.

Then, I hear a string of profanity exiting her mouth. Not that I'm unfamiliar with profanity, but given our pleasant morning, I wasn't sure what was wrong. Very concerned, I looked at her for clues and followed her gaze to my slippers sitting on the living room floor.

Apparently she had ordered me the EXACT, EXACT, we're talking EXACT same pair of slippers that Katherine did. And she was so proud of herself for thinking of and almost delivering on "The Perfect" gift, she was so pissed that someone beat her to it. Though, she reports to have thought of the idea in August, so I don't think Katherine can beat that.

I tried to console Ashley by praising her and Katherine's ability to choose "The Perfect" gift for me, apparently so perfect that TWO of my closest friends thought of it. Great minds think alike! Look how well you know me! You both are so thoughtful! But she was not to be consoled.

If only my slippers had been sitting in my room out of her line of sight! Then this travesty would not have transpired. Of course, I'd be the recipient of two of the EXACT, EXACT, we're talking EXACT same pair of slippers. Which brings me back to my initial question: When did I become the type of person for whom slippers are "The Perfect" gift?

Upon hearing this story, Beadle welcomed me to motherhood. But I told him that these high quality L.L. Bean slippers will last a good 3-5 years and when I actually need new slippers I (or one of my best friends, apparently) will buy them. Because I need them. Not because they'd make a great annniversary gift. He, under no circumstances, is allowed or should allow our children to buy me slippers. Designer handbags, spa gift certificates, chocolate, something for the kitchen, if they must, but not slippers! I'm only 23! No. Wait. I forget. I'm 24. Okay, almost 25. But, I'm too young to be relegated to a lifetime supply of slippers!

And don't get me started on robes.