Dreaming Up Life

Ok, I can't put it off any longer even with the excuse of frequent diaper changes (OMG this kid can POOP!) and sleepus interuptus.

Presenting: Dreaming Up My Life. Dot Com! The Grown Up Blog.

Sort of. You'll see that I went crawling back to Blogger to launch the new URL. I'm still figuring out some of the workings, but it has potential to grow.

So follow me. I can't guarantee what I'll dream up next - how exactly do I top having a baby at 43 without infertility treatments? Should I do a Mt. Everest climb?

Let's see where we can go with this.

Little Jayson, born August 20th....

CIMG0011

I don't know if it's a last minute surge of creativity or insanity (if you can't give birth to a baby, give birth to something else in the meantime?), but I just purchased a domain name this morning and am in the process of setting up a blog.

A real grown up blog that has ads and such! And I'm working on submitting some more writing samples to some grown up web sites that want writers and even pay them sometimes.

Will post the new URL here soon.

Our older kids leave for Canada tonight with their dad. Baby brother is still playing shy. I'm tempted to pull age old tricks out of my sleeve to start labor just so they won't miss it - hey, any excuse for nookie and a shot of rum!

Even after all the apparent early labor activity this week, though, progress has been slow. As of yesterday's doctor's visit, I'm fully effaced, but still only 3 cm. dilated. We need another centimeter or two to get the action jumping. At 10 cm., pushing starts.

"Hey, look on the bright side, at this rate it should only take another six or seven weeks," R.M. said.

The maddening cycle of contractions and fizzle continues.

There's not much I can do so I'm trying to let go of the frustration (Vanessa the Doula thinks the repeated labor stalls are fear based) and enjoy the slower pace of life.

It's been a long time since I've operated without much of a schedule. It's an oddly mellow feeling to have free time to wander through a grocery store or sit and leisurely read a newspaper. With the pelvic pressure making it harder to walk and sit upright, I'm learning to rest, too, when my body wants me to rest. This afternoon, I went back to bed after lunch and read and listened to some radio programs streaming on the internet.

Baby boy started moving around a lot while I reclined on the pillows. Suddenly, I felt a poke against the inside of my arm and put my hand on the left side of my abdomen to feel his body. My hand bumped against what felt distinctly like a little foot! Smiling, I cupped the heel with my hand. He pulled away as if surprised and I chuckled out loud. Love you, baby boy....Can't wait to see you.

He will be here soon. And no matter how long this takes or how frustrating the waiting is, I will hold that little foot again and kiss it.

It seems the baby has his own plans.

Yesterday morning he was so low in my pelvis that it hurt to walk when I got up out of bed. The contractions were strong and regular again and by about 10:30 were coming every ten to twelve minutes. We were so sure that it might happen by last night that R.M. came home from work at lunch. I let the doula know. We ran an errand together, got some takeout lunch, came home and....and....

Pfhthwnththzzz (sound of fizzling).

I don't know what to make of it. By late afternoon he'd pushed himself up so high in my abdominal cavity that I could feel his feet close to my rib cage. The contractions eased up to about twenty minutes apart, if that. After awhile, I stopped timing them. I felt ashamed and embarrassed that my husband had come home from a busy work day. To tell you the truth, I felt downright insane.

Maybe the baby sensed all the fear going on the past few days. Maybe he's decided he likes it in there. Comfy. Warm. Fed.

"When's the baby coming?" one of our older kids asked last night.

"Never!" I growled. "I'm going to be pregnant for the rest of my life! He's staying in there!"

He just might.

By last night, after a full day of bed rest we were debating whether or not to just let things happen.

My uterus was sore and felt like a block of cement inside my abdominal cavity late in the day. Clearly, staying still to fight off the contractions was not agreeing with my body. When R.M. asked me what I wanted to do, though, I felt confused and depressed and overwhelmed.

It seems to come back around to all sorts of issues:

1. I don't want to take a potentially harmful prescription drug to keep my baby in my womb.
2. I don't want to lose another baby by delivering early.
3. I'm pissed off at the substitute doctor for not coming in to talk to us when the physician's assistant told her about my dilation and contractions - instead sending the P.A. back in to write a prescription and send us home.
4. We have yet to meet her. I'd be trusting a stranger with my body and my baby.
4. My doula likes my regular doctor, but visibly shuddered when we mentioned the substitute doctor's name - I'm afraid to ask why.
5. After all we've been through this past year, I trust my doula, my herbalist and my acupuncturist more than I trust many people who work in the business of medicine (with apologies to many of my relatives who are wonderful and caring nurses).
6. I believe our baby was meant to be after all we've been through, but I'm letting all sorts of fears get in the way of trusting what should be a natural process.

In a way, I may have decided. This morning, I climbed out of bed and came downstairs. I'm going about my usual routines. Moving around. Getting the newspaper. Folding laundry. Letting the dog out in the backyard.

The baby feels heavy in my uterus, but he's moving. My blood sugar has been dropping the past few days - a sign that labor may be imminent. The contractions are slower than a few days ago but I'm not counting or timing them just yet. Just breathing. Moving with the rhythms of my body. Just being.

It's time to let go.

How many times have since the beginning of this baby journey have I blathered on about trusting my instincts?

I wasn't sure to believe myself....the more frequent, stronger contractions the last few days. Labor? Puh-shaw!

Two to three centimeters dilated as of two hours ago.

But although I have a history of giving birth, um, right about this time of pregnancy, my latest instincts are warning me about putting myself in the hands of Glinda the Good Obstetrician's replacement while she's on vacation. Leave it at bad vibes. Oh, and that prescription she had her assistant write out for me: Terbutaline.

It's a drug prescribed for asthma! This is what's known as an off label prescription, giving me a drug outside of the FDA approved use. Side effects may include hyperglycemia (did she even read my file stating that I'm an insulin dependent diabetic?) or pulmonary edemas.

Ugh (insert other words banned by the FCC).

No drugs. I've put myself on bed rest. Ten days. We just need ten days. And some strong forces of light to surround us and our baby. 

...and then it comes down to the wire...and...and...who knows?

I read the final chapter in Heather Armstrong's labor and birth story yesterday and thought "Yep, that might be us, too." *

All the reading,  the hypnobirthing class, the doula, the packed bag for the hospital, the draft of the BIRTH PLAN that I have yet to print out.  We think we're ready and then - boom- it goes like nothing we really ever expected.

You know, even just writing down that phrase "Birth Plan" makes me shake my head which is why I put it in ridiculously large capital letters. I just can't bring myself to print it out. While I think we'll try our best to stick to the kind of birth we'd like to have, the Lord only knows what's going to go down once we hit the hospital. And, hell, even though our childbirth teacher and doula encouraged us to write it all down to let the staff know what we want, do I really think some tired maternity ward nurse is going to read it?

No!

Truth is, I'm fretting more and more about all of this. Mostly the element of control, which I'll have to give up the deeper in we go.

The "practice" contractions of the last month have turned into fairly regular and sometimes strong contractions every 15-20 minutes tonight. Is my uterus warming up for the big show? Dunno. Time will tell. And even though I've been through this before and I have so many inner shamanic and relaxation tools at my disposal, I don't feel the least little bit like I'm ready.

In fact, this morning, I found myself babbling and crying in the shower while R.M. looked at me with bewilderment....can't recall much of what I said but I think it had something to do with being mad about clumps of cat litter on the bathroom floor and being tired from lack of sleep and feeling anxious and scared and, oh yes, I am so flabby! Very stream of consciousness during my nervous breakdowns, I'd say.

*(Armstrong was in such denial when the big moment hit that she actually took a sleeping pill!)

I ran into L.A. yesterday at work after many months of not seeing him. L.A. was someone I crushed on a bit back in the day when I was ever so briefly single. We had occasional flirtatious run ins, a spark here and there followed by him playing it cool whenever I pushed just a little further to gauge his interest. Nothing ever came of it.

He was walking into the building just ahead of me when I returned from lunch. I hung back, feeling a little shy in my new hugely pregnant incarnation as he hadn't seen me since the early baby bump days. Part of me wanted him to notice me, but I wasn't going to fall all over myself chasing him to the door. Apparently, the reflection of a waddling woman behind him was enough to get his attention, though.

It was a quick moment, just like times before. Everything's changed now. It's a relief to no longer feel like a fool when I see him: I smile or say hi and let it pass, quickly retreating back to the life I was meant to have, back to the guy who comes home to me at night. We parted there in the hallway, L.A. heading for the door to the stairs and his desk on the second floor, me heading for a hallway to take the elevator up five floors.

"Don't you want to walk up the stairs, Susan?" he called out after me. When I turned, he had a twinkle in his eye, obviously teasing me, and I laughed. No friggin' way am I even going to try walking up that many steps with thirty plus extra pounds of baby on my hips. And he knows it. I already pant like a dog on a hot day just climbing the stairs to the second floor of our house.

So that was it. The big moment. I told R.M. about it later. The next day at the doctor R.M. asked me something like this: why was it so important to tell him about seeing L.A.?

The answer is: I don't know. I'm happy now with what I have. No one has ever treated me as well as R.M. treats me. No one makes me laugh the way he does. No one has ever loved me the way he does.

But maybe there's a part of me that still wants to make sure I'm attractive to others. Is it just a normal human response to glance across the room, flirt a little with someone different? Are these leftovers of old, addictive behavior that I healed after my divorce?  Am I afraid of growing old and measuring my attractiveness in the eyes of others? Afraid someone will tempt R.M.to stray?

Maybe it's just that there's a fine balance to keeping a relationship growing and passionate. Instinctively we test the waters once in awhile. It sparks a review of sorts: is it still good, is it still fresh, am I still attractive to my partner?

"Miss L----," R.M. calls to me with my last name tonight. He's on his way back to the office to run some engineering tests in the lab on a customer product. I step inside from the backyard, into our dog- and kid-filled house and lean toward him for a kiss goodbye. There. That inside melty, warm feeling comes back when he's near.

Yes, it's still good.