and then there were four…

So much has happened since my last post. Mostly good, some crap, but the best news is our newest addition arrived on Wednesday, July 16th at 11:20 a.m.

Sophia Madeline was 9 lbs, 5 oz and 21 inches long. I was in labor for 3 hours and 37 minutes after being induced (more on that in a moment) and we couldn’t be happier. She is beautiful and looks so much like Olivia that Bill has said if we have another baby girl that looks the same as Liv and Sophie, we are finished procreating, because that is the universe’s way of telling us we will only have girls that look alike. haha. Not that he minds having all girls, I just think he is scared of what will happen in 15 years or so when we will have (possibly) three gorgeous daughters. Right now two is scary enough of a concept.

The doctor decided at my last appointment that it would be wise to induce, since if we waited much longer we would run the same risk of c-section as we would if we induced. So he called the hospital and set everything up. I checked in on Wednesday and my water was broken at 7:43 a.m. by 10 a.m. I was fully dilated and ready to push. Unfortunately, the epidural was interfering and I was not pushing correctly (oddly enough it is harder than you may realize to push correctly). It was decided that we would wait until the baby labored down a bit more and the nurse called the doctor who told her to shut off my epidural.

“Shut it off? But, I just got this thing!” I remember saying. I was promised that it wouldn’t go completely away, just enough to help me feel the pressure to push. Sure enough, I started feeling that pressure and wanted to push. They had me push a few times and then told me I had to stop and wait for the doctor. I couldn’t believe they wanted me to stop, the need to push was intense. I remember as soon as the doctor snapped his gloves on I said “I need to push!” and he told me to go for it. About three or four pushes later, Sophia was born.

We are settling into some sort of routine around here. As much of a routine as you can have with a newborn. But Sophia is a really good baby thus far. She is a big eater and poops and pees like a champ (hey, that’s very important in baby-land!) We were afraid we were going to have the same jaundice problem we had with Olivia, but luckily, Sophia didn’t need the UV light therapy.

Olivia is a wonderful big sister. She calls Sophia, “Fee-Uh” and doesn’t seem too upset by her sudden appearance. She wanted nothing to do with us in the hospital, however. She wouldn’t come near me (in fairness, I was in the hospital bed still hooked up to an IV) and Sophia was a new concept to her. However, after we got home on Thursday, she warmed up and is getting better every day. She has tried twice to pick her up: once from Bill’s chest while they were laying on the couch and once from the vibrating rocker seat. We were able to stop her in time, since we always keep a close eye on her when they are near (for that very reason). She likes to give her kisses and wants to help ‘rock-rock’ her in her seat. However, if she wants my attention and I am holding Sophia she will say, “Daddy hold Fee-uh now” and vice versa. It’s kind of cute. She pats her on the back and likes to touch her (gently! we tell her–and she does a good job).

I was so scared of how I would manage two babies, how I could love both of them as much as one. Everyone is right: you do have enough love and I don’t love one more or less than the other. Sophia has helped to calm and center me in a very surprising way. I am just so much more…balanced, would be the best way to describe it. I know that it started when I became pregnant, but now that she is here, it has just helped center me in a way I would have never imagined. Crazy, but true. Maybe I’m just more confident in my abilities as a mother, maybe I am just growing up, who knows? I just know that it feels nice to feel this confident. Sure, I still have my moments, and will have more in the days, weeks, years to come, but overall–I’m good at this and that feels amazing.

I’ve been in a lot of pain lately. All physical, pregnancy related. Normal stuff. I got tired of complaining about it last night, I knew I was being a pain, I knew it was annoying to hear, and I knew (and know) that there are so many more women in situations and circumstances during their pregnancies that put mine to shame. So I asked God last night for some perspective. I’m only writing right now because it helps me sort things out, I’m still a little numb, so bear with me.

I was sitting on the toilet for about the millionth time last night, squeezing out one tiny drop of pee with each trip, and I said out loud “Okay God, this sucks for me, but it isn’t the worst situation in the world. Help me be a better person and understand this.” I even mentioned how more than likely, there are 9-months pregnant women out in the world who are forced to work in the fields under the hot sweaty sun, right up until the moment they went into labor, giving birth only to be put right back into the fields. I just needed at that moment to be given some help with understanding that.

Early this morning, my father passed away. That was not the perspective I had been anticipating.

Background: My parents have been divorced since I was about 4 years old, my father has never really been a major player in my life, sort of a “see you during major holidays” father. I am, however, close to that side of my family, my cousins were like siblings growing up and I love them dearly. My dad was mentally ill and tried to commit suicide the summer before my senior year in high school. So, for the past ten years he has been living in an assisted living facility. I mention this so you may understand, not so you should pity me.

I’ve been crying all day, and the crazy thing is, I feel like I have no right to cry, because, I didn’t really have this typical father-daughter relationship. Grief is a funny thing, and I’m not sure it is what I am feeling. Do you have the right to feel this type of sadness, anger, disbelief, etc, if you don’t really know the person who died? I mean, of course, I knew my father. But, these tiny pieces of who he was before he was “crazy” don’t add up to a whole person. He was the golden boy in high school, they liked to tell us: smart, athletic, party-guy, handsome, a great hunter, everybody’s good ole’ boy.

Those are just descriptions. I have a few stories of how he was scared of the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz when he was a little boy, my mom once told me how he was a very good artist and liked to draw. There is another story of him taking a trip on a fishing boat. But that’s all I know. 27 years of my life and I can tick off the good stories I know of my father on one hand. It wasn’t for lack of trying. I remember after my mom told me he once loved to draw, I bought him a bunch of drawing supplies for Christmas that year and whispered to him “Mama told me you once loved to draw, I thought maybe you could start up again.”

I never received one picture.

I wrote him letters, trying to gather any information from him, wanting to know a little bit more about him, wanting to know what qualities and attributes I may have garnered from his contribution to my DNA. I never really remember getting any straight answers.

My sister took the opposite approach. Her mindset was that he had never really done anything for her, so why should she reach out? I always felt she was the stronger one, and I wished I could be more like her when it came to dealing with our father. I was always sucked into wanting to develop some relationship that would never happen. Trying to make him believe I wasn’t angry or upset or sad about how we were never a priority until we were adults, living our own lives and no longer needed “daddy”. We are both dealing with our paths, with my mom telling us that none of our tears should be guilt-ridden, because we did nothing wrong.

I can’t help but feel a little guilty. Guilty because after a phone call from him a month or so ago I was just so fed up with the bullshit that I decided that I needed a break and I needed to distance myself until after this baby was born, because I was too emotional to go there right now. He called twice after that. The first time I was napping and Bill didn’t wake me. The second time, about two weeks ago, I saw it was him and decided I couldn’t deal with it. He left a message, telling us he loved us and there was no need to call him back, because he would probably be out on the porch and unavailable. I don’t know why I did it, but at the time, I didn’t erase the message. It’s still on my answering machine.

Bill wants to erase it and not let me hear it again.

I went to the doctor today. I decided to find out what the doctor said and if he said “induce” I would be okay with it, but I wasn’t going to ask. The idea of possibly bringing my child into the world on the same day they bury my father didn’t sit right with me. Or the idea of scheduling to bring my child into the world on that day was not something I was going to push.

I’m now 3 centimeters dilated, which means I have passed the early (or latent) stage of labor.

The doctor said I was “dilating beautifully” and if I haven’t gone into labor by next Monday, I should be at 4 centimeters. More than likely I will have a very easy delivery. This also makes me less inclined to push for the induction. If I stay pregnant longer, I will be in labor for a shorter period of time. I think the good outweighs the bad in this situation.

I’m a bit drained right now, I can’t focus on my feelings efficiently enough to finish writing about them, so I will leave you with that. Don’t worry, I know that I will be okay, and life will go on. I’m dealing with something foreign to me, so I’m taking it one moment at the time. It helped to write, even if it is discombobulated and a big mess.

I should have just shut my big mouth when I first found out I was pregnant “Oh, Olivia was early, so this baby probably will be too.” Granted, I’m still two weeks from my due date, but…it feels like I will NEVER have this baby. And it doesn’t help that he/she is HUGE and right in prime birthing position (head right in my pelvis). I now understand completely why pregnant women waddle. I swear, I don’t remember this pain when pregnant with Olivia.

When we went to the doctor on Monday, I had lost 3 pounds (that’s a first for me), my blood pressure is still perfect, all is well. I mistakenly thought at last week’s appointment that the doctor said the baby was posterior, but it turns out it is my cervix that is posterior and the baby is in “perfect position”. The doctor did the pelvic exam and could actually feel the baby’s head. I knew that I was feeling a lot of pelvic pressure, but damn that’s ridiculous. Apparently my cervix isn’t ripe enough yet for induction, so if I haven’t had the baby by next Monday maybe it will have ripened enough for the induction to happen next week. I asked the doctor how big the baby was and he said “huge”.

Apparently this baby loves my uterus, because he/she is already larger than an average ‘to term’ baby, but still wants to hang out and kick my ribs. I seriously feel like my pelvic bones are going to break and the baby is going to just fall out. Okay, I know that won’t happen, but it feels like I have a ton of bricks just resting on top of my pelvis. I spend most of my day laying with my feet up or with a pillow tucked in between my legs.

This is not exactly conducive to taking care of a very active toddler, but we make it work. Luckily for me, she loves to color in our bed and watch “Blue in Bed” so we spend mornings watching Blue’s Clues and coloring. I really feel guilty because I want to do more with her during the day, but I physically can’t. Yesterday, Bill forgot to take something to the post office and it had to be postmarked by the 1st, so I decided to hoof it the half a block to a drop box. I thought “wow, I’m actually gonna take a teeny tiny walk with Olivia, she’ll love it!”

She loved going down the stairs and walking down the sidewalk, UNTIL we hit a big patch of sidewalk that had leaves all over it. Apparently she has developed an intense fear of tiny little fluttering leaves. She starts going “no no no” and climbing up my leg. So what’s a mama to do? I picked her up and hoofed the rest of the way to the mailbox. Picture it: a 9 months pregnant woman carrying an almost 30 lb toddler on her hip. I kept praying I wouldn’t trip. She walked a little after that, but it was all over if she saw a hint of a leaf blowing by. Can’t wait until that phase is over. Needless to say, I was spent after that.

I also realized how spoiled I am. Well, actually, how spoiled all Air Conditioning-having people are. Our A/C was broken for the past week, and I have been stewing in our house. No matter how many windows we open, it would not get cooler than 85 degrees. No, that’s not really all that hot (it’s been much hotter outside), but when you are as pregnant as I am, it feels like you are sweating in the Sahara or something. And I grew up in the South! I am ashamed of myself, really, but I was a cranky brat until yesterday afternoon when they came to fix the broken compressor. Now I am just so thankful that I have nice cool air blowing on my big pregnant butt. But, I now understand how people say “it’s too hot too eat.” I have had no desire to eat anything due to the heat. Also–the fear of getting any bigger is a huge factor for me. Not because I am worried about the weight gain, but because I don’t think I can handle any more pressure on my pelvis. I gained 20 pounds more (roughly) when pregnant with Olivia and wasn’t even pregnant as long as I am currently, but apparently this go-round, it’s ALL belly. All of it.

I understand I am not the first woman to be pregnant with a large baby or have all of this pelvic pressure, but it is hard to keep that in mind when it is your body going through this. So, I needed to vent.