Et Voila!

Maggie is muttering to herself, saying “Liberte is French.”

Me: Oh? And what does it mean?

Maggie: It means Liberty.

Me: Who is teaching you French?

Maggie looks at me dead on: I’m teaching myself!  Bonjour!  Merci!  

I didn't quite know how to respond to that...

The Spirit of Santa

Maggie: Mommy, will Santa bring me a Skipper doll?

Me: Well you know, Santa doesn’t exist.

Maggie: Oh…

Me: But the Spirit of Santa is real. 

Maggie: What is the Spirit of Santa?

Me:  The Spirit of Santa is in the giving of things to those who are in need, giving them what they need most.  It’s also in the loving we feel at Christmas time, when we try our hardest to make each other happy.  That’s what the Spirit of Santa is.

Maggie: …so will the Spirit of Santa bring me a Skipper doll? 

Sigh....So much for trying to teach my daughter about altruism.

Happy (Late) Mother's Day!

Shame on me for letting so much time slip away!  I am posting a college paper my grandmother wrote describing her "job" as a Mother.  I love the way she writes--such humor and wit.  She is who I want to be when I grow up (someday).
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            I have been a full-time wife and mother for twenty years.  Any job description I write will be incomplete and inadequate.  Nonetheless, I shall try.  Let me begin with my usual tasks.

            As a wife, or housewife—the more common term, I am expected to keep the house clean, presentable and decorated tastefully, on the order of House Beautiful.  The floors are to be mirrors, the curtains spotless and fluffy.  Old wallpaper should be stripped, as well as old paint, then the walls must be painted, doors stained and varnished and the pictures  hung just so.    Housewives are particularly suited for this sort of because, as my son says, they don’t charge overtime for weekends and 3 AM quitting times.

            The next task facing a housewife is the preparation of gourmet meals.  This may appear simple to the uninitiated.  However, hurdles are constantly being introduced to challenge even the best chef.  Dinner for five becomes a much greater feat when the five are to be served at one time, 30 minutes apart, to accommodate dancing lessons, play rehearsals and a bad day at the office.  Other memorable events have been, “Mom, I invited 35 people to a party tomorrow night at my house.  You wouldn’t mind just fixing a few snacks would you?  Well, it is my house, too.”  “Mom, I need birthday cake for 100 people tomorrow.  I’ll help with dinner, though, I don’t have to leave for an hour.”  “Dear, I know you have an accounting exam in 30 minutes, but could you leave something in the oven?  I’ll be bringing a business associate from out of town home for dinner in two hours.”  And then, as we sit down to a very special dinner party, planned for two weeks, “I hope you don’t mind, but we brought four extra people.  You can just add some extra plates.”

            There are many other less time-consuming but equally as frustrating chores.  Laundry is where you wash and iron everything twice a week but never have the particular jeans or shirt wanted, so you do that one at midnight or 6 AM.  You are also expected to take a turn at car-pools.  My day comes on the occasion of 6” of snow or the day the streets flood.  Then there is the sewing and mending.  The costumes are particular fun.  Stuffing tails with old nylons for cats and devils, making a pilgrim hat—just like in the picture—or knight’s armor from gilded gunny sacks, all allow you to express your creativity.

            Once you become a mother, your duties are expanded greatly, not by your family necessarily, but by the community.  All mothers are to allow time for: serving lunch at school cafeteria, being room mother, den mother, scout leader, hostess, and the everlasting committee assignments.  No community organization can survive without the volunteer mother, be it educational, religious, charitable, or political.

            My priorities come into conflict with the priorities other people have set for me.  Sometimes I think an award should be given to the best-supporting mother of the year.  I want to graduate from college and support myself.  I often wonder if my services will be as necessary if they are not free. Am I useful or could I be?

            My goals that I could consider achieved would have to be that my children are almost grown up and they have turned out to be such fine people.  However, I do not feel much personal success in it.  They were all pretty nice the day they were born.

            I do not report to anyone.  I am unanswerable to everyone.  If my children misbehave in school, I report to the principal’s office.  If they are hurt, I did not take adequate precautions.  The nurse in the emergency room looks at an injured child and says, “Where was the mother?”  My grandchild is due in Utah next month.  I won’t be there.  There is not a soul in the world who feel the slightest hesitation to tell me I should be.  Mothers only have superior officers, even their children do not remain subordinates for long.

            There are unique and special rewards, though.  “You see Mom, most parents aren’t like you.  You care.”  “Can I just sit by you, Momma?  Some people are such good friends, they can just sit and be comfortable.”  “I know it’s late, Mom, but I have to talk to you now and tell you what a good time I had.”  “The policeman said I was the first boy who ever broke a school window and turned himself in.  I threw the ball too high.”

            Soon I shall be out of a job.  I hope to find another.  This time I intend to educate myself adequately to perform the tasks.  I want a finite list of my duties.  Oh yes, one more thing—I want better hours.

Constance B. Embree

September 30, 1979

A Few Funnies

Maggie is a pretty funny kid.  I know most parents are rather enamored of their own children and that I am certainly one of them; but she really is a hoot.  Her timing is particularly key.  I’m not always good about writing these things down, so I will use this blogger-majig as an excuse to set down some of the hilarity.

Last week we started a Parent-Tot Tumble class.  As we walked into the gym where the class was being held, Maggie and I saw all of the kids already rolling and running around on the mats.  Maggie proclaimed loudly at this energetic sight: “Wow!  Now you’ll really be able to lose some weight, Mom!”

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While looking at a cookbook together, we happened on a picture of some cookies.  Maggie exclaimed, “Oh, cookies.  I can’t have those.  They’ll ruin my figure.” 

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I told Maggie that an upcoming wedding this summer was supposed to be grown-ups only, so we would most likely decline the invitation.  She wildly cried out, “I’m little now, but I’ll be grown up then.”

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As Maggie was dressing herself in a pair of brown stretchy pants, she paused mid-way up her legs and looked quizzically at her slacks.  “You know,” she said, “when they’re like this it looks like a moose head.”

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A while back Maggie was running nude around the apartment (that is a story for another blog post, for sure.)  She kept hollering, “I’m proud of myself.”  She’s never had a problem with self-esteem, come to think of it.

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We were Christmas shopping at a store near my Mother in Bloomington-Normal when I put on a silly pair of fake glasses with fake nose and mustache.  I asked Maggie if she thought they were funny.  She soberly reproached me, saying “Take those off, Mommy.  It disturbs me.”

I hope this brightened your day.  She certainly cracks me up!

Arthur: A Birth Story

And now on to the birth story for my second born.  It is considerably shorter than the first one, and a bit less detailed.  I think that this is due to being tired as well as having a firstborn that also needed my attention.  Playtime is more pressing to me than typing.  And this go round was also shorter than the previous birth.  Maybe by the time I get to number four I can get down to about two hours for the whole she-bang.

                                                                   The Advent of Arthur

Friday November 4^th began like most days of my pregnancy with my firstborn son.  I was achy, full bladdered, and short winded.  But I was determined to clean the car out because it was the last labor intensive thing to do before going to the hospital.  My nesting urge had finally kicked in that week too, so I was really trying to make the most of this burst of energy that I had been feeling.  That really should’ve been my first clue that day that something was going to happen.  I had naively assumed for the entire pregnancy that things would progress in a similar fashion to Maggie, and I would have to be induced.  I was really against this because the contractions I felt with the Pitocin were rather painful, and I was disappointed that I didn’t get to experience labor from start to finish in a more ‘natural’ way.

My mother-in-law came and I vacuumed and wiped down the inside of the car, humorously squeezing between the seats with my enormous belly.  I felt really fired up to keep cleaning, even professing a desire to sweep up the entire parking lot.  Steve chuckled as my belly jiggled when I blew my nose.  Everyone remarked on how huge I was, and it was then that I started to feel dully fatigued.  I had hoped to do more scrubbing because I was twitching with energy.  I wound up on the couch doing online puzzles and watching piffle until Steve got home. 

We ate a meal of leftovers together, but I was eating kind of slow.  I wasn’t feeling contractions, but I felt more tired and achy than ever.  Steve scolded me and told me to finish eating so I could lie down.  While he washed the dishes I sat with Maggie.  All of sudden I felt this bubble in my gut—but it wasn’t gas.  Then whoosh!  My water broke like sitting on a water balloon.  Steve saw my surprised face and asked me what had changed (he could tell it was not a contraction).  I told him that I thought my water had broken, and he asked if I was sure.  I didn’t want to move because it hadn’t run off my chair yet, so I had him bring over my phone and a junky old towel.  I called the doctor’s after hours number, knowing that I wouldn’t get through since he was going out of town that weekend.  And the doctor who was filling in was my former obstetrician who I was trying to get away from by switching to the new OB-GYN. 

My mind was in a whirlwind.  I had written a list for packing and didn’t have much left undone that was in urgent need of finishing.  But the way my mind works I was of course freaking out about not having any clean laundry, and also about the ring around the sink.  After the phone call I went into the bathroom to finish draining.  This is exactly what my mother did when she was going into labor with me, except my brother was watching Sesame Street instead of finishing supper.  Poor Maggie was left alone and dirtied her diaper because she was too afraid to ask for help to get down and go potty. 

I called my Mom and asked her what it felt like to have her water break.  She said it would be either a trickle or a gush, and I told her “Well, then I guess my water broke.”  She told me to call back in half an hour because she was at a Marines ball and was listening to an interesting speaker.  I hung up with my Mom and called Auntie, but had to leave her a message.  At this point I decided to take a shower, because I figured it was going to be a while before I could stand up and take another one.   Steve finished the dishes and took care of Maggie.  I got out of the shower and put on some fresh clothes, including the last clean pair of undies (which I was still worried over.)  I grabbed my list and started packing, and that is when the contractions started to hit.  Maggie was a super trooper and would run over to me when I would start having a contraction.  She would hold my hand and say, “Mom, breathe like this!  Poof!  Poof!”  I loved her loving involvement and it made it hard for me not to cry.  There was no way though that I could take her to the hospital with me.

Steve’s parents showed up and we put Maggie into her pajamas.  She was dancing around with excitement and would pause only to help me breathe and pat/kiss my belly to encourage Arthur.  I was glad that she was happy and not anxious because it made me remember that no matter the pain it was going to be worth it.  My m-i-l wanted to come along with us to the hospital but we told her that the most important thing that she could do was make sure Maggie was taken care of and happy.  Maggie waved goodbye, kissed me, and said “I love you Mommy” as she walked to her grandparents’ car.  It was then that I started to cry; I would miss her so much!

            Steve and I listened to Led Zeppelin IV in the car to get me pumped.  Auntie finally got back to me while I was checking in at the ER.  She had to find someone to watch her dogs, but she would be on her way.  The lady at the ER desk disinterestedly asked me what made me think that I was in labor, to which I replied “Because my water broke and I’m having contractions!”  This made her snap too and I was soon riding in my bumpy chair chariot to the Maternity Ward.  They put me in triage and had to run some tests on me to see if my water had ‘really’ broken.’  I took it all in stride, but was still a little annoyed.  No wonder some left-wing types advocate for home birth/natural birth; the medical community has really desensitized women into thinking that they must not know their own bodies.  This was not me being hysterical—this was the real deal, people!

I can't believe these awesome ladies have gone through this TWICE with me!

            The nurses kept telling me “15 minutes” until I would be moved out of triage into a suite.  They didn’t know that my last labor moved faster than the average 24 hours.  After the test results came over an hour later I dragged my rear end down the hall to room 2609, just two doors down from where I gave birth to Maggie.  They hooked me in and I had Steve put things away.  I’m always going to be a neat freak, even in a crisis.  Our nurse was named Alysha, and she was very nice and friendly with a pretty good sense of humor.  She told me that she thought I would deliver by 3 AM, but I knew it would be sooner than that.  My mom arrived at about 11:30, and told me to try and hold out so Arthur could be born on Guy Fawkes’ Day—easy to remember then for Anglophiles like us.  Auntie came not too long after that, and I was glad that everyone had made it in time.  The contractions were getting stronger, and I could actually feel his head moving down the birth canal.  In between the intense but manageable pain I was in such awe that I was so aware, so in control of my body because I had no pain killers in it. 

            Contractions kept coming stronger and closer together.  I felt like using the restroom but didn’t have the strength to limp the five feet or so to get there.  The kind nurse brought a bed pan and suggested I go in between contractions, yet I was even too tired to do that.  Everyone recommended that I sit back, but it felt kind of good to be sitting upright through the contractions.  And then I felt his head drop pretty far and fast, and I was able to go because I felt like pushing.  I leaned back and started to cry, “I’m tired, I don’t want to do this anymore.”  I also told everyone that I was ready to push, but the nurse replied that I couldn’t be far enough along to do that yet.  “Would you like me to check?”said Alysha.  I nodded, a little miffed that no one believed me.  I could feel it and knew full well that he was ready.  I was checked and sure enough, fully dilated.  There was no good feeling in between the pushing this time, but I smiled anyway and kept repeating “It’s almost over, he’s almost here.” The doctor was called for, but I had already started to push.  He got there in time to throw on his gloves, take a seat, and catch little Artie as he corkscrewed out at 2:14 AM Saturday, November 5^th.  His face was so beautiful; no big eyes like Daddy’s this time, but they were opened wide and stared as hard as they could.  I remarked at the time that he looked like his Uncle Chucky.  He was very Hargan-ish, at any rate. 

Artie didn’t cry for very long before he was searching the room all over. I was completely floored when they told me that he was 8 pounds and 13 ounces.  I couldn’t believe that I was carrying around something that weighed more than I could bowl with!  He was placed on my chest and I cooed at him and kissed him, in spite of the goo.  This time I didn’t mind the muck, probably because I was no longer a fussy new mom but a battle hardened old pro.  We called parents and grandparents that weren’t there, even though I worried about waking everyone up.  Arthur cried heartily into the phone for them, ever a dutiful little lad. 

            Less damage was done this time, and I was already mentally prepared for the stitching.  To take my mind off of the pain, I started to sing to Arthur who was beginning to fuss again.  I sang him “Ziggy Stardust” by David Bowie,  “Tears Dry on their Own” by Amy Winehouse, and “Tangerine” by Led Zeppelin.  They were some of his favorites in the womb, especially “Ziggy” which I had amended for toddler ears since his sister wanted to sing along.  He really responded to the songs and cuddled contentedly, listening.  Naturally I wolfed down my PB & J again—I think I will make that a regular occurrence afterbirth.   Arthur seemed to be hungry too, chomping on his fists and sucking the air.  The nurse suggested I let him latch on for nursing, though I was certain nothing was there yet.  I was thrilled to be nursing again, less than a year when I had weaned my last baby.  I love that connection, the milk drunk eyes rolling into the back of the head, and the shivery little baby sighs of contentment.  I can’t believe how timid I was the first time, thinking I’d never get the hang of it.  It’s one of the best parts of being a Mommy.

Another successful Squargan ushered into this world

            Arthur was cleaned off, passed around, and loved, loved, loved to bits.  Everyone cleared out pretty quickly—we were all tired and well, the novelty of a new baby can’t really surpass that.  Alysha was going off shift, but stopped by to tell me how much she loved being with my family.  She thought we were all fun and funny, and had never had a delivery room be such fun.  She also marveled (and not for the first time) at my doing the entire birth naturally.  She told me that I was one of the few births she’d ever attended where the pregnant woman didn’t demand meds of all kinds.  Really though, I only did it without the painkillers because this time I knew what to expect, I had practiced some relaxing techniques, and I told myself that I could still have the drugs any time I wanted.  Like my Mom said last time: there are no medals for giving birth without painkillers.  Steve bunked down on the fold out chair, and I snuggled in with my wee suckling young one.  Again, since I was pretty used to cuddling a baby by this time I didn’t send him off like I did with Maggie (at least not until the second night).  We all fell asleep and slept soundly and late into the morning.  Anytime Artie stirred I just let him nurse, which suited us both fine.  I had my little boy in my arms, and I was immensely satisfied to let him stay there.

Arthur Ellsworth

            The siblings met later that day, and Maggie was over the moon with him.  She was even happier to see that I was still in one piece and doing okay.  She told me: “I’m glad you can breathe again, Mommy.”  She then proceeded to proclaim that her water had broken, and she needed to do her breathing exercises.  Arthur and I were left to lunch on our own while everyone else went down to the cafeteria.  Maggie tried a bit of Grandpa S’ sandwich and thought that the cafeteria food was the best thing she’d ever had.  Upon returning, Steve took Maggie on a tour of the maternity ward and to the little courtesy kitchen which was stocked with snacks and drinks.  She even got an ice cream to eat, and she promptly declared that she wanted to stay there in the hospital.  In between her exploring trips she liked to snuggle in the little bed with me.  I think that she was being a very brave girl, not admitting how much she missed me and wanted to be back with us.  She was very sad when it was time to go, and I’ll admit that as impossible as it could’ve been, I wished so much that she could stay too.  I knew I needed to heal up so that we could be together again.

            That night I sent Arthur to the nursery because the fatigue had finally kicked in hard.  The nurses told me in the morning that Arthur was quite the snuggler.  He pitched a fit when they tried to put him under the sun lamp, and wasn’t happy until one nurse tucked him up next to her heart under her sweater.  The nurses all lined up to cuddle with him—Ladies’ Man!  I was grateful that they did his hearing testing and billirubin check while I was asleep. He was jaundiced however, and I had to make some follow up checks during the week.  (NB: What followed was an intense week of heartbreaking foot pricking and nervous waiting on our parts.  He came through after we had the billi-blanket on him and he started to eat more.)  The other thing that sent me into a tizzy was that when we put him in the garage sale car seat (I am cheap), we found out then that it was totally un-usable.  He was almost vertical sitting in that, and his chin was touching his chest.  I fretted the whole way home that he was going to smother; and of course the more I fretted the more I lamented that I was a ‘terrible mom,’ even after my earlier confidence in the hospital.

And then there were four...

            Home once more, we unloaded the car and settled in.  Maggie came back the next day, earlier than planned.  Yet I so longed to have her back and I knew we’d be fine with Steve home to help.  In fact I was able to lift Maggie onto the potty and into and out of bed just about a week after coming home.  And we all seemed to settle into the new changes and different routines that pretty soon I couldn’t even remember life any other way.  The same thing happened after Maggie came.  Sometimes I couldn’t even remember that I didn’t always have her around to talk to or play with.  I was so happy to have my little family all around me, all cuddled in the bed together for naps.  I never knew that I could have such love and contentedness surrounding me.  Though it may not always be ideal or easy, I love my life and the changes that have occurred since bringing Maggie and Artie into our lives. 

Maggie: A Birth Story

I thought as an inaugural posting of actual content, I would share the birth story of my first born.  I've been wanting to share it for a while, but didn't think that Facebook or a family newsletter would be the appropriate arena for sharing.

WARNING:  It does get a little graphic.  I tried to be honest and detailed for my own memory, but I've excised anything too icky.  Also, it's really quite long.  You've been warned.

The Day Maggie Was Born

Steve got up around 7 A.M. but I tried to sleep in a little bit more so that I could be as well rested as possible.  For some reason I had the Who playing in my head.  I had slept as well as I could, considering how nervous and excited I was.  The baby was still kicking away furiously as I ate some Grape Nuts.  I showered and then Steve and I finished packing and loaded up the car to go to the hospital.  The last thing I did before leaving the house was make myself a PB&J.  I didn’t know how long it would take but I knew that I would most like a PB&J when the birth was through.  That was my meal of choice for celebrating my daughter’s birth. 

It was a warm and sunny Tuesday, and the traffic was light.  I started to feel more excited and less anxious because I knew that it would all be over soon, one way or another.  We checked in at 8:30 and were pointed in the direction of the maternity ward (though we’d been there earlier when we took the child birth preparedness class). 

We were shown to room 2611 by a nice young nurse named Gina.  She gave me a gown and told me to change into it.  We took a “before” picture of me, and then I changed in the bathroom (which was really quite spacious).  I had to have Steve tie up the back for me because the gown was kind of busted.  My derriere was hanging free in the breeze as a result—a rather unpleasant beginning to my experience.

Dr. Baumgart came in around 9 to check on me before they started me on the Pitocin.  Gina then hooked me up to a monitor that tracked my blood pressure and the baby’s heart beat.  It was exciting to hear that, and served as a good reminder to me of what we were there for.  Steve and I played 20 questions while we waited for them to hook me up to the IV unit.  Gina and a blood technician came in at 9:45 to stick the needle in.  I told them how I didn’t do well with being pricked, and mercifully they informed me that they were going to take my blood and get the IV in the same go.  I looked out the window while Gina stuck me, only to nearly barf when she said “Oops!  I always make a mess when I do this.”  There was a gush of warm liquid down my hand, from where they pricked my wrist.  I forced myself to think of anything else so I wouldn’t pass out.  Then I was cleaned up and plugged in with some fluids and the Pitocin.

About 10:05 is when Gina hooked me into some antibiotics on top of the other things.  I had to be hooked up to antibiotics because I had some sort of bacteria that if passed to Maggie would give her serious respiratory problems, maybe even pneumonia. And so for the second time in nearly a year I was hooked up to an I.V. for the sake of my baby—the first time being in the emergency room in September because I was dehydrated.  I was also connected to a fetal heart monitor for Maggie, and a blood pressure indicator.  That thing hurt like the Dickens; every half hour or so it would inflate around my arm so hard it would go numb.  Sometimes it wouldn’t get a good reading, so it would do it three times in a row.  I joked that it hurt more than the contractions, when really it was just more annoying to have it interrupt my concentration.

Hooked up and ready to roll, Steve and I cuddled in the bed and started a crossword puzzle.  Gina came in again just before 11 to check on me and to up the dosage.  She looked at my read outs and said, “Oh, that was a contraction!  Did you feel it?”  I blinked at her in a surprised way, because all I felt was a slight queasiness. 

“You mean that was a contraction?  I’ve been feeling those for weeks, and I just thought it was just discomfort related to pregnancy.”  I was encouraged by that, and quite foolishly believed that this was the medium level of pain I was to go through.

I'm almost as big as the machinery I was plugged into!

Mom called soon after that to say she was on her way and almost there.  I told her I was in room 2611 and that the Pitocin was already kicking in, as when she called I had started to feel stronger contractions.  She mentioned that Auntie was indeed coming that day, but would be there a bit later.  Steve’s folks called a bit after that and said they would be heading up there at some point, but were not hurrying.  They did ask that they be informed if things suddenly sped up so they’d be there in time.  Mom S was eager to come and visit Maggie and me in the hospital because she’d never really visited anyone and their baby after a birth.  She really wanted to have that moment where she could stand outside the nursery and point her granddaughter out to strangers as they walked by.  I felt bad when I informed her though, that there weren’t any other babies in the nursery, and besides Maggie would be with me.

Gary and Mom showed up just before noon, and they brought strawberries among other things.  Steve gave them a brief tour of the facilities and showed them where to get snacks, while I concentrated on a few more contractions.  Gary went to get lunches while Mom visited with Steve and I and helped me breathe.  I was hungry at this point, and couldn’t get my PB & J out of my mind, which was a bit detrimental to my pain management focus.  I went to the bathroom and Mom helped me trail all of my hoses and bags to get to the restroom. 

Steve was hungry, so Mom took over coaching entirely while he ate his lunch.  Gary had stepped out for a cigarette and to eat his lunch, then he brought Mom’s lunch to her.  She had him put it in the fridge because she was helping me.  She was very helpful during the whole time, because she helped me calm down and I knew that if she had been through it, I could do it too.

The In-Laws showed up a little after lunch time, with their own snacks and a stack of “Scientific Americans” for Pops S to read.  I started to feel a bit weird at this point, having such a large audience to witness this moment.  On the other hand, it was a good thing because I knew I would never lose my head with a whole bunch of people in the room; I’d be too busy trying to look dignified.  Silly, but that’s the way my mind works.

Contractions were coming a little closer together and a little harder each time.  The measuring thing kept slipping as Maggie moved lower and I shifted position to become more comfortable.  We all talked about birth experiences, and I told Mom S about how I chuckled while reading about Pops wanting to watch “Airwolf” while in the hospital.  She yelled at him at the time, saying she wasn’t going to watch “that stupid helicopter show” when she was lying there.  Instead they watched “Mama’s Family” and some other show.  Well, at least they tried to while Mom S was in some terrible labor. 

My mom talked about how my father told her that “she was too loud” and “it doesn’t hurt that much” when Nathan was born.  I was glad that Steve didn’t boss me around or take my pain too lightly.  At this time he was trying to finish the crossword puzzle we’d been working on (I had lost interest in it because my concentration was needed elsewhere). 

"What, Me Worry?"

The contractions got stronger, and if felt like my insides were going to implode.  I started to see stars and bright colors at the peak of each of them.  Steve and Mom thought that they weren’t going strongly enough because of the read outs, but it turned out that this was only an external indication that the contractions were happening at all.  The way I felt I could definitely assure them that they were getting stronger. 

Gina came in again and asked me how I was doing, and if I wanted something for the pain yet.  I agreed to some Demerol just to take the edge off of the pain.  Inwardly I was smug saying, “The pain is pretty bad, but I can totally handle this without an epidural.”  

After the shot I felt a slight reprieve in the pain, so the In-Laws went down to the cafeteria for some lunch.  Mom sang a few hymns to me during a few of the contractions, and she and Steve helped me change positions and go to the bathroom again. 

The doctor came in again to check on my progress.  Apparently I was moving too slowly (only about five centimeters dilated), so they brought in the “sac cracker” as my mom put it—a device that resembles a crochet hook—so that he could break my waters for me.  Gina and my mom held my hands and had to yell at me to stop writhing; the pain from that was pretty intense!  Afterwards there was a warm gush of water, like I had sat in some soup or something.  I started to wonder why I bothered to shower that morning at all, when I was now so sweaty and gooey.

The Squiers came back, and then Auntie showed up.  She felt bad seeing me in so much pain, but what can you do?  A new nurse name Helen was assigned to me since Gina’s shift was over at 3.  She checked on my cervix and said I was up to seven centimeters.  It was nice to know I was making progress, but I was starting to get tired with the whole process.  Helen also brought with her a nursing student named Sarah, and asked if she could watch/participate when ok.  As I am a teacher myself and only too glad to help someone to learn I told them it was ok for her to stay.  The audience just kept growing and growing!  Luckily that suite was so huge!

Helen showed Auntie and Mom how to massage my back when a contraction came on.  Helen also hooked me up to the oxygen tank concealed in the wall, as she said the monitors showed Maggie was starting to slow in her movements and needed more oxygen.  This was because of the pain killer that I got.  I didn’t feel any difference in movement or how I felt, and the mask kind of made it harder to breathe than easing breathing. 

"Oh yeah"  

Helen suggested to me that I try sitting on a birthing ball.  She said she swore by its effectiveness in speeding up labor as well as it being a comforting position to be in during hard contractions.  I turned her down initially, but as the pain intensified I agreed to give it a go.  I sat hunched over a pillow while Steve sat next to me and held my hand.  Auntie and Mom took turns pressing into my back, but they weren’t doing it hard enough to relieve the pressure.  I was so breathless from the nearness and pain of the contractions I just didn’t have the strength to give them directions.  Pops took a picture of me giving a “thumbs up” and faking a dazed look.  I really started to feel self conscious now, particularly as my butt was really hanging out while sitting there for all and sundry to see.

The pain kept getting worse and I wasn’t relaxing enough in between contractions.  It became difficult to tell if there were even breaks at all between each one.  Helen told me I needed to void my bladder again, so they unhooked me from the oxygen and monitors to try peeing again.  The contractions and moving hurt so much, I just couldn’t go.  She told me that they’d have to bring in a catheter if I couldn’t do it myself, and for some reason this freaked me out and I began to whimper a little bit.  When I got back from the bathroom I noticed some covered tables had been wheeled in, but I couldn’t be terribly bothered with curiosity about them.  I didn’t want to get my hopes up that the labor was almost over in case I used up all of my strength and it wasn’t done yet.

Finally I couldn’t take anymore of the contractions.  I was starting to exhale very noisily, even to scream a little bit, and shudder violently.  I asked Mom to get Helen for an epidural, to which she reminded me that it was ok and there “weren’t any medals for giving birth without drugs.”  Auntie echoed her sentiment.  They called Helen in, and she called the anesthesiologist at about 5: 45.  She told me she would then have to check on Maggie to see how far she was and if the epidural would get there in time.  Helen looked, and then hurriedly got out her phone thing to cancel the epidural.  I over heard this and moaned pathetically, “Why did you cancel my drugs?  I want my drugs!”

“You’re all the way there!  You’ll have to push soon!” was her reply.  I thought that this meant I was fully dilated but not to the point where I could push yet.  This I interpreted as more pain for an unknown amount of time.  The thought terrified me, and I started to yell and thrash a bit with the contractions. 

Mom told me in an excited voice to open my eyes (they were screwed tight shut) because they were getting the water and equipment ready for the delivery.  I heard Helen call for Dr. Baumgart, and then she said he was on his way.  Then she quietly and politely asked me that this was the time to ask people who I didn’t want to be there to leave.  I announced blearily to the room in general that people could leave if they wanted to, but I didn’t really care at this point if I was giving birth on live national television—I just wanted it to end.

I opened my eyes to look around, and the place was abuzz with activity.  It was kind of blurry though and I had trouble focusing because my body was screaming in agony.  Helen said that she was going to have to get a catheter, and for some reason this frightened me so much I went ahead and urinated in the bed.  “I’m going any way!” I shouted rather dumbly.  Auntie, Mom, and Steve were standing around me saying comforting things as I gritted my teeth and started to cry a little bit (I was embarrassed about having peed on myself.)  I really stopped paying attention to what was going on around me at this point, and all I could think about was how I wanted my drugs and my sandwich. 

Suddenly this amazing sensation took over my whole being: I wanted to push.  I announced rather matter-of-factly “I want to push now.”  It kind of sounded stupid when I said it out loud, but I thought they all might like to know.  I heard Helen say the doctor was in the building and on his way.  I pushed again and it felt great.  I mean it felt like my body was made of Jell-O and I had just won the lottery.  The nurse checked on Maggie and said my pushing was really good; I was a “natural.”  Steve and Mom said they could see Maggie moving down the birth canal and that her head was starting to come out.  I really wished that they had a mirror so I could see too.  Then again, I was fairly certain that if I could see the blood I would really start to freak out and stop pushing.

Pushing still felt really good, so I kept on doing it.  I was grinning in between pushes, looking like a complete idiot I’m sure.  The nurse asked why I was smiling, and I replied that it was because I felt so good.  As an aside to Steve she asked if I was alright; she seemed incredulous that five minutes after shouting for drugs I was calm and chipper. 

Dr. Baumgart showed up and he checked on me and Maggie.  He gave some directions to the nurses, and then asked Mom and Auntie to be my “stirrups” and hold up my legs for him.  The water and instruments for birthing were uncovered, and the baby warming table was turned on and prepared.  I think I was introduced briefly to Maggie’s pediatric nurse, but all my concentration was on pushing at that moment. 

The doctor told me that he could see the head, and Auntie and Mom confirmed it.  Steve craned his neck around to see her, and everyone commented on how much hair she had.  I couldn’t believe it, considering how bald her parents were at birth!  Knowing that her head was almost out (the hardest thing to push out) I felt stronger and more directed, though I kept yelling with my pushing.  The doctor and nurses told me that this wasn’t an effective use of my energy; I should instead be silent and direct that energy to my cervix and pushing.  I tried this and Maggie really began to move out.

I felt this ring of fire as Maggie began to crown, and the doctor said that with the next push he would cut me to ease her passing.  Then she would be out!  I breathed deeply for a few minutes, tired but really excited—any moment now I would see my baby!  The urge came again and I bore down.  I heard the snip but didn’t feel it as it was in the ring of fire.  I felt her head and body shoot right out of me.  No joke; it felt like she was jet propelled and just zipped on out of there.

Dr. Baumgart and Mom told me to open my eyes and look down.  I could hear her cries—music to my ears!  She had a funny little squeaking cry, not of distress or fear but of surprise and some dismay at how chilly it was outside of me.  Maggie was born at 6:39 P.M. on Tuesday, April 7^th 2009.  The entire labor was about eight hours including thirty total minutes of pushing.

Hello World!

"Hello, Gorgeous!"

The doctor held her up for everyone to see and take pictures, and then he wrapped her in blankets and placed her on my chest for warmth.  Helen massaged my stomach and I had the urge to push one more time; and then the placenta was out (Steve’s comment: “Ew, gross!”)  Dr. Baumgart told me he had to stitch me up because of the episiotomy, and I said “ok.”  All I could think of or focus on was Maggie.  People were around us snapping photos.  She had stopped crying when she was placed on my chest, and she was looking around at everything.  She grabbed Steve’s finger when he offered it to her, and I was so happy for the proud look on his face.  Maggie was the most beautiful thing that I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t stop smiling at her and cooing “Hello, I’m your Mama!”

At the same time I overheard Helen saying to Sarah that Maggie’s head was not very collapsed for a newborn.  She turned to me and remarked that I could do this all day, since my hips were wide enough to pass a baby’s head out without squishing it.  I smiled weakly at this comment.

Finally after what seemed like an eternity the stitching was over.  I asked if it was ok to give Maggie her first bath (even right after an exhausting labor my neat freak tendencies still flared up.  I wanted that goo off that kid!)  Since I was done being sewn up the doctor said it was ok.  First she was passed around to the family for everyone to look at/have pictures with.  Then they showed us how to wash her.  She didn’t cry—everyone was stunned—but proceeded to make a series of cute little “squeaks” instead.  Maggie had such big eyes, alert and staring.  I asked Helen if this was typical, and she postulated that it was probably because I didn’t have any heavy drugs that she was so awake and lucid.  Wild big eyes, she had.  So amazing!

We called the grandparents, other Uncles and Aunts and Brothers, and then Mom fed me my reward PB&J sandwich.  Oh boy did it taste great!  Steve also sat down and ate up the meal he had ordered half an hour previous.  The nurses gave me some Ibuprofen to help with the pain, and I dutifully took it.  I was quite surprised that once she was out and the stitching was done that I didn’t feel hardly any terrible pain anymore, nor was I tired in the least.  I thought that was kind of weird.

I mean, wouldn't you want everyone to know about this cutie?

Maggie was passed around to grandparents and great-aunt and Daddy for some more pictures.  All the while she really didn’t cry, and everyone was amazed at how alert and aware she was.   She seemed to be super interested in her surroundings, and we were bursting with pride.  Before the doctor left he said that we might have set a record for most phone calls after a birth—we wanted to tell the whole world.

Statement of Blog Purpose

I’ve been dithering for a long time about how to properly get this "blog" thing underway. Several months actually. Finding things to write about is as easy as finding something to talk about for me (and if you know me at all, I have NO trouble yakking away for hours about anything and nothing). Yet it has been difficult organizing these thoughts for an audience that is made up of family, friends, and strangers (although no one is as strange as my family and friends—yuk yuk!). So I think in the interest of clarity for you dear readers, I will lay out a statement of sorts of purpose for this blog. It’s in the form of a list because I like lists, as you’ll doubtless find out in the future.

Purposes of this blog:

• To keep in touch with my family
• To record and share anecdotes from my life and my family’s history
• To share any other information that I deem worthwhile and uplifting
• Intended audience:
• Family
• Close Friends (I want to make it clear to the Bored Internet Adventurers who want to try reading this that there might not be a lot of explanation involved hereafter, since I’m laboring under the assumption that anyone reading this already knows me or my family in some capacity.)
• Intended Content:
• Stories
• Memories
• Excerpts from journals or writings about/from my family
• Essays addressing issues of personal or general interest
• Other random ramblings—opinions, recipes, etc.
• Guest posts from family (hopefully!)

Orson Welcome Huntsman as a young man

I’ve been recently reading the journal of one of my ancestors, Orson Welcome Huntsman. He was an early Mormon pioneer who led an ordinary life out on the Great American Frontier, filled with the hardships that were inextricable from that place and time. One day while cutting timber during a unrelentingly hot day, Grandpa Huntsman fell ill with heat stroke. When he finally regained his senses and his health to some extent, he pondered how close he had come to death. Grandpa Huntsman worried that no one would know about his life, his hardships, his testimony, or his family (though he didn’t have kids at this point).  He asked his wife (a school teacher) to teach him how to write so that he could record his every day existence. To quote Orson: “if the Lord through His mercy should spare my life and should bless me with a posterity, be it great or small, I would like them  to know that I did live on earth, and know their father was a poor unlearned man who had a desire to do good all of his days.” His journal so far has been at turns uplifting and humorous to the touching and thought provoking. I figure if he taught himself to write just so he could keep SOME kind of record of himself, what excuse do I have with my fancy laptop and internet?

So keep tuning in to see what pops up from my blog!  

Orson Welcome Huntsman, older (it looks like the  Lord spared him after all!)

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