Lazy meat, quit yer loafin’


Nothing says “I have too many leftovers, no imagination, and a chunk of ground beef” like meatloaf. What other meal allows you to simultaneously clean out your fridge, hide produce, and feel good about giving your kids a hot meal with just some easy prep and patience. I found that after just a few times, I no longer needed a cook book, or as just meat. I do have a couple shortcuts to share though:

  1. Use a good food processor. I like the Euro-Pro Ninja Master Prep Blender and Food Processor, it makes me feel like a real ninja with all the rogue veggies I can puree and hide into what the kids think is a pure hunk of meat.
      The problem with the Ninja though, is it attracts my 6 year old like a moth to a flame, or as I say a cat to an electric can opener. With an audience, you have to be even more of a ninja to toss in the green beans from last night, a couple raw carrots, an onion, a tomato, or whatever you have on hand that is raw or requires a good blending. You may have to threaten your kids with certain death, amputation of fingers, or starvation if they are picky and you don’t want them to see how you make your ‘secret sauce’.
  2. Once you have your paste resembling a bowl of baby crap, scrape it into the Kitchenaid mixing bowl. You can also toss in more leftovers, some examples include: rice from when you had Chinese takeout, whatever that was in the Tupperware container that vaguely smells like potatoes, actual mashed potatoes, etc. Get creative here, this is where your leftovers get eaten up and not composted.
  3. Toss in a couple eggs, and now raid your condiments. You can add ketchup, or BBQ sauce, mustard if you like, worshesher-whatever sauce, etc. Throw in some random spices that smell good, some milk, and a dry ingredient like crackers, bread crumbs, or oatmeal. Mix all these in your stand mixer, and let it sit for a couple minutes to turn into a gross looking, gelatinous mess.
      I read somewhere that the key factors to the perfect fluffy meatloaf are to let the dry ingredients sit and get soggy. Also, to not molest the meat… err, in other words, you don’t over-mix the ground beef, so pre-mixing the other ingredients well is really important.
  4. This is where my love affair with my Kitchenaid mixer was born. Use the dough hook that comes with it, add your meat and then mix. No longer do I have to relish in the joy of cold, raw, ground meat between my fingers, the booger-eating cousin to the much cooler sand between my toes, illegitimate son of the promiscuous between my legs and the ever brilliant between my ears.
      But I digress. Once your meat and mush have gently been mixed together, plop the whole thing into a baking dish on 350 and cook for an hour. You now have time to watch a show on the DVR, play a Facebook game, or kick the kids outside and hide in the bathroom with a book.
  5. When you hour of bliss is over, slather more condiments over the top, bake another 5 minutes, then serve. You can serve with a vegetable, or a starch or both. If I include enough veggies, I will let my kids believe they are getting off veggie-free and just serve with potato wedges or something. My boys are pretty good about eating their meatloaf, but my daughter isn’t as wonderful. Then again, for the child who hates vegetables, she would pick a salad and plain white rice for dinner over meatloaf any day of the week.

Tonight the princess thought she would be slick. After all the kids had eaten, including the baby who happily nursed while I dislocated my shoulder to eat cold meatloaf, the ones who ate got fresh chocolate chip cookies. The princess decided she could skip her meal and go right to the cookie. When that didn’t work, and screaming didn’t make me give in, she resorted to climbing onto the counter, grabbing the Tupperware and running as fast as her stubby little legs would take her. She ended up going to bed without finishing her meatloaf, or a cookie, but she did end up going to bed with tons of tears. I think tonight mommy is going to drink a nice glass of wine for dessert, because mommy drinks when you cry.

*This is not a sponsored post, but Kitchenaid or Euro-Pro is welcome to send me a free gift for this post if they would like. I really want the mixing blade with the rubber spatula built in for my mixer or extra bowls for my ninja. *wink wink*



Reflection


Tonight I broke down on the telephone with my husband. Liam squeaked though the baby monitor and I placed him on hold so I could put the monitor up to my ear and listen. I teased him for calling me a paranoid mom when he was driving us home from the hospital and at a red light I unbuckled and climbed over the seat to make sure my tiny little boy was not swallowed up by his giant car seat and that he was doing okay since he suddenly stopped crying. I remember him jokingly telling me I was acting like he was my first and not my fifth, and I remember explaining that I knew it wasn’t rational, but this perfect little soul *scared* me.

I think as parents we all have irrational fears about our children. With my first baby I remember him sleeping past his normal 3am feeding time and waking up at 4am with engorged breasts and sobbing that my baby must have passed in his sleep. Rationally I knew he would eventually sleep through the night, irrationally I just knew SIDS must have claimed him. My husband was in boot camp and when he called the Sunday after that instant I burst into tears when I told him our boy was sleeping through the night. He also probably got an emotional letter in the mail as well.

Then my oldest son came into our life and I was always scared his birth mom was going to come steal him away. I knew her better than that, and I trusted her, but I was always so scared that I would pick him up from school and they would explain to me that he had already been picked up by the non-custodial parent.

Then my third baby came along, and I found something else to be irrational about. I wish I could remember, but he made it out of infancy unscathed. Our fourth baby, our first and only girl was born, and she scared me so bad that I would not allow my husband to get a vasectomy until she made it safely to her second birthday, ergo the reason we got our fifth and final child.

Today I was researching pediatric pulmonologists, allergists, and pediatric neurologists. EEGs, seizures, and breath holding spells (BHS). Logically, I know this was likely an isolated incident. Irrationally I have myself convinced I need to have him looked over by a room full od specialists. I think of unnecessary poking and prodding, tests, and procedures and I just cannot make myself put my little boy through this for something that happened one time.

When I heard my husband’s voice tonight, I realized I was still wearing my brave mask. I was falling apart and not allowing anyone to see it. I have not taken time to allow myself to process the fear; to deal with the feelings, and to let myself admit how scared I was. I can still close my eyes and see the events of Friday night so clearly in my mind. The moment where I realized something was wrong. I wonder if I was as calm when I called the emergency dispatcher as I remember myself sounding. When I remember back to that night, I am on the outside, looking in. I cannot remember a single moment where I was ever that scared before.

I remember moments when my husband was in Iraq, and I heard about a casualty from his unit on the news. The fear I felt when he explained to me a building he was next to exploded and shrapnel was hitting his vehicle and it sounded like hail. I remember when helicopters I thought he was on went down, and then I did not hear from him for 20 days. I still cry at movies where they talk about the war, military casualties, or when bagpipes play “Taps”. But if I have to put this in perspective, the fear I felt that night is 100x worse. I didn’t let myself feel it though. Now that he is over the hurdle, and all he has is a lingering cough as he continues to work the crud out of my lungs, I find myself going back to that moment, and I find myself wanting to fall apart.

So tonight when Bobby called and asked how the kids were and then asked how I was, I started crying. I am a mess. And I feel SO guilty for feeling this way while so many people have dealt with so much worse. My heart goes out to all the parents who have had to face the loss of a child, or a spouse. For those who have children with chronic illnesses or disabilities. For anyone who has had to hear that they, or a loved one has a terminal illness. So tonight, when I allow myself to cry, and to allow myself to process the events of this last week, I will be thinking of everyone else who has also had to put on a brave face while they were falling apart inside.



Liam is 3 months old!


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It is hard to believe my little man is already 3 months old (as of yesterday). He’s turning into a baby right in front of my eyes as some of his infant traits melt away. For instance, he rarely has evenings where he cries for no apparent reason from 9pm-10pm anymore. He also smiles, coos, and laughs now. He still has some more work to do on his head control, but he does well with holding it up, he’s just wobbly still. He also sleeps through the night very well, most nights for 7-9 hours at a time. If only I could get myself to lay down when he does, life would be near perfect.

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He’s a pretty happy baby, at Matthew’s kindergarten teacher-conference yesterday, every time she would go into teacher mode when she read along with Matthew, he would start laughing. Something about her speech pattern just cracked him up. He’s pretty awesome about allowing anyone to hold him too. I remember Matthew & Sophie having a pretty healthy dose of stranger anxiety at this age, but not Christopher or Liam!

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Zonked out on my coffee table.

Oh dear Sophie, this girl is Drah-mah! She only naps about half of the time we lay her down, and then sometimes she will fight and by dinner time she is so exhausted we find her like this. Yes, that is my coffee table. We are still working on potty training, and it is so hit or miss. She still won’t poop on the potty, and today she peed on the potty. No “atta girl’s” here… I mean she peed ON the potty, as in panties up, onto the toilet lid. Don’t laugh. Okay, go ahead and laugh; I did. But don’t laugh in front of her.

My oldest and my youngest.

Aren’t my boys cute?? Austin loves his baby brother. In case you are wondering, that is a road rash on Austin’s face. He ate the pavement with his face while riding his bike two months ago. Poor boy has his father’s bravado, combined with my grace. This totally explains why he has a major accident every other year starting in Kindergarten.



Today we said “See you soon”.


At 5 am this morning, Bobby and I said our goodbyes, but instead of goodbye, I told him “see you soon”. It didn’t hit me until I was 20 miles away, and I started thinking about how much it hurt to be away from 1/6th of my heart…. and if I am missing him this much, he must really be hurting, because he’s away from all of us. He called from Dulles twice today before his Dubai flight to see how I was coping with 5 kids and 4 hours of sleep. He was making sure I wasn’t burning out already, but I am more worried about him, than me, I have distractions. I have a baby to care for around the clock. I have doctors appointments, teacher conferences, homework to help with, meals to cook, a house to take care of. I don’t have time to burn out.

Quickies:

Liam is 2 months old today, he had a well baby exam and was 13 lbs. 3 oz shy of a 6 pound weight gain. Over 6 pounds if you count his lowest weight, he’s also gained 3 inches. Pretty awesome if you figure he’s gained 3 inches in 2 months and the average is 2 inches. The average weight gain is 5-7oz a week and he averages 11.6 a week.

Dude– I’m never getting another Dell. Christopher’s charger for his Alienware broke. 4 months of light use, we are talking probably 20 times of unplugging/plugging. It is a BAD design, think of a thin copper wire, like maybe the size of a .7mm pencil lead, housed inside a plug as big around as a pencil with the eraser pulled out. I was told that they would not honor my warranty because if it broke, it was “abuse”. BS! Got an aftermarket charger on eBay, no way is Dell getting $80 from me for a new cord.

Dyson, ROCKS. I love them! Their customer service is top notch. I called to order a new cover for brush, a thin piece melted or broke off. They are sending an entire brush mount, a $110 retail part, for free, on a 1 1/2 yr old vacuum. No questions asked. So now my raves for customer service are Apple, Comcast, Dyson, Verizon, Automated Petcare Products (Litter Robot), and of course USAA.

Austin was holding Liam last week and said “I LOVE it when his face turns colors, it is so red”. I said “yes honey, that is because he’s pooping”. His eyes got big, his face got red and he said “oh god no!!” and passes him back to me. Funny boy!


Sophia is totally potty trained, and we ventured out into public today without any accidents. Still no poop success, and we have not braved overnight yet.

Matthew got this ‘stache from a birthday party yesterday, I had to tell him to take it off to go to bed, he wanted to keep it on. I told him he looks like a young Burt Reynolds, but he didn’t get the reference, so I called him Baby Earl from the TV showMy Name is Earl. All day I was saying “my name is Matt”.

Christopher has been an absolute joy this week. He’s finally been allowed to get a Facebook page and has been absolutely superb at getting his chores done without being told.

I started writing this post 7 hours ago. I kept getting interrupted.



What a Weird Day!!


Isn’t it incredible when you can walk into a business, which is nearly empty, and then moments later it looks like a tour bus was unloaded? This was how it was at the Post Office today. Not only have I always joked that there are several portals to hell, to include the DMV, the bank, the post office, the mechanic, and the emergency room. This statement could not have rang more true today. I mentioned earlier today that we would be mailing off a storage locker to Afghanistan, well we loaded it up with clothes, books, and computer equipment, weighed it, then hauled it out to the van. After a long wait in the line that went from no one, to a line out the door in the time it took us to fill out a customs form and wrap the box in tape we get to the front and pull the box onto the scale. 74 lbs. Crap. The limit is 70 lbs.

We had to get out of the line, unwrap all the tape, remove jeans, and then wait for the person in front of us to finish so we could pop back to the postal worker we were with. He weighed us again, 68 lbs, rings up the total, $125, gets to the point where we are supposed to swipe the card, and he realizes his coworker is logged into his computer… we have to go to the terminal 2 windows down. While waiting for him to weigh and put in the address and such again, some guy comes storming in. By his body language, I know he’s not a happy camper. He goes up to the worker in the window next to us and says “Did a woman just mail a package to Thailand with you?” I am assuming something got mailed that shouldn’t have or something.

So he gets up in the guys face and says “Listen *bleep*, you need to watch how you talk to people. You don’t have to be such a *bleep*. You better watch your *bleep* back. Do you hear me? DO YOU HEAR ME [Name on name tag]?? That is somebodies daughter. *beep* *beep* *beep*!” At young woman in line starts yelling “HEY! You need to knock it off! Show some respect!” She looks like she’s about to charge him. She’s all of maybe 100 lbs, but she ended up getting him to leave. Now I don’t know what was said or done, but I did notice she came completely unprepared. Her items had cardboard just wrapped around them, with two ends open and he had to help her make them into boxes by cutting and taping the cardboard. She occupied a lot of his time and was there for the time it took about 3 or 4 patrons to mail their stuff with other postal workers. The line was backing up, and the worker continued to help her prepare her package instead of just telling her to either come back with a box that would hold the contents securely, or get a priority mail box and pay more. There was no way her box would hold for international travel. This is the only post office in our city, so I have had stuff mailed with all four of the gentleman that were working that day, and they were always kind. He took his tongue lashing and never said more than “Calm down sir”.

By the time we left the post office, it was nearly 5pm, we had been there about 90 minutes! We needed to get a power of attorney notarized and the first bank we went to had closed 2 minutes earlier. The next place was open, but Bobby ended up in line 45 minutes before he got to the front of the line for the notary. He said he was not supposed to notarize POAs, but he would make an exception because he waited so long, and refused to charge us for it, even though we are not members. Sounds like Mr. Notary could teach Mr. My-girl-can’t-figure-out-how-the-mail-works-so-I-blow-up-to-defend-her-honor a lesson in manners.



Thank-you Mother Nature


Another snow day today, that means my kids will have a four day weekend, which could not come at a more perfect time. Their daddy is leaving Monday morning at 0′dark-30 for a 6-12 month stint in Afghanistan. Thankfully the roads seem better this morning, than they were yesterday, which bodes will for all the errands we need to get done today. Since Bobby is a contractor, and not a soldier, he will have to move his own stuff, so he is mailing a storage locker and hand carrying a storage locker. Last time he mailed a tough box, the boxes were completely destroyed, and the airline broke his suitcase. I hope this time they will not suffer a similar fate.



Mini Vacation


I just got home from a super relaxing mini vacation. We drove to the other side of the state to see his friends, my family, a combination “Bon Voyage” and “Welcome Baby” visit. He went over before I did, spent time with friends, and then I came over with the kids. It was so nice to see my parents, my sister & brother in law, and my niece & nephew. Because Matthew was missing his valentines day party, my mom made heart shaped sugar cookies with the kids, and we all addressed valentines day cards to him and Sophie. Matthew cracked me up when he said “Wow! I didn’t know Liam could write in cursive” when he read a card I addressed to him from Liam.

For the drive home we caravanned home. While hitting a Starbucks Drive-Thru I asked if I could pay for my drink, and that of the hot guy behind me and then told her he was my husband of 14 years. She said “keeping the romance alive by traveling in separate cars huh?” Yup, Mr. & Mrs. Romance! We have never bought into the VD hype, one year we just happened to stop into a new store which ended up being a gun store. I tease him the most romantic Valentines Day ever was the year he took me to the gun store.

Half way into the trip I had lost my mind with one of the little ones repetitively pushing the button on a talking fast food toy my mom gave them. It was Barney from the Simpson’s movie saying either “call me” or “Homer” or “homicide” or something. While the kids were stopped for a potty break, the toy was quietly slipped into the trash, and no one has missed it. Thank goodness. I have never figured out how kids have an innate ability to gravitate towards the most annoying toys at my moms house, and then use it in the most annoying manner possible.

I was so happy to be home, in my own bed, but I loved having the long weekend with my family. I don’t get over as often as I want to, so it was nice to have an excuse to make the trek.



Four weeks ago


Where does the time go?? It was four weeks ago today that I was in labor with my sweet baby baby boy thinking he was going to be born on his due date. Ha! He fooled me! :)

Even though he won’t be four weeks old until tomorrow, I wanted to go ahead and update while I had a moment… easier said than done when you have five kids (only the little three are home right now, and the littlest one is napping).

He’s a pretty mellow little guy, but he is also pretty needy, especially at night. He will sleep a couple hours at a time as long as he is in my arms. I am getting more accustom to sleeping with him in my arms, which is something I just do not enjoy.

[Interruption #1, Sophia climbed up on her dresser and dumped all the water from her wipe warmer all over her dresser and floor trying to plug it in. It was unplugged because it is broken.]

His brothers and sister adore him, but his sister is not too sure she likes sharing her spotlight. I know she loves him, but I also think she’s a little resentful that he’s always in arms. I am trying my hardest to make sure she gets extra attention and I am including her in his care by asking her to be my helper.

[Interruption #2, 3 & 4. Sophie is trying to dress herself and is bringing me clothes, shoes, and a diaper. Then she broke the latch off her dress-up chest and wanted me to come fix it.]

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Matthew is constantly asking to hold Liam, and usually his timing is bad. I will have just latched him onto the breast and Matt appears out of nowhere and says “Can I hold Liam?”

[Interruption #5, 6, 7, Sophia found a shirt she liked and asked me to button it up, asked me to put a diaper on her that was wet from the wipe warmer water, and when I sent her away for a dry one she brought a pocket that didn't have an insert]

Christopher really does not ask or attempt to hold him anymore.

[Interruption #8, had to empty the potty chair]

Austin loves holding him though and is always asking to hold him, or stealing him out of his swing. I am so impressed with him, he is going to make such a good husband and daddy someday. He does his own laundry, loves to cook, adores babies and is very thoughtful. I figure when he’s 30 I am going to auction him off to the highest bidder.

[Interruption #9, 10 & 11, emptied the potty seat again, broke up a fight between Sophie & Matt over a balloon, and got a hug from Matthew for finding a lost villain for his superhero toys.]

Sophie has to be reminded not to put her feet on Liam’s head, I am not sure WHY she insists on doing this, but it is annoying.

[Interruption #12, drama over panties. Sophie claims she has some, Matthew tells her she doesn't, shouting match ensues.]

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[Interruption #13-16, Liam wakes up, on the way to get him I have to rescue Sophie from herself, she has somehow climbed in the back of her diaper storage tower and is stuck. Get the baby up, change his diaper and his clothes. Sophie throws a fit because she insists she needs a wipe. Then throws another fit because I closed my door, not her.]

Liam is a pretty content little guy, he loves to cuddle and watch your face. He’s starting to smile a bit and engage a bit more.

[Interruption #17, baby needs to nurse.]

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[Interruption #18 through ??.... had to make lunch one handed for Sophie & Matt, pick up my kitchen, all while holding a fussy boy who wants to nurse again.]

#!&% it, I give up. Yup, I see exactly why the last 4 weeks have flown by.

FYI: this took me 90 minutes to write.



Handy little product


When I was a kid, my dad used to frequently take me cross-country skiing, and then when I was older on cross-country motorcycle trips. We also did a lot of canoeing, camping, and other outdoor activities. I often remember having cold hands and feet, especially in the early morning hours until it got warmer outside, or through activity. I would have loved to have hot hands Hand Warmers to slip into my gloves, or toe warmers to slip into my socks. Pair those with some funky synthetic socks (not cotton!) from Old Navy, put some quality wool socks over those, and in no time, I could have been comfortable and warm and ready to go, instead of sitting around the fire waiting to thaw out. Now that I a older, I don’t camp much, just because I don’t tolerate the cold anymore. My fingers easily turn sheet white, or sometimes blue, because of something called Raynaud’s phenomenon, which is just a fancy term for restricted blood flow to the finger tips. I would love some hand warmers to toss in my car until it is heated up and my fingers are awake again.



Liam’s Birth Story


I think I have chewed this over enough in my head that I can finally write Liam’s birth story. The only thing I cannot remember, are times near the end, but if I ever get my records, I will come back and update.

I was due with baby #5 on 12/27/10, but given my history of 40+5 – 41 week births, I truly expected to meet my son or daughter in January. Around 33 weeks I was risked out of home birth for blood pressure readings over the 140/90 mark and encouraged to see my homebirth midwife’s favorite OB. At first, I was so angry and hurt I was feeling like I was not important in this busy practice. I would drive 45 minutes, wait 45 minutes, see the nurse for 5 minutes and the OB or CNM for 5 minutes then drive 45 minutes back. My kids were frustrated, I was frustrated and I was just so sad every time my blood pressure was taken and they would tell me how good it was. However I kept reminding myself “it is what it is” and each visit got better and I slowly changed my outlook and my attitude. I told myself that everything has its purpose, and there had to be purpose for this. Maybe this would be my healing hospital birth after my first and second left me feeling like a spectator at a sport where I had lost control and dignity? Maybe I could prove to myself I could have a natural hospital birth?

I diligently wrote up my birth plan. I stated I wanted my baby’s cord to be cut only after it stopped pulsating. I wanted to labor and deliver in the water, after all, this hospital *IS* the only one in my state that allows planned waterbirths. I did not want medication offered to me. I wanted to push in any position I wanted to be in and I didn’t want someone telling me when to push. And most of all I didn’t want pitocin or anything else to augment my labor.

So Christmas came and went without even a braxton hick. I just had to make it through my husband’s birthday the next day so I didn’t “ruin Christmas or my Birthday” as he kept teasing me. My little boy had plans of his own. Around 3pm on December 26th my contractions started coming 5 minutes apart, lasting a little over a minute. They were still pretty mild, so I just went about my routine. After dinner, I needed Bobby to blow up my birth ball so I could rock through them. By the time my kids went to bed, they started picking up and I would have to pause and breathe through them. By 1am on my due date, I decided I needed my doula here to help me through them. They started getting closer together and lasting longer, so around 3am we decided to head up to the hospital since it was an hour away.

I arrived at the hospital and they hooked me up to the monitors. My contractions had slowed down a bit so we decided to walk the halls until they picked up a little more. Around 6am they checked me, and I was only 2cm dilated with a baby who was not engaged. We decided I would go home, take a bath and a nap, and come back when labor picked back up. They did think it would be today though. A due Date baby! I was excited because only about 5% of all babies are born on their due dates, and it was my earliest baby yet!

Instead of driving all the way home, we decided to stay in a hotel down the street where I would take my bath, crawl into bed, and sleep. While in the bath I noticed I was losing fluid of some sort, but it appeared to have color in it, so I assumed it was my mucous plug. When I felt more fluid coming out I stood up and called my husband and noticed green water running down my legs in large gushes. Not only had my water broken, but the baby had passed meconium, which could suggest the baby was in distress. 45 minutes after we arrived at our hotel, we were leaving. Talk about a very expensive hour! Bobby and I joked that it looked like I was just a booty call, and he had some sicko pregnancy fetish.

This time when I arrived at the hospital, it was for keeps; they put me into the water birthing suite and hooked me up to monitors for intermittent monitoring. I called my doula back, and when she arrived we started walking the halls. Around noon, they checked me again and I was still unchanged, so I ask her to stretch me if at all possible.
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She was able to stretch me to a 4-5cm, but my baby was still really high and not moving down. My contractions were mostly in my back, so my doulas did hip squeezes and we do squats with each contraction to move my baby down. While we were walking the halls, I saw my old midwife, who is there with other clients who had to transfer during labor, and she gave me a big hug and words of encouragement from her mentor; “remember, each centimeter is not created equally”. Around 6pm my contractions were starting to space out, and my baby was still not dropping, so it was suggested that while our doulas were taking a break for dinner, maybe Bobby and I should try nipple stimulation to pick up labor, because the OB wanted to start pitocin. When the doulas returned a half hour later, we asked for a little more time and tried lunges and rebozo.
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[My doulas, Diksha & Sarah, using the Rebozo on me to get baby to move into a more favorable position]

We decided the baby was in a funky position and that is why s/he was not moving down and engaging, and without strong contractions to push the baby onto my cervix, l just would not dilate. At 7pm I was checked again and I still had not changed at all since noon, when I was stretched from a 2 to a 4-5.
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[Me with my nurse, also named Heather]

My nurse gently suggested that I change rooms, since I could no longer labor or deliver in the birthing tub, because I was getting pitocin, and they were expecting a couple who desired a water birth. I was not about to let someone else lose their chance at a water birth, so we moved. But it was sad to cross another thing off my birth plan. The pitocin drip was placed, and it was a gentle slow process that was monitored closely.

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The pit was only turned up every 45-60 minutes by 1ml (out of 30) and only if my contractions were not picking up. I tried to rest between contractions and I was able to nap through some of the early ones, but by the time I reached 6ml, I was done. I was physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted. I don’t remember what time it was, but I think by that time I had been in labor 36+/- hours, and I was beat. I asked for an epidural and anesthesia was called while they pushed IV fluids. The contractions were in my hips, chest, back, and lower abdomen, and just felt unnatural. My doulas made sure I really wanted this, and let me know it was possible I was closer than I thought, but respected my wishes when I said I was done. They told me how proud they were of me for sticking it out so long. I had some “rock your world” contractions while waiting for my IV bag to empty, they called them double peak I think? I would have one long strong contraction, with a second, shorter one right immediately afterward. My nurse said it suggested a posterior baby, so while waiting on the anesthesiologist we did some exercises to try to rotate the baby. We had to pause the epidural process three times for contractions, but finally it went in and halfway into my 4th contraction, my feet went dead.

The pitocin was turned up while I rested, but the monitor kept losing the baby’s heart beat, and my contractions were not being picked up at all. When we got to 8ml, the OB and nurse noticed the baby’s heart was decelerating with each contraction. They placed an internal contraction monitor in to see if they were happening at the beginning or end of each contraction because I guess one was better than the other. The OB mentioned that I may need a cesarean because my placenta may be showing signs of stress at this point, but they were willing to watch and wait. The pitocin was turned off and my contractions stopped and so did the decels. They turned it back on to about 6ml and watched to see what part of my contractions caused the decels. About 3 contractions later it was determined that they were caused by cord compression and that I could continue to labor. Some of the decels scared Bobby though as they dropped down to about 45bpm for a few seconds. I was put on oxygen and they moved me from one side to another. From time to time my legs were moved to open up my hips to encourage baby to drop. Around 7am I was checked and only at about 7cm and a -2 station, but with each contraction I would open to about 9.5 with a thick lip, so she let me try some test pushes to see if I could move through the lip, but baby just would not move down enough and when I stopped pushing, baby would pop right back up. My OB then went off duty and her midwife took over. Finally, shortly before 9am on December 28th, 43 hours into labor and 26 hours after my water broke, the midwife decided we could try pushing again. By this time I could feel my legs and my contractions and I was ready to get my baby out.

NICU was on hand because of the meconium, and my doula and Bobby held my legs since I still didn’t have complete strength back. It took 1 or 2 contractions, with about 4-6 good pushes to get baby’s head out, it was cocked to one side, asynclitic they call it, and baby had a hand up next to its face. With the second contraction I got out baby’s shoulders and then I was told not to push while she cut the cord (it was wrapped around the neck and the abdomen) and she suctioned baby’s mouth and nose. Finally with one last push my baby was born at 9:07am. Before passing baby off to the respiratory therapist, she asked my husband “tell them what you see daddy” and Bobby announced we had a baby boy! This was part of my birth plan. Oh, and I was told when I could push, but no one counted or instructed me how to push, so my birth plan was somewhat followed in that aspect too.

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Baby was suctioned and given to Daddy to hold and then handed to me.

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I held him and said his name over and over again, “Jackson”, and I nursed him, but then I started shaking so bad that I handed him back to daddy and they did the newborn exam. He was 7lbs 3oz, the same that I was at birth, and 19″ long.

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I called my mom to announce his birth and tell her we named him “Jackson Liam”, but got off the phone when my shaking got to be too much. It was around this time I noticed Bobby looking at the baby funny. I thought maybe he was disappointed we had a 4th boy, instead of a 2nd girl, but finally he said “he just does not look like a Jackson to me, he looks like a Liam”, and I had to agree, he DID look like a Liam.

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[Liam with my amazing doula Sarah]

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[Liam with my incredible doula Diksha]

Liam and I both had fevers, so it was decided that they would take blood samples and allow them to grow for 48 hours to make sure he didn’t have an infection. My water was broken for 26 hours and I declined antibiotics, so I decided not to fight the doctor’s orders. I got my first shower and Bobby brushed my hair for me and we discussed middle names while we were waiting on the Dr. to get back from lunch. We decided on Liam Michael, we liked how it sounded and I have an uncle and cousin and we have a good friend named Michael, and it just fit. After the blood draws, Bobby headed back home to relieve the babysitter and get some rest. Our fevers went down, and Liam got his first bath.

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The next afternoon, Bobby brought the kids up to meet their brother, and it was love at first sight. Sophie was a bit standoffish with me, like she had been when dad first came home, but warmed up quick when she saw the baby. They each got to hold him, and then it was time for us to rest. I was released on the 30th, once his 48 hour culture came back negative.

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Liam is 12 days old now. He’s doing well. He sleeps great during the day in his swing, our arms, or on our bed. Night is a different story, seems he only wants to sleep in my arms, while nursing, which is counterproductive to me sleeping. I love the age old question “Is he a good baby??” Sometimes I can resist the urge to say “well, he’s not paying for hookers or betting on the ponies, so he can’t be that bad”, usually though something smart slips out. We do seem to have some gas issues, which may be related to tongue-tie that I intend to talk to his pediatrician about this week when I see her. Other than that, he is gorgeous, and we adore him.

Sometimes birth is about letting go, and making compromises. As much as I didn’t want pitocin, or an epidural, even more so I didn’t want a cesarean. I wanted another home water birth, but I can only speculate that I would have been too tired and ended up transferring to the hospital and getting an OB I never met, who didn’t know my history and possibly was not as open minded about about my choices, or desires for a vaginal birth. As difficult as his birth was, it was also a healing birth. I learned that not all OBs are surgery happy, and some are very trusting of the birth process. I learned that having a good nurse and being in a good hospital can make all the difference in the world on what kind of outcome you can expect. And of course, your baby’s birth plan ALWAYS trumps your own birth plan, so expect the unexpected, and learn to roll with the punches and let go of expectations.

I want to mention how much I appreciated the support I received from my amazing husband, my wonderful doulas, my incredible RNs, my awesome OB & midwives, and everyone else who offered support, advice and encouragement. I love you all so much.