Part 2!

For the record - I love this baby so much.

So, so, so much. She's amazing, and cute, and just lights up every minute of every day.

EVERY DAY.

But, the only thing I can think to talk about, even though I try and try to come up with something else, is boobs. And nipples. And more boobs and nipples. Pretty much my life revolves around attaching this baby to my boobs. And nipples.

Never in my life have I had my boobs out so much. Not even in college. And trust me, that's hard to beat. (kidding) Seriously though, I don't think Playboy bunnies have their boobs out this much, and even when they do, they're not freshly scabbed. (Sexy, I know. No one said feeding another human with your own body was going to be pain free. And if they did they lied. Or they have magic boobs of steel, and titanium, and that stuff they tried to use to fix the oil leak under water that didn't work, but did work for milk leaks.) (Ever wake up in a pool of your own milk? It's more fun than it sounds.) (Why? Because you know your baby is not just sucking air, that you are actually feeding her, which is such a comfort, you know, since ALL THE PRESSURE IS ON YOU)

Eating is so exhausting.

But anyway, sorry. This isn't a breastfeeding post. This is labor and delivery Part 2! YAY!

So, after all the bathtub attempts we made it to the hospital at about 1 am. At this point my contractions are about 3-4 minutes apart and hurt so much worse than the previous ones I have a death grip on the car door, and my left hand is digging into my boyfriend's driving leg, since it's the closest thing to me. Luckily it does not affect his driving. Or if it does he doesn't complain, which is nice. Any complaining will not be tolerated at this point, even from myself. I don't have time to hear myself complain, because I just realized how long the walk from the car to Labor and Delivery is and I have to make it there without delivering this baby through my yoga pants.

So we sit in the car through a contraction and then try to walk as fast as we can to the Hospital doors before another one hits. It's like being in an air raid and waiting for a shower of bombs to drop before running to the next dugout. That's how I think about labor. Like being in some sort of blitzkrieg with your uterus. One second it's all calm and lovely, the next it's finger painting war stripes over it's cheeks and running at you with spears set on fire screaming like a banshee, holding up a severed head of your old professor.

(Yes, I know blitzkrieg and Amazonian natives coming at you are two totally different things. But that's what happens in your uterus. Worlds collide and bond. It's harmony and terror all at the same time.)

Anyway, the super nice security guard at the ER doesn't even ask us what's wrong. He immediately stands up and says, "This way" and leads us to Labor and Delivery. About 30 seconds into his walking tour I politely excuse myself and say, "Sorry. I have to stop for a minute," and bury my head into my boyfriend, because these contractions you cannot walk through. And yes, I said "politely" and I meant it. For some reason I wasn't rude or yelling or anything. Not even at the end. In between later screaming contractions (more on that later) I even apologized to the Doctor and the nurse for being too loud. I didn't cuss and anyone, I didn't get mad or mean, just very concentrate-y, which was the opposite of what I thought I might be. I thought I'd be a demon. Turns out, I'm very nice during birthing. Who knew?!

I mean, at one point I did try to bite the man who impregnated me, but that's only because his hand was Right There. I would have bit a poisonous eel if it had been in front of me, just to get through the next thirty seconds.

So, we made it up to Labor and Delivery and the nurse behind the check-in station also doesn't even ask what's up. She just gets up and says, "Come with me." I didn't think I looked so bad, I thought in between contractions I was phenomenal, but apparently not. Apparently anyone who saw me coming within a thirty foot radius was pretty sure of what was going on. That could just be because I was a pregnant lady walking into the hospital at 1am, it was probably pretty clear I wasn't there for a midnight tour.

She got us in the room, and I gave a pee sample (almost impossible by the way when you can't see anything down there and have to pray you're not going to pee all over your hand AGAIN), and then she immediately checked to see how dilated I was.

Three.

Not bad. Not great. She was calm, and took her time hooking me up. But I knew. I KNEW it was not going to be three for hours like she was thinking. She let the doctor know, everyone was very nonchalant. I proceeded to groan and moan and then very quickly the pain went from moaning-pain, to - I kid you not -screaming like some sort of jungle creature at the top of my lungs pain.

I did not think I was a screamer, but it was so uncontrollable I couldn't . . . uhm . . . control it. I screamed so much I was hoarse the whole next day. And then I found out why.

After the nurse took her time hooking me up and what not, about 30 minutes after we got there, I had to push. And I mean I had to push like, my body was pushing and I was trying not to and when I could talk I told my boyfriend to get the nurse because I WAS PUSHING. She came rushing in and checked me and said, "Oh my gosh, you went from 3 to 7 in half an hour. But don't push!"

"Then you have to give me an epidural because I CAN'T help it!"

And I was serious. I did not want an epidural. Not at all. Not even for the pain, what I wanted it for was to make sure I didn't push because I knew it was going to happen with or without the doctor telling me it was ok.

"You told me not to let you have one," my boyfriend very calmly said. "But whatever you need."

"I just don't know if I can stop it."

The nurse leaned over me so I could see her and said, "I can call the guy but it'll take a half an hour for him to get here and you won't need it by then."

Those were the most magical words I could have ever heard. EVER. Suddenly, (as my boyfriend tells it, I don't know since I didn't open my eyes really after this point) the room exploded. The nurse wasn't so nonchalant any more, and the doctor wasn't just hanging out. Things were being wheeled in, outfits were being changed. Apparently 3 to 7 centimeters in a half hour is serious. I COULD HAVE TOLD THEM I WAS SERIOUS.

Serious as a German banshee in the Amazon.

Ok, the rest of it will be later. Now I have to go feed my little lady. Feed her til it hurts.

Part 1 Labor and Birth!

Ok, first things first:

When you have a baby, your body does not immediately go back to it's original non-pregnant state.

Do not be alarmed!

Do not be sad when you still look five months pregnant even though baby is now out of your body and currently attached to your boob!

I mean, I knew this was not the case. I read books, I have friends who've had babies, I know things. And yet, I really wanted to look down when I got up from that delivery table and see my old body. Instead I saw what I can only describe as a mashed up birthday cake.

Anyway. . .

Me and the little lady enjoying the garage.

The Labor and Birth! Part 1!

So, Sunday August 14th I was 38 weeks. Sundays we usually try to go for a slow hike, or out to breakfast, or vacuum. You know, something fun. But instead of sleeping in and taking it slow, I woke up at 6:30 in the morning with a very uncomfortable feeling in my lower abdomen. And then again. And again. Until I realized these uncomfortable feelings were coming about every ten minutes.

"Uh honey?"

"Mnh."

"Honey loves?"

"Mnnnnh."

"Wake up."

"What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

"Mnnn."

"I think I'm having contractions."

"What?"

"I think I'm having contractions. Maybe."

*DING*

Suddenly we're both wide awake, staring at each other, curled up knee to knee.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Then we stayed there for a while. Staring and counting minutes. Still about ten minutes, and they were contractions for sure, but they didn't hurt very bad. I mean, they were like really bad period cramps for thirty seconds and then they went away. And I've seen movies, I know that things do not go this smoothly or pain-free, so we got up and got on with our day.

We walked the dog. We did some stuff around the house. I suggested we put the car seat in the car, just in case. Just in case. I didn't actually think we'd need it, but - eh, better safe than sorry. We went out to lunch, and did some shopping, and some more dog walking, I did some work, and through all of this I would stop every ten to fifteen minutes, put my head down and breathe through a contraction. That's it, just breathe. Ain't no thang. I actually remember thinking, "This is labor? Except they come closer together. Psh. I can handle this shit."

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaah!

That's the sound of post-labor me, laughing at pre-real-labor me. Except in real life the laughing goes on and on and involves pointing, and sticking notes on my back that say, "DUMB".

So, after about 12 hours I called Labor and Delivery, and the Doctor told me what I thought she would - don't come in, we'll just send you home. Fine by me. When I asked what I should do if this was still going on the next day she said, "It won't. It'll either get worse or it will go away." Which again, was fine by me.

So, I went to bed and fell asleep thinking tomorrow everything would be gone and I'd just be normal ol' pregnant. But about a half hour after I fell asleep, my boyfriend got into bed and suddenly those teeny tiny contractions had turned into HUGE contractions, and they were about five minutes apart. And they weren't something I could breathe through, they were something I groaned through. And yet, the boyfriend did not believe it. Who would though after a whole day of contractions that were harmless? So I gripped his arms and squeezed my way through a few more before he kinda started to take me seriously.

"Maybe I should make you a bath?"

"A bath?" (Are you f*&%ing kidding me?)

"Yeah, a bath might help. We need to delay as long as possible." (This we had agreed on. Neither one of us wanted to be in the hospital longer than we had to.)

"A bath?" (Do I look like I want to get in the bath right now?!)

"I'll just run it, you don't have to get in."

"You should pack a bag." (You get in the bath. I'm going to have a baby.)

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Please pack a bag." (Pack a mother f-ing bag!)

"Ok."

(PACK A BAG!)

So, somehow (delirious from pain) he talked me into the bath. Where I stayed for about three contractions, yelling at him to get in here every time I had a contraction because I just could not go through it alone. Somehow, being able to push my head into his chest, shut my eyes, and groan through the wave of a contraction was waaaaay better than trying to do it by myself. With him there I could handle it. With him in the other room I was lost, unfocused. So, he'd go start to pack his bag until I'd scream at him to get back, he'd rush in and let me bury my face into his arm, then I'd yell at him to finish packing his bag, then yell to get back, and so on until I finally heaved myself out of the tub and talked him into getting the car started and this show on the road.

And still, he did not believe me. He thought we'd get there and they'd send us home. Me and my lower half? We knew better.

More tomorrow!!! For now here's a few pictures!

Long feet!

I'm not sure what sort of a ride this is, but I loves it!

Very concerned I'm actually going to nap during my nap.

Baby Adeline!

Guess who decided to come two weeks early!?!

Adeline Leigh Amidon. 7 pounds, 9 ounces, 21.5 inches long!

I'm so happy and in love and still delirious. She's a week old already (which is craaaaazy, I feel like I just pushed her out five minutes ago) (more on that later) (lots more) (vagina stiches more) but for now, here are a few pictures!

A few hours old. First few minutes of being wide-eyed.

Teeny tiny finger on Dad's finger! SO TINY!

You know how I know her Dad loves me? A few hours after we had her he went out and got me Cold Stone. It was the size of her head. Possibly bigger.

Awake and wondering why she's always topless. (I could eat her up right now!)

Everyone keeps telling me she looks so big in the photos, so I put my hand up for a comparison. She's so little! I mean, yes, I have huge hands, but still! She's only 7 pounds in this picture!

And lastly, this was at about 5am this morning when she was done nursing, and just wanted to hang out with Mom for a little bit. We were celebrating her cousin being born just a few hours before! And then she didn't fall asleep until 7am. We need to work on her vampire hours a little bit.

Anyway, more later! Labor and birth! Whooooo!

37 Weeks!

I just debated between eating a Hot Pocket and a king sized Ice Cream Snickers bar for my after-lunch treat.

The Hot Pocket won out.

But only because I'm having the Snickers bar for my after-after-lunch treat! HOLLA!

Based on the way I'm eating it'll be amazing if this baby doesn't come out a 13 year old boy who relies on the glow of the video game screen to let him know what the outside looks like, and then gets up and microwaves himself another Hot Pocket.

In other news, I haven't gained more than 30 pounds which is AMAZING considering the way I'm eating. Also, I think the doctor's scale is lying to me, because although it says I'm not any bigger, the shirt I could wear a week ago no longer fits. Instead it exposes the underside of my belly, like I'm a fifty-nine year old man at a NASCAR race who still thinks his community college t-shirt fits, and insists his push-ups are totally working.

Two weeks and two days left! (Not that I'm counting) I have a feeling I can eat a lot of Hot Pockets in that amount of time. According to the updates, the baby is now the size of Swiss Chard. From a cantelope to a stalk of weird lettuce-like stuff? I plan on hunting down the master writer of these food-baby comparison updates and pelting her with the assorted garden items for clearly being drunk when she wrote them.

Until then I have an ice cream bar the size of my face to eat! Yay!

Lightning, Twinge - It's All The Same Really

So, there's a lot of weird feelings that happen up in here. Like, the feeling of your stomach being crushed so small that even though you want to eat that entire plate of spaghetti you can really only get four bites in before you run out of room, and your hunger is screaming, "FINISH IT!", but your stomach is screaming, "If you put one more bite in I will seize up and cause you a world of hurt you never thought possible! And for unknown reasons I'll also give you diarrhea. JUST FOR FUN."

There's periodic leg cramps, and a weird runny nose I can't get rid of, and sometimes I'm fairly certain my toes are about to fall off. (But that's probably just because when I tried to reach them the other day I bent them up really far to give my arms some help, and discovered that toes are not so bendy, thus causing a toe cramp session that was cured only by me running around the house to put my toes on different parts of the house/furniture to see if it would bend it in the right way to get rid of the cramp.)

But the weirdest feeling is something I call (sorry Dad) "Lightning in my vagina." Because it feels like a sudden bolt of lightning.

In my vagina.

It's like the baby found a nerve that runs straight down and just sits on it every once in a while. A friend of mine brought this up all on her own the other day, and before I could agree with her she said, "It's like a twinge in your cervix." Which is probably a much more medically appropriate way to describe it. She said lightning sounds dangerous, and very painful. And she's right. It's not super painful, it's just shocking. I guess I could have called it, "Brain freeze in my vagina", but that's probably pretty painful too.

Anyway, I'm on my way to the doctor right now, and I plan to ask her what this is. The father of my child said my friend was much more couth than I was and that I should use her terminology.

We'll see.

Hairy Pregnant Lady Chases After Mailman While Eating Licorice

That's what the headline would read for today's paper if there was a paper that followed me around.

Why?

Because I chased not one, but TWO separate mailmen today. Barefoot. Pregnant. And not letting go of my iron grip on my Red Vine-related breakfast. I swear to God when I got home I realized what I had just done and how embarrassed anyone related to me would be if they'd seen me because I was a little off-her-meds-and-early-morning-drinking looking.

So, I have put about twenty different letters in the mail and no one has received them. This would not be such a big deal if it was bills I was paying because whatever, I can just cancel the check, but these were thank you notes. And I had written them. And got them out in a timely fashion. Which is SO UNLIKE ME. And I was so proud of myself, thinking, "See, am natural mother. Can do things like write notes. Am only steps away from baking pies and teaching life lessons. Oh my god, I have to teach life lessons. Do I know any life lessons? I know that you should never go on a date while trying out a new deodorant. Is very important. See! AM MOTHERING GENIUS."

Anyway, for unknown reasons my mail is not being delivered and thus my letters and cards and whatnot are out in some mail-space-limbo thus negating all sorts of natural mothering/adult stuff I thought I was doing. Because if a letter falls in the woods and no one is around to read it then pretty soon I'm going to have to REWRITE FORTY THANK YOU NOTES.

Cut to me out in the backyard this morning, when all of a sudden I hear the mailman pull up.

"Hi!" I say trying to peer over the fence.

Get ignored by mailman.

"Um, hi?" I say louder, trying to hoist myself over the fence. Hoisting was a lot easier without a thirty pound basketball acting as barrier between myself and said fence.

Continued ignoring from mailman.

Realize he's not going to pay attention to woman's forehead on other side of fence. Run to gate and hope to catch him on the way out.

Mailman drives 80 miles an hour to next cluster box, which is really only about five houses away. I run as fast as I can, wildly waving arms, and calling, "Hi! Excuse me! HI!"

'Hi' is only thing I can say apparently.

Cannot run as am eight months pregnant. Plus don't have shoes on.

Am pretty sure mailman sees me. Am only three houses away now.

"Hi?"

Mailman slams boxes.

Wait!

Mailman slams car door.

Wait, no!

Waddle faster. Yell 'hi' again.

Mailman's brake lights go off.

Wait, please!

"HI!"

Am almost 100% certain mailman looks at me in rearview mirror, smiles, and hauls ass away from me as fast as he can.

Nooooooooooooo!

See mailman turns right, so turn around and speed waddle around to the other side to see if I can wave him down from in between blocks, but when I get the two houses down to the other side of the street where I can see the other cluster box, mailman has already slammed the doors and is tearing down the street like he has to keep his little mail truck thing above fifty-five miles an hour or his truck will explode!

Anyway, I did not catch him. But then I saw a mail truck on the other side of a busy street. And as crazy had not left my blood stream yet, I took off as fast, and as barefoot as I could, dodging traffic by holding up my arms as if I was chasing after a car that had just kidnapped my sister. Am sure I looked like a lunatic, as at one point, my sweater fell off one of my shoulders and because I was getting so hot from all the mailman chasing, I started to take it off, but then had to run some more after truck so now am barefoot with sweater half on, half off, tank top that doesn't cover belly completely, hair all ridiculous and flowing (not in a good way), and eyes like a crazed raccoon that just got caught going through you're trash can but has no intention of stopping.

Caught this mailman. She was kind enough to make sure there was no outgoing mail stuck in my box. Am pretty sure she only did this because she was afraid for her life.

Do not blame her.

So, there was none of my mail in there. I have no idea where my mail is going, but from now on am driving to post office on other side of town to drop off mail. No one in my neighborhood needs to see that again.

In other news....

36 Weeks! Less than four weeks left!

I have not seen anything below my belly button in months! It's like half my body is a mystery right now. Hair? Probably out of control. Knees? I think I still have them. Toes? Who knows! It's all a secret!

Now, if you'll excuse me I need seven naps from all the chasing. Mailmen are tricky little suckers.