Walking in on My Wife

Kirsten assures me that there's some sort of demand out that for my version of the birth story. So, I'll temporarily suspend my governing principle that whatever the father does during labor and delivery doesn't matter (e.g., boiling water) and give you a little window into my mind.

First, I have to reveal that Kirsten is off on certain elements of the timeline. I can't fault her for this, as she wasn't so much near clocks or paying close attention to them, but as I was teaching at the time, I was keeping very careful track of each minute. In the event of later litigation, I have eight students who can testify as to when I walked out of class.

1:40 (Kirsten pegs at 1:20) My cell vibrates with an immediate second call from Kirsten, which we'd previously agreed was to be reserved for an I-should-walk-out-of-class (one I'm teaching) baby-related scenario. I interrupt trying to figure out how to get through Halton draws before class ends at 1:45 to answer the phone in the hall. Kirsten tells me her water has broken, but since she's not contracting, I don't need to head home immediately.

1:41 I apologize to my class that the "leave immediately" alert was triggered for a non-leave immediately scenario. Go on to explain how Halton draws can expedite numerical integration in the likelihood function of random coefficients logit models.

1:48 Get back to my office after class. Call Kirsten back to see how she's doing, and see if it's perhaps time to let my parents know they need to get on the next plane from Ohio (they're on call to take care of Soren while we're in the hospital). Kirsten suggests that perhaps it's best if I come home now.

1:50 Fire an email to my 2:00 meeting with a publisher rep that I would have to cancel because my wife's water just broke. In retrospect, this is at least as effective as the dead grandmother excuse.

1:52 Call my mother and tell her to get on a plane. She sets off to find my father.

1:53 Shave legs. Why...oh.

1:55 Pack my stuff and walk out of my office for the 30 minute commute home. On the way, I think about what I'm going to do with the inevitable time in labor before we go up to the hospital: the last place you want to be before it's time to be at the hospital is at the hospital, because they just leave you in a poorly-designed waiting room. For Soren's birth, I'd planned a bunch a distraction activities for Kirsten; I was a little behind in that respect for Sigrid.

2:29 Pull into the driveway. Collect myriad empty coffee cups from my car. Throw the recyclable ones into the bin on the way into the house.

2:30 Open the door and slip the non-recyclable cups in the garbage (I recall this specifically...it was important these be properly thrown away).

Pause, as I hear incongruent crying. It isn't Kirsten, and it isn't Soren (who should still be at school). I turn the corner when Kirsten calls, "Chris...", and she's standing in the dining room holding...the crying thing. "What is crying, and why is Kirsten holding that really realistic doll?" ran though my mind (really...that stuck me as more sensible than she'd just had the baby in the dining room and was holding it). Then I saw the umbilical cord and what happened became a little more clear. Kirsten reassured me "She's OK, she's OK," as I'm sure she saw a bazillion thoughts run across my face.

Now, I'm a planner and a strategizer, and I deal with these situations by doing things...what needs to be done. But this was a situation in which I never expected to find myself, and hence I had no idea what to do (though I did remind myself that, in fact, there was no need for boiled water). Fortunately, Kirsten intervened and told me to go upstairs and get a towel...that seemed sensible.

On the way back down, I was true to my academic nature and grabbed the pregnancy book to see what it suggested I do in this situation. It reassured me that sudden, unexpected at-home births were wonderful plot devices, but didn't happen enough in real life to worry about.

Failing to find satisfaction there, I called the OB's office, where are recorded voice informed me I was second in line.

I had hesitated to call 911 because it wasn't a life-or-death emergency, but as I sat on hold with the OB, I realized I was going to have to transport this tiny, tiny baby in my car if it wasn't in a rescue, and somehow getting her into a carseat seemed challenging and inappropriate. Also, if she was going to be more than 28" from Kirsten in transit, the cord was going to have to be cut and a placenta delivered. I wasn't trained in this, and the book clearly wasn't going to be much help. So, I hung up on the OB and called 911.

In the very few minutes while we waited for the ambulance, I did take a minute to hug Kirsten and look at the baby, and even to snap a few pictures. When rescue arrived, there were no fewer than seven paramedics and supervisors in the delivery room, so it was a bit crazy.

I did get to cut Sigrid's cord, and hold her briefly while they wrapped up Kirsten. When they drove off--lights and sirens--with my girls, I rolled up the rug, set about making after-school arrangements for Soren and took off for the hospital.

Intro-Deuce

We are pleased to introduce Sigrid Isabel, the newest member of our family. She was born at 2:20 this afternoon. She is 6.6lbs, 19 3/4 inches long and wispy, curly hair. Mom and baby are resting happily.

There is a birth story that is Kirsten's to tell. Suffice it to say that I am awed to silence by my wife.

Home From the Hostabul

Alternate title: A Possibly Inappropriately Flippant Post about a Serious Topic, But This is How I Cope

Hello, Loyal Fans! It's Kirsten, coming to you from the couch, here at the end of my first day of what many Americans call "Staycation," but which my doctor prefers to call "bed rest". I just got back from a couple days in the hospital with preterm contractions. That's the bad news. Lots of good news, though: the scary part is over, and The Deuce and I are both doing OK, and I'm glad to be out of the hospital, and my mom is flying in tonight to help out for a little while (let it be said, however, that Chris' parents were also quick to enlist, and may yet be called to active duty). But, yeah. I have to basically do nothing for at least the next five days, and I have no idea what the doctor will recommend once my Friday appointment rolls around.

So, how did this all happen? On Thursday, I was happily working at the computer all day, occasionally getting up to eat and pee and other fun things pregnant people do, and I noticed that my abdomen was hurting whenever I walked around. I went to pick Soren up from school, and took a walk with him, and was definitely feeling bad by the time we got home again, so I did some good old-fashioned lying down on the couch. If I'd known how much time I was going to be spending doing that very thing in the near future, I probably would have chosen a more exotic spot to lie down. Like the mall. Or the French Riviera. Anyway, once the vague pain started resolving into contractions, and I started timing them and thinking I must be wrong about how close together they were, it was time to go to the ER. Our wonderful neighbors, the Moons, were nice enough to come over at 9:00 PM and stay with Soren until Chris came home.

Once I was hooked up to the monitors, it turned out that the contractions were two to three minutes apart, and although they weren't as painful as I remembered labor being last time, they were still painful enough that I had to breathe through them, and that was freaking me out. Plus it took two nurses and four tries to get a decent blood draw from my arm, which wasn't helping. Luckily, I was only about 1.5 cm dilated, which isn't out of line for this stage of pregnancy, and the contractions weren't lasting long enough to do much further dilation, so while there was some talk of the excellent chances a baby has after being delivered at 29 weeks, it looked like we could avoid that scenario with IV fluids, a dose of Nifedipine, and 24 hours of observation.

Once we had that course of treatment settled, I felt much less scared, and sent Chris home so he could get some sleep. I daresay he slept better than I did, since the secondary mission of the hospital, next to "Serving the women and infants of Rhode Island" or whatever, is "Making sure no patient gets more than five hours of uninterrupted sleep". They're always coming in to ask you stuff, or give you a pill, or readjust the monitor because your troublemaker fetus keeps running away from it so it can't pick up his/her heartbeat. I mean, yes, OK, the main point of being there was to be treated, not to sleep, plus I got plenty of chances to sleep all throughout the next day, so I guess I can live with the interruptions. But it makes for a long night.

For a time, I was lying there thinking how much The Deuce, via the monitor, sounded like a mustang in a thunderstorm, what with the racing heartbeat and the really loud rumbling produced by his/her rolling around all over the place. GALUMPH GALUMPH GALUMPH GALUMPH GALUMPH GALUMPH GALUMPH GALUMPH GALUMPH GALUMPH KKKKKKCCCGFFFFKKKKKPPPKKK GALUMPH GALUMPH KKCCFGGGGGGGCCCKKKKHHH GALUMPH GALUMPH. It was like visiting the high plains in the Old West. I will grant you that I was very tired when I made this observation.

The next day, my doctor told me that she wasn't sure what brought on the preterm contractions, but that I seemed to be experiencing a classic case of Irritable Uterus. Well, sure! The rest of me is irritable enough, so why not my uterus, too? If I were slightly more inspired and were allowed to, like, move, I would set up a little photo shoot at this point wherein I'd have some phrases like "Turn that racket down!" and "Get off my property, you hooligan kids!" written across my belly, and then I'd post them here on the blog by way of witty illustration. Hopefully the written description is as funny as the pictures would have been. Anyway. Every time I got up to use the loo, or someone adjusted the monitors on my belly, or the sun would shine at a particular angle through the window, my uterus would be all like QUIT DOING THAT OR I SWEAR I WILL TURN THIS CAR AROUND, and the contractions would start up again. So until all my lady business was in a better mood, I was going to stay in the hospital -- at least one more night. Ugh. A lot of people have it worse, certainly, and I won't say I had it really rough or anything, but still. Ugh.

I was ready to go on Saturday afternoon, so it wasn't too bad. But I had no idea I'd be on bed rest until I asked the nurse on Saturday morning, "So, are there any restrictions on what I can do when I get home?" You know, thinking that I probably shouldn't walk more than half a mile for the first couple days or lift any 32-pound toddlers. But the answer was, "You really shouldn't do any more than you've been doing here." Which, it turns out, isn't a lot.

Of course, it's great to be home again with my men. It was lonely in the hospital. Chris and Soren did get to come visit me Friday evening, and it was so nice! Soren wasn't really fazed, so I got to read him a few stories, and he ate lots of saltines from the Patient Nourishment Unit (there is a tiny room with a juice dispenser and a box of crackers in it, and that's seriously what it's called) and helped the nurse by turning off the monitor when she invited him to. The next afternoon, when they came to pick me up, I asked what they had done that morning, and Soren exclaimed, "We went to the hostabul to pick up Mama!" So I guess he was happy to see me.

He was less happy to find out that I can't get up to play with him or take walks or anything, but he's mostly dealing with it all pretty well. I think he'll be excited enough about Gramma being here tomorrow that he'll forget about me altogether.

So, there's my saga. Again, I have no idea what the doctor will say on Friday -- maybe I'll be able to ease back into a lighter, but mostly normal, routine, or maybe I'll have to lie here until November. I'd really like to be able to get up and take walks and not be a total leech for the next two months, but I suppose extreme sloth is better than going into labor before The Deuce is fully cooked. I'll keep you all updated. Hey, I have nothing better to do.

This post seems unfinished without my expressing my thankfulness for how wonderful, caring, supportive, and hard-working Chris is. I think this may at times be harder and scarier for him than it is for me now that the worst part has passed. In a way, I have to work on _not_ thinking about it too much, since stress is counterproductive, but Chris has taken on a lot this weekend in terms of worry, chores, child care, not to mention thinking about that job he has to go back to tomorrow. So even though my account of the whole ordeal focuses on the lighter side, I'm quite serious about how glad I am to have Chris's support -- not to mention the support of the rest of our family, near and far, and our friends. Thank you. We're going to be all right.

Taking a Break from not Blogging

I have all kinds of good excuses for not blogging lately. My life isn't that interesting -- that's a major one. Also, everyone in the house has been sick, and Chris was in Vietnam in two weeks and is now in Anchorage for a week, and blah blah blah.

Soren had hand-foot-mouth disease (it's more fun to call it Coxsackie virus, frankly) over the weekend. The poor guy was covered in spots, had a fever, and was very sad because his mouth hurt. On Monday, Renee and Ian came over (Soren got Coxsackie from Ian in the first place, so it was OK for them to play together) (sorry to out you as a disease-spreader, Renee), and we had a nice time -- walked to the park, started making muffins, put Soren down for a nap when he started flipping out because the muffins weren't done yet, finished making muffins, ate muffins. I think all the excitement used up Soren's energy for the rest of the day, though, because all he wanted to do after his nap was watch Cars. We watched it three times. And I was not allowed to leave his side, or else much whining and screaming and "Mama, are you coming RIGHT NOW?!?!?" would commence. So Soren and I watched Cars three times on Monday. Unnnhhhhhnhnhnh.

The story has a happy ending: he feels better, and is back to his usual silly self.

I went to the OB for a checkup yesterday, and she said The Deuce was measuring a little large. Uh-oh. I mean, Soren was almost nine pounds, and he never measured large. Hmmm. Perhaps my special diet of Carnation Instant Breakfast, celery with hummus, and ravioli (not all at the same time) is some kind of fetus-embiggening regimen. If only I could choose to eat other things.

Soren had to come with me to the doctor's office, which he wasn't too thrilled about, but I psyched him up by telling him a) the doctor wouldn't be examining him; and b) he would get to hear the baby's heartbeat, and it sounds like "WWSHEEWWW WWSHEEWWW WWSHEWWW". In his words, "That's pretty silly!" When the doctor got the Doppler out and started moving it around to find The Deuce's heartbeat, it made its usual crackly noises, and Soren said, "It's a thunderstorm!" Then we got to hear the heartbeat, and he thought it was quite funny. I think the only major disappointment for him was the fact that they didn't have any lollipops, which are an important part of any doctor visit.

The Deuce's Internet Premiere

I had my 18-week ultrasound today, so Chris and I got our first good look at The Deuce! It's funny -- two days ago, I still hadn't felt any kicks and was starting (well, continuing, if you want the truth) to feel anxious, but I started feeling little thumps yesterday, and the scan today looked great, so now I feel much better. So, to celebrate, here's one of those slightly incomprehensible ultrasound pics! Hint: that grey baby-shaped blob is the baby.



High five!



Come on -- don't leave the Deuce hangin'!

You're Invited....

To my pity party! Please bring food.

To date during this pregnancy, I have had one bout of stomach flu and three colds, thanks to my little resident vector, Soren. Cold number 3 came on last night. I would like to not be sick any more. When I was pregnant with Soren, I was freaking bulletproof. Chris got the flu, and I didn't get it. I didn't get one single cold. Those were the days.

OK, now that we've gotten the first part of the pity party out of the way, I would like to talk about a particular pregnancy side effect known as "cravings". Doesn't sound so bad, right? Like, "Hey, I could really go for some pickles and cream cheese about now -- I wonder if we have either of those things around?" Somehow, the word "craving" lacks a certain.... time-sensitivity. And acuteness. I think a more accurate term would be "Immediate, all-consuming need which cannot be satisfied by anything else". If I find myself wanting a pickle, I don't kind of want it sometime in the future. I require that a pickle be delivered unto me NOW. Except it isn't pickles, it's ravioli at 10 AM, or a cheese and avocado sandwich with mayonnaise in the afternoon, or a bowl of white rice with tomatoes at 10 PM. The other night, I needed nachos at 10 PM. I tried to talk myself into having a bowl of cereal instead, because it seemed so much more wholesome. So I ate the cereal, and it didn't work. The Deuce was not fooled. And so I had to have nachos ALSO. The lesson: don't try to get around the craving, because you'll end up eating twice as much as you really needed to, and you should really be pacing yourself, keeping in mind the 50+ pounds you gained last time you were pregnant.

I also have this problem where I can't drink water, because it's gross. Maybe not gross, exactly, but definitely not quite right. It makes me feel hungrier, if that's possible. It's like my body expects everything it ingests to have calories, and water violates that rule. So I've been drinking Gatorade for a few weeks, but now it just tastes too... red, so I recently switched over to lemonade. Iced tea is also acceptable, as long as there's a tablespoon of sugar in it. Honestly, I'm a big fan of drinking plain water all day, so it pains me to have to drink sugar water instead, but The Deuce has spoken.

So, anyway, the theme of my pity party today is colds and cravings. Also, it is my birthday and Chris had to go to Alaska for business this morning. He had to leave at 4:30 AM, so maybe he's been punished enough, but I thought I'd bring it up. Well, OK, I found two very sweet cards from each of my men this morning when I woke up, so that was a good birthday surprise. Maybe I'll go out and get a sandwich to celebrate. I already had cereal and ravioli this morning, but that was more than an hour ago!

New Title, Same Pay

Since Soren joined the Anderson family, he has risen effortlessly through the ranks from Competent Newborn to his current role as Vice Toddler. As his two-year performance review approaches, we are proud to announce that Soren is being promoted again, this time to the position of Chief Big Brother.

The newest member of his department, so far known as "The Deuce," is still in training, and will be joining us full-time at the end of November.



Hooray for the "big budda"!