Month: January 2015

My Breastfeeding Fiasco

Little O

Little O

Of course I was going to breastfeed my baby.  There was never a doubt in my mind.  I took the class.  I did the reading.  I bought the best pump available.  (As a little aside, if you live in the U.S. and have health insurance, you can get a pump through your insurance company.  I didn’t know that. Luckily a girl in my childbirth class told me.  Mine was 100% paid for. ) Anyway, suffice it to say, I was all for giving my baby the best nourishment possible.  The milk from his mother.

After having a c-section, breastfeeding proved to have it’s challenges.  Firstly, I missed out on the natural journey an infant can take from being placed on the mother’s abdomen, making his way up to “find” her breast naturally.  I had seen this video in my breastfeeding 101 class and it made me weep.  So so beautiful.  I had hoped for that..but it didn’t happen.  There was no putting an infant on my abdomen that had just been freshly stapled.  That’s alright, I thought.  It will be fine.  So we won’t have that initial skin to skin bond.  We’ll have it later.

So later came.  To be very honest, I don’t know when later was….as I was still drugged out of my head.  But the nurses kept saying that the baby doesn’t need much right away.  It will all be fine.  Your colostrum has extra nourishment.  When they put the baby to my breast, he seemed to find my nipple.  He seemed to be doing something….but was it all happening the way it was supposed to?  I wasn’t hearing the “sucking sound” they talked about in the class.  But maybe I just didn’t know really what to listen for.  Every couple of hours, Ian would bring the baby to me to feed.  In the class they stressed switching breasts with each feeding, but I had my IV in my left hand which made holding him on that side impossible. And I couldn’t lay him on my chest, because he was so long, his feet were at my incision.  So we concentrated on the right side. We kept this up…but something just seemed not right.  It seemed like he just wasn’t latching on.   The lactation person came to see me.  Checked my positioning.  Listened for the sucking sound.  She said she heard it.  Why couldn’t I?

In the afternoon, on day 2, the nurse came in with a small bottle of formula, a rubber glove, and a medicine syringe.  She told us that the baby was losing too much weight, and she was going to instruct us on how to finger feed the baby, if we wanted to learn.  But the baby needed nourishment.  And he needed it now.  It was up to us.  So what do you say?  Do you say No?  “He will eat from my breast when he’s hungry.”  Do you hold on to your idea of the way you wanted it to be?  Or do you feed your child?  So Ian and I decided that he would supplement finger feed the baby with the syringe and I would keep offering my breast.  But we decided that I wouldn’t feed him the formula, in case it became confusing for the baby.  And we really were hoping the boob snafu was temporary.  Well, he could suck on Ian’s finger.  But then again a finger is much longer than my nipple…let’s hope.   I could hear the “sucking sound” when he fed him.. well more like gulping.   Ian wasn’t all together comfortable with it, because he said it felt like he was pouring it down his throat.  We ditched the finger feeding and used a disposable nipple.  He drank the formula like he was ravenous.  Like he was starving.  Something was amiss.

How was my milk supply, you ask?  I was producing, that’s for sure.  I massaged my breasts and expressed milk before each feeding.  But when I fed him, I swear, I NEVER heard the “sound.”  The day I left the hospital the lactation consult came in to answer any other questions I might have and to check, again,  how O and I were doing with feeding.  Again, she praised my positioning on the right side and said everything seemed good.  I’m sorry, Harmony (that was her name)….my baby is still losing weight!  Then, she paused and said how odd it was that the baby didn’t seem to want my left breast.  She then told me that if that kept up, I might want to get my breast checked out, because it could be a sign of something serious.  ???  WHAT?  I’m sorry….WHAT?  I was clearly not dealing well, tears in my eyes before this bombshell…and Harmony, with all her bedside manner and finesse of a clod hopper, plants that notion in my head. Alrighty then.  We went home.

In the one week we were home, our little O lost more than 14% of his body weight.  The visiting nurse we had gave me the name of a lactation consultant and recommended we feed him mainly formula and supplement with the breast.  I was gutted.  Wasn’t I supposed to be his main source of nourishment?  And what the heck was in this man made chemical elixir, otherwise known as formula?  Have you taken a gander at the ingredients on a can of formula?  It’s frightening.  All I have to say is, if you must use formula, do your research.  There are several on the market that use sugar and corn syrup solids as the first ingredients. I’ll say it again.  Frightening.

O was so little...and so hungry. No wonder he looks mad. :)

O was so little…and so hungry. No wonder he looks mad. 🙂

So we finally get in to see the Licensed Lactation Consultant who was also an M.D.  I was desperate to make it work.  I remember the office had a very “wheat germ” feel to it.  Nature’s Way granola.  Very hippie.  This woman came highly recommended, so I didn’t care if she was in her own personal Woodstock.  I wanted my child to latch!  It was the oddest consultation I ever had, but I had never had a lactation consult, so what did I know?  I remained completely open.  Right away, she told us that little O’s frenulum was too short, or rather, he was tongue-tied.  His frenulum was actually pulling the center of his tongue back.  Apparently, about only 4% of babies are born tongue tied.  There is no evidence to show that my being of advanced maternal age had anything to do with O being born this way.  It is thought to be hereditary.  Yet, to our knowledge, no one in either Ian’s family or mine, was born with this.  Anyway, she told us, she could snip it and undoubtedly he would be able to latch properly and successfully breastfeed….She didn’t say much, but that.  Ian wondered if she was high on all the peaceful vibes emanating from this “far out” practice.   This was the first I had ever heard of a frenotomy, a.k.a the snipping procedure.  We needed to think about this, research the procedure, the risks, google HER for God sake!  After much deliberation, we opted to go through with the snip.  When we read about the tongue-tie possibly causing issues with speech development, I knew we should do it.  The fact that he would be able to breastfeed was a plus, but not the deciding factor.  As it turns out, O didn’t even cry.  It was over so quickly.  She immediately put him to my breast, and he ate. Or so it seemed.  It was a miracle!  I booked another session with her to follow up and we left there feeling like there was HOPE!  Ah, but the story goes on.

I continued to breastfeed O, but we were quickly back to him not wanting to latch, crying, screaming at the mere suggestion that he might have to suck on my breast for sustenance.  When I went back to her for the follow up, she said I just had to keep trying.  That I should only offer the breast.  She had me breast feed him while she observed.  Yup, I was doing everything right.  Yup, he was latching and sucking.  She could hear it.  I could not.  I was there for an hour and a half with my boy on my boob the whole time.  As I was leaving, he was screaming…he was hungry.  Starving.  There I was shoving my boob in his face and he wasn’t getting what he needed.  I asked her opinion on what might be a decent formula I could use for him, if the problems continued.  She told me, in her very relaxed hippie fashion, “The best milk for a baby other than yours, is the milk from another mother.”  ??  I said, “Where would I find that?”  She said, “Oh you know, there are Facebook groups and community trading, etc.”  So, it’s better that I get the milk from someone I don’t know off of Facebook, for who all I know, is supporting her crack habit with money she gets selling her tainted milk on the internet.  ??  WTF?  When I got home, I fed him formula from the bottle and he calmed down.  He was clearly hungry.  So, I ask you, if everything was going so well in “Mother Earth’s” office, why was he so hungry?  It was that day that I decided I would keep offering my breast (cause hey, I didn’t want to give up) and pump like a mother F’er.  We would supplement with formula and I would give him every drop I could get out my rather engorged ta-tas.  I decided that Mother Earth could go suck it.  I wasn’t going to starve my son, so I could put some sort of elitist mothering feather in my cap.  Now this isn’t to say that I think anyone who CAN breastfeed is looking down on me because I can’t.  (Gosh, at least I hope not). But EVERYTHING we read, gives us that mindset.  I was just reading a post today on babycenter.com that said, “Although formula can’t replicate all the unique properties of breast milk, formula-fed babies can thrive too.”  Well thanks.  You mean he has a chance?  I mean, I get it… all the propaganda wants to convince women to breast feed.  But, geez, it really makes you feel like a failure if it just doesn’t work out.

I pumped for over 3 months.  After every feeding at first.  Talk about exhausting.  You feed every hour and a half.  The feeding takes a half hour, and the pumping took a half hour.  So by the time I could get back to sleep I had about 15 minutes to sleep.  Even when Ian fed the baby, I still had to pump.  I also wanted Ian to get some sleep, as he used to commute to work an hour and a half each way in Florida.  I didn’t need him completely sleep deprived driving on I-95.  As my supply dwindled, the pumping became less and less fruitful.  I’d pump for 25 -30 minutes and get a couple of ounces, if I was lucky.  It was bleak.  Formula was fast becoming the main event with my feeble contribution, a mere appetizer.

Did this fiasco lend itself to my fragile state of mind. You bet it did.  I beat myself up for quite a while over this “let down,” pardon the pun.  Eight months later, I adore feeding time.  When that little face looks up at me, touching my face, enjoying his bottle, it’s a slice of heaven.  Because he is bottle fed, Ian gets to enjoy it too and I am grateful for that.  I just wonder what it would be like had we been able to breastfeed?  Would our bond be stronger?  Would he feel my love more? Would he grow up with a higher IQ?  Would he grow to be more wonderful because of the magic milk? The propaganda seems to allude to that.  Or does the love and affection we give him everyday count for something?  Does the time and attention we shower upon him matter?  I’d like to think so.   Mother Earth, thanks for trying….but we’ve got a miraculous child to raise.  And, oh, by the way, he’s thriving.

Going Home

The day we left the hospital.

The day we left the hospital.

To say that I felt I was not ready to leave the hospital is an understatement. I couldn’t have been more unsure of myself or my state of being. All I could think about was the staircase in our house that I would have to climb. How would I do that with the baby? I was just starting to get out of bed with less pain and I still had 11 staples across my stomach. These people were on crack. I couldn’t go home! My insurance said I got 5 hospital days for a c-section. Well, the hospital really didn’t care what my insurance said. They needed the room. So after three days they sent me home. Now in hindsight, it was probably for the best. I did manage physically, better than I thought I would. And “having” to do more probably made my recovery that much quicker. But boy, my head was NOT wrapped around being at home with the baby yet. I needed help. Didn’t they see that? I felt completely inadequate for the job that lay ahead. All I knew is that I wanted to cry. And then, I couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t know how much my hormones would spike and fall. I didn’t know just how that would affect me. And mix that with feelings of guilt, because how could I not be elated? How could I be sad? What was wrong with me? I tried to put on a good face, but I was terrified. I can’t imagine what my husband was thinking? He must have been completely freaked. I was the one who was supposed to have it all together. And here I was falling apart.  He didn’t know what to do to help me. Neither did I.

Each day and night, it got worse.  I couldn’t stop crying.  Somewhere in my head, I knew this behavior was ridiculous, unfounded, down right silly.  But the louder voice in my head kept saying, “What have you done?”   I had given birth to this child who needed a mother and I didn’t think I could do it.  No, I knew I couldn’t.  I was doomed.   I remember my husband giving me a list of phone numbers of help lines for women with postpartum issues. I remember feeling so ashamed. Why couldn’t I handle this? I am a Type A woman! I am organized, educated and in control!! I had planned everything. And nothing was going to plan. I finally got the courage to call…and there was an answering machine. A flipping answering machine. I remember when the beep came, I didn’t know what to say….and then it hung up on me. I thought. Well, there you go. Figures. The next day (at my husband’s plea) I called the nursing line at my doctor’s practice. The minute I began to speak, I broke down.  I told her I just wanted to go somewhere and figure it all out. I told her the baby might be better off with someone who knew what they were doing. I have to tell you, it’s not easy admitting any of this, but I didn’t know that I could feel so messed up. It was not on my radar that I could be hit with the “baby blues.” Well, the nurse must have thought I was ready to jump off a bridge. She had me see the doctor that afternoon. When Dr. Singer walked in, he held my hand and simply said, “How are you doing?” I broke out in tears and told him of my plan to get away for a bit and then come back when I was ready. He smiled at me. He said, “You want to come back.” I said, “Of course.” He said, “You’re gonna be just fine.” He then explained to me what was going on hormonally in my body. How the “baby blues” are real. How if they last longer than 6 weeks….it could be postpartum depression,  but he was betting, based on my effort to look presentable that day, it was most likely temporary. He also told me that because I was older, the entire recovery would take longer. Everything. Body and mind. I chose to not use any medication, because it can take up to 6 weeks to even take affect. No, I decided to ride out the “blues” and see where that would take me.

Of course you know, they have all these classes to take when you are pregnant.  Childbirth classes, Infant Care classes, Infant CPR, Breastfeeding 101.  We took everything that was offered.  To be honest, besides the Infant CPR class…they were all pretty useless to us.  What we really needed was a “Surviving the First 2 Weeks at Home with Your Newborn” class.  Like a Baby Boot Camp.  What to expect those first couple weeks and how to deal with it.  They could run a few random scenarios with you, and throw in some variables like hormonal mother, baby losing weight, and oh, it all happens on zero sleep.  If one more person said to me, “sleep when the baby sleeps!” I wanted to hit them in the face. Hard.

It isn’t even possible to thank my wonderful husband enough. He must have been wondering, “Where is my wife? Where did Mares go?” He is not only an amazing father (born to do it)..but a loving, caring and supportive partner. He didn’t know what each new day would bring, as I fumbled around trying to find my footing as a mother. But he has never given up on me. I also had help from my best friend, Jo, who came to stay with us before the baby was born. He cooked, cleaned and took care of us. He was a link to reality and remains a true godsend. And my husband’s mother, who saw me at my worst and lent me a life preserver each and every day. I don’t know how to thank them, except to say I love you all.  I truly don’t know how any woman who has the postpartum blues gets through it without help.  Your impulse is to try to hide it, because the shame is so heavy.  If I didn’t have help, I don’t know where I would be…most likely half way to Arizona, living in my Kia, hating myself for running away.  I’m here to tell ya, these “blues” are real and very scary.  If you have had them, you know what I am talking about.  And if you are living them now, get some help. Talk to someone.  Anyone.  You never know from where you will receive help.  It comes in many shapes and sometimes in the most unlikely forms.  But above all, don’t beat yourself up.  Know, this too shall pass, and you will feel better.  🙂

Next post, I’ll tell you about my breast feeding fiasco, as I like to call it. I think that lent itself a great deal to my wounded state of mind. Until then, keep up the good fight. And remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she’s screwing it up. 🙂 xo

I Had A Baby

I delivered (or should I say Dr. Singer delivered) a beautiful healthy 8.1 lb baby boy.  10 toes. 10 fingers.  Healthy!!  Now I stress this because when a woman is over the age of 35 and pregnant, all she hears for 9 months are the RISKS.   If you are pregnant now and are of advanced maternal age (over 35) then you have heard the statistics.  I don’t need to reiterate and freak anyone out.  I’m not here to discourage anyone from trying to have a baby.  That clock ticks loud enough for most everyone.  But for me, delivering at 44, my risk for having a baby with any chromosomal abnormality was 1 in 26.  Eek.  So, having a healthy baby was a pretty big deal.  I have to say, after the amniocentesis, I hardly thought about the negative possibilities.

IMG_5446

The hospital we delivered in was brand new.  I actually went through labor in the room I would be in for the duration of my stay.  Had I not had the c-section, I would have delivered the baby right in my room.  It was pretty nice.   The new thing now is “rooming in” with your baby.  There was no nursery.  From the moment I had him, he was with me.  Right from the start, all through the night, he was with us.  I had thought that was a wonderful idea, until I had a c-section. There I was,  unable to even sit up, completely drugged out of my head, and the baby has his first poop.  Poor Ian, had never changed a diaper (that little morsel wasn’t covered in all the freakin classes we went to…Really?)  We had to call a nurse (who was all annoyed that we did) to come help him.  I have to say, hospitals should really let a woman rest at least one night after a major surgery or if they had a particularly tough labor.  I truly have not had a full uninterrupted nights sleep since before the baby was born.  That is not an exaggeration.  And I have a husband who takes “Ollie duty” at least a couple nights a week or more!

Now this is something really important that no one told me before I went into the hospital.   When you have a c-section, you are going to need pain medication.  This is no joke!  My amazing Dr. Singer told me, “Stay on top of your pain medication. Don’t let it wear off.  It is most important that you don’t feel the pain so you can start to get up and around.”  Sounds good.  Except, the nurses don’t stay on top of the pain medication for you…you MUST ask for it.  They CAN NOT offer it to you.  ???????? Well, I didn’t know that.  I’d fall asleep and wake up in such pain, cause I was two hours over the time I should have taken it.  My husband kept up on it as best he could, but he was sleep deprived as well.  It wasn’t until the last night I was there, I had a really nice night shift nurse who told me the score.

IMG_5442

Another thing to watch out for in the hospital, is who comes in and out of your room to check on you or your baby.  Because the hospital was brand new,  the pediatrician we chose didn’t have privileges at that facility yet, so we used the pediatric neonatal  group the hospital provided.  The hospital was in our insurance network.  But the pediatric group was not….?? What?  It’s not like anyone asked us…or we had a choice.  Well, we didn’t find this out until bills started coming to us in the range of $12,000….just for this group.   There were exorbitant charges for the baby’s subsequent hospital care, but the only people in to see him that we remember were the nurses that took care of us both, who were employed by the hospital.  Anyway, we wound up having to get hospital records, etc., blah blah blah. Point being:  If I had it to do over,  I would have had a visitors log for every single person that came into our room to sign. Name – Time- Purpose of visit.  I’m so not kidding.  It seems almost silly…but it would have saved so many headaches.

I remember looking down at my legs the day after I gave birth.  I was numb still…but I was NOT prepared for what I saw.  My legs were swollen beyond recognition.  I told the nurse, “Excuse me, these aren’t my legs.”  She just looked at me, and said ” Yes, they are.”  I said, ” No, you don’t understand, these aren’t my legs!”  I swear, they all thought I was crazy.  But, again!, no one told me, I would swell up like an elephant after I had my baby!!  The anesthesia makes it horrible!  Why did no one tell me!?  At least I would have been slightly prepared.  Do they think you are going to turn around and decided to not have the baby?  I mean, really.  By month 9 you are begging for someone to get the baby out of you.    Geez, it would have been nice to know.  And I am not the only woman I know (NOW) that had this issue and was completely freaked out by it! For the love of God, women, we need to share this information! It took a couple weeks at least for the swelling to go down.  My friend Joey said to me after the fact…”Holy $%!#….you looked 7 months pregnant when you came home!”  It’s true.  The swelling went down and I lost about 25 lbs in the first couple of weeks.  My mind took a little longer to recover. 🙂

2 weeks after the birth! Can you imagine what it was like before?? OMG!

A week after the birth! Can you imagine what it was like before?? OMG!

In my next post I will share the blur of my first couple weeks at home with the baby.  It’s actually hard to remember, as I feel like someone else had taken over my body.  Like an alien.  A freaked out, terrified, exhausted alien.  🙂 xo  Until then, chin up!

 

Deliver Me

After a few false alarms and one actual trip to the hospital (just to get sent home…oh the humility!)….the day of our scheduled induction had come. May 30, 2014.

All set to go! Let's do this!

All set to go! Let’s do this!

I feel like my husband Ian and I left for the hospital that day with the wide eyes and excitement of kids.  We were giddy.  We were all set.  All packed.  Birth plan all printed out. Finally had our roll of quarters for the vending machines.  This was a tip that is on every Pinterest list for things to bring to the hospital.  We never used it.  It is now in Oliver’s piggy bank as a reminder of our last few hours of carefree married life.  Now anyone who really knows me, knows that I ADORE Pinterest.  Just love it!  But… the lists on there of what to bring to the hospital?  Sorry, but just ridiculous.  You know what I needed to bring?  A log book, of who was in and out of my room to check on our baby and a sign to attach permanently to my bedside that said “I’d like my pain medication now, thank you.” More on these topics later!

So I opted for a “natural” delivery….with an epidural, of course.  I’m 44, I wanted to enjoy this.  Now I mentioned the birth plan.  I must say, mine was pretty loose.  I was not attached to anything happening one way or another.  The classes we took pushed the birth plan printout, so we did it.  But I told the nurse when we got there…”My plan is to HAVE this baby.  Whatever it takes to keep him safe.”  And I meant it.  So after 26+ hours of labor (which included 3 and a half hours of intense pushing) my little Oliver decided he was going to tilt his head and relax for a while.  He was in a transverse position with a 14 inch head.  He wasn’t going anywhere.  My epidural had worn off a couple hours prior and the assigned mid-wife had a worried look on her face (when she actually was in the room) and decided it was time to call  Dr. Singer.  Hell, I knew that!   My wonderful doctor (who’s name is cutely appropriate) came into my room, chastised the mid-wife for making me push for three plus hours, and gently told me I had to have an emergency c-section right away.  Now I am getting a little weepy as I write this because even though my head was spinning around like Linda Blair’s, I looked at my husband (who was literally holding my legs down)…and the look of terror that was on his face still gets me emotional. I took a breath and was like, “Whatever we need to do…let’s do it.”

Now at this point, things for me get a little fuzzy. As I said, my epidural had worn off, so they pumped me up with some heavy duty drugs.  It was all so quick.  At least it seemed quick.  I do remember my doctor asking me if I could feel anything when he poked my abdomen.  On my right side I didn’t feel a thing, but the left side, a little… I said, “Oh, I’m sure it will be fine by the time you cut.”  Well, not so much.  So they gave me another push of anesthesia.  So Ladies getting a c-section, wait until you don’t feel a thing!! Apparently, I was telling jokes while they were taking the baby out of me.  Seems likely.   And I can’t say I felt any pain after that, but I did feel them taking Oliver out of me.  Weirdest feeling ever! And of course you feel the humpty dumpty effect as they put you back together.  I mean think about it…your organs have been squished pretty fiercely for the last couple months.  I truly believe my liver was under my arm for at least the last two weeks of my pregnancy.

I must say, what happened next is perhaps the most profound moment in my entire life and certainly the most intense.  Ian, who had went with the baby while they put me back together, brought Oliver to me and placed him on my chest.  My son had his eyes wide open, staring into mine.  The connection was unreal….electric, huge, emotional.  He knew me.  Me.  It is truly hard to describe.  A love was born that day, that continues to grow in leaps and bounds each and every day.  And every day I think, it can’t get bigger, but it does.  May 31st 2014 at 5:18pm, I became the luckiest woman I know. 🙂

I don't even know who took this...but I love it.

I don’t even know who took this…but I love it.

I had thought I would incorporate all our hospital hoopla in one post, but there is just too much.  And I don’t want to gloss over some of the things ahead that I think could really help someone else.  Things I wish someone had told me to look out for.  Things to expect.  And of course, there needs to be an entire blog dedicated to my breast feeding fiasco, as I like to call it.  Let’s just say, not everything happens the way you want it to or expect it to….and you aren’t a bad mother because of it.  Wish I had known that morsel.  Until next time.  Keep fightin the good fight! And remember, behind every great kid is a mother who is pretty sure she is screwing it all up. xo

Recipe For A Baby At 43

If this is your first time reading my blog, welcome! I thought I would take a week to reintroduce myself to some people who started to read my blog only recently.  The archives only go back so far, so I wanted to give you my back story.  I try to be very truthful, very real…and FUNNY.  Hope you enjoy! Here is my very first post….throwin it back!

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So many friends ask me straight out “So HOW did you get pregnant?” Followed by, “You give me hope!”  LOL.  Oh my gosh, it was embarrassingly easy, which I KNOW is NOT the case for many women over the age of 35, let alone over 40!  This I know from having many friends, who like me, because of their career or other personal things, decided to wait to have children.  Many found themselves unable to conceive.  I suppose I had made peace with the fact that I might not have a child.  My life, I thought, was so great already, that it was truly okay if I was unable to conceive.  Even choosing to marry my husband, who was 11 years my junior, came with the possibility that we might remain childless.  And he married me anyway. Good guy 🙂  But once we decided to actually “try” to get pregnant, it was crazy quick.  Here is my recipe for a baby.  Lots of sex….like everyday (seriously)…with a younger husband.  The first month we tried, we were pregnant.  Now, I was very healthy.  I had no reproductive issues.  I do not want anyone to think I am being flip about how easy it was.  My heart breaks for anyone who can’t conceive who really wants to.  Especially now, as I know what I would be missing.  I always kept it in my head, that if was meant to be, then it would be.  So I guess I was really relaxed about it happening or not happening.

“lots of sex….like everyday (seriously)”

The first three months were fine, except I had really bad “morning” sickness ALL DAY LONG.  I carried oyster crackers around with me like it was my job.  And then the four month mark came around and I was miraculously better.  To say the next three months were the best of the pregnancy, is an understatement.  Even with the severe carpal tunnel I had in my left hand, and the placenta previa,  which was stressful (but wound up being fine), the second trimester was a vacation compared to the last one.  I even did a show up until I was 5 months.

6 months prego

6 months prego

 

7 months

7 months

The last trimester was lots of fun. Just ask my husband. (insert sarcasm)  Lots of ice cream and foot rubs.  My hands started swelling and the carpal was now in my right hand as well.  My skin on my legs got severely dry and I started having Braxton Hicks contractions every few nights.  When I asked my doctor (who was almost 20 years my Junior with a valley girl accent…I’m rolling my eyes) about the carpal, she said, “Huh???  I never really heard of that.”  I did want to slap her, but refrained.  I mean I just had to go online to find the eons of women who had dealt with it in their pregnancies.  The joy of being an advanced maternal aged mom….even the doctors are younger than you.  Oye! Perhaps the thing that struck me most was how tired I was.  Tired like I had never known.  Now I don’t know for sure, but seeing how hard the delivery was on my body, I think it had everything to do with my age…oh pardon, my advanced maternal age.  🙂

8 months

8 months

The beginning of 9 months! With the handsome hubby!

The beginning of 9 months! With the handsome hubby!

You don’t realize it….at least I didn’t…but you hit the 9 month mark…and you still have 4 more weeks to go!!  It’s like a slap in the face!  You go along thinking…I’m almost done!! But you’re not…its a cruel mathematical joke.  You go quickly from walking to waddling.  The swelling increases (and mine wasn’t as bad as some women can get. )  And the GAS!!!  Holy Moly! My husband was never supposed to hear those sounds coming from me.  NEVER!!  Well that ship has sailed.  Did I tell you we met on the Love Boat?  No really, we did.  Princess Cruises.  I was a guest entertainer singing and he was my audio engineer….I am digressing.  Anything to avoid the GAS.

A day or two before delivery.

A day or two before delivery.

To make me really savor the experience, Oliver decided to wait an extra week to arrive.  So I was officially overdue…like a turkey who’s timer has popped (see photo).  Because of my advanced maternal age, the doctor in the practice who I really liked (obviously NOT the gyno-girl), scheduled us for an induction.  See, when you are young, they like to make you wait for the baby to be good and ready, but when your parts are older, they don’t want to take any chances.  So one week overdue was plenty.  Whew!

The Baby Equation for us was this…..

43 year old female + 32 year old male + LOTS of sex (literally everyday)!!!! = Beautiful Baby Boy!