Friday, May 17, 2013
Monica Cass
Well, hello there gorgeous:
Monica Cass (we're calling her Cass) was born at 3:33 a.m. on Tuesday, May 14. 8 lbs 6 oz, 21 inches long, and perfect in every way. She is named for Jon's grandmother, one of the best and most inspirational women I have ever known. Her maiden name was Monica Kasper, and when she met Jon's grandfather in Hawaii during WWII (she was a nurse and he was a surgeon in the army) he called her Cass for short. It stuck, and we wanted to use that nickname for our little girl. We chose the name months ago, and since that time Jon's grandmother became very ill. She died about 10 hours before her little namesake was born. We are a whole mix of emotions right now, but know that there is something beautiful about how our Cass came into the world just as her great grandmother was leaving it. This baby is bringing our family some much-needed joy right now.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Finian's Birth Story
After my trying experience with Conor's birth (induction with Pitocin, unwanted epidural, ITCHING!) I was very nervous to give birth to Finn. Luckily, it couldn't have gone better.
At 2:00 a.m. on Jan. 24, 2011, the day before he was due, I woke up abruptly with a feeling of intense, but fading, pain in my stomach. Not sure if I had dreamed it, but thinking it could be "something," I decided to go downstairs and put on a movie, drink a cup of tea, and see if it went away. Once I got downstairs, I had to run to the bathroom and be sick. At that point, the cramping feeling in my abdomen was pretty incessant, but because I was sick to my stomach I thought I might have food poisoning (Jon will never let me live that down). The water for my tea hadn't even boiled yet, and I ran up to the bedroom to wake Jon. He came down to the kitchen, squinting because he didn't have his glasses on and complaining of being cold. I asked him to please get it together, because I needed his help.
He started timing the stomach pains, which were two to three minutes apart. He freaked out because the midwife had said to go to the hospital, which was four blocks away, when the contractions were eight minutes apart. Ooops. I kept saying "no, no, no, I don't think it's labor, I think I have food poisoning, I don't want to go to the hospital, they are just going to send me home." Jon thought I had lost my ever-loving mind - maybe I had. I was definitely in some kind of denial. He called his mom to come to the house and stay with the sleeping Conor, and called my amazing doula, Megan, and asked her to come over. Megan arrived, and pretty much saved us from having the baby on the kitchen floor. She immediately assessed the situation (intensely stubborn woman about to give birth, frantic husband whose wife won't listen to him), and gently said "Lindsay, I just want you to just entertain the possibility that you are in labor. You are 40 weeks pregnant and having sharp abdominal pains every two minutes. You need to go to the hospital." I reluctantly agreed that it was possible that I was in labor and agreed to put my shoes on. At that point I was still insisting on walking to the hospital (again, delusional! There was three feet of snow on the ground!) and Megan kept nodding and smiling and indulging my craziness, while she quietly called a car service. While we were waiting I hung onto the edge of the kitchen counter and tried to keep my knees from locking and let my body just slump during a contraction, while Megan pressed on my lower back. They kept getting closer and closer together, to the point that they never really stopped. By the time the car arrived I was ready to admit that walking to the hospital was probably not the best idea.
Jon's mom hadn't made it yet, so Jon had to stay at our apartment with the sleeping Conor. Megan and I took the town car the four blocks to the hospital. As we pulled up to the emergency entrance, I felt the baby drop reallllly low and started fighting the urge to push. We rushed up to Labor and Delivery and barged past the reception desk and into the delivery suites. My midwife was there waiting (and gently laughing at me a little bit - she had already heard about my refusal to go the hospital from Jon). I went into the bathroom, and my water broke. I ran out and jumped up onto the bed, yelling that the baby was coming, and my midwife checked me - I was completely dilated and they could see the baby's head. I was so scared that Jon was going to miss the birth. I started moaning that I had to push but didn't want to. I remember screaming "somebody help me!" Megan encouraged me to do some "practice" pushes which would help relieve the urge to push. It did help, as did lying on my side with my legs crossed. I was NOT going to have that baby until Jon showed up. Luckily, his mom had made it to our place, and he was there within minutes, having run to the hospital on the icy streets.
Two pushes later Finn was born, yelling and perfect. Only 90 minutes had passed since I felt the first contraction. People have asked me if I had an epidural, which always makes me laugh. I had been in the hospital for about 10 minutes when Finn was born - I didn't even have a gown or a hospital bracelet on yet, never mind time for an epidural! But, unlike the Pitocin-induced contractions from Conor's birth, I don't remember a lot of pain. I remember an intense, intense downward pressure - like gravity had somehow compounded in force and was pulling on my body in a whole new way. I remember panic and fear, because it wasn't happening as I expected it to. But I don't remember much pain. I know, I'm incredibly blessed.
Like his big brother, Finn had a touch of jaundice, but by now we knew better than to stick around the hospital. Our pediatrician agreed to discharge us as long as we came to see him soon and were very careful to monitor Finn's diapers. He was fine (of course) and pinked up as soon as my milk came in.
I should have known, after a birth like that, that Finn would be a little hellion and would keep us on our toes. He never disappoints.
 |
| Smooshy baby face. Yum. |
At 2:00 a.m. on Jan. 24, 2011, the day before he was due, I woke up abruptly with a feeling of intense, but fading, pain in my stomach. Not sure if I had dreamed it, but thinking it could be "something," I decided to go downstairs and put on a movie, drink a cup of tea, and see if it went away. Once I got downstairs, I had to run to the bathroom and be sick. At that point, the cramping feeling in my abdomen was pretty incessant, but because I was sick to my stomach I thought I might have food poisoning (Jon will never let me live that down). The water for my tea hadn't even boiled yet, and I ran up to the bedroom to wake Jon. He came down to the kitchen, squinting because he didn't have his glasses on and complaining of being cold. I asked him to please get it together, because I needed his help.
He started timing the stomach pains, which were two to three minutes apart. He freaked out because the midwife had said to go to the hospital, which was four blocks away, when the contractions were eight minutes apart. Ooops. I kept saying "no, no, no, I don't think it's labor, I think I have food poisoning, I don't want to go to the hospital, they are just going to send me home." Jon thought I had lost my ever-loving mind - maybe I had. I was definitely in some kind of denial. He called his mom to come to the house and stay with the sleeping Conor, and called my amazing doula, Megan, and asked her to come over. Megan arrived, and pretty much saved us from having the baby on the kitchen floor. She immediately assessed the situation (intensely stubborn woman about to give birth, frantic husband whose wife won't listen to him), and gently said "Lindsay, I just want you to just entertain the possibility that you are in labor. You are 40 weeks pregnant and having sharp abdominal pains every two minutes. You need to go to the hospital." I reluctantly agreed that it was possible that I was in labor and agreed to put my shoes on. At that point I was still insisting on walking to the hospital (again, delusional! There was three feet of snow on the ground!) and Megan kept nodding and smiling and indulging my craziness, while she quietly called a car service. While we were waiting I hung onto the edge of the kitchen counter and tried to keep my knees from locking and let my body just slump during a contraction, while Megan pressed on my lower back. They kept getting closer and closer together, to the point that they never really stopped. By the time the car arrived I was ready to admit that walking to the hospital was probably not the best idea.
Jon's mom hadn't made it yet, so Jon had to stay at our apartment with the sleeping Conor. Megan and I took the town car the four blocks to the hospital. As we pulled up to the emergency entrance, I felt the baby drop reallllly low and started fighting the urge to push. We rushed up to Labor and Delivery and barged past the reception desk and into the delivery suites. My midwife was there waiting (and gently laughing at me a little bit - she had already heard about my refusal to go the hospital from Jon). I went into the bathroom, and my water broke. I ran out and jumped up onto the bed, yelling that the baby was coming, and my midwife checked me - I was completely dilated and they could see the baby's head. I was so scared that Jon was going to miss the birth. I started moaning that I had to push but didn't want to. I remember screaming "somebody help me!" Megan encouraged me to do some "practice" pushes which would help relieve the urge to push. It did help, as did lying on my side with my legs crossed. I was NOT going to have that baby until Jon showed up. Luckily, his mom had made it to our place, and he was there within minutes, having run to the hospital on the icy streets.
Two pushes later Finn was born, yelling and perfect. Only 90 minutes had passed since I felt the first contraction. People have asked me if I had an epidural, which always makes me laugh. I had been in the hospital for about 10 minutes when Finn was born - I didn't even have a gown or a hospital bracelet on yet, never mind time for an epidural! But, unlike the Pitocin-induced contractions from Conor's birth, I don't remember a lot of pain. I remember an intense, intense downward pressure - like gravity had somehow compounded in force and was pulling on my body in a whole new way. I remember panic and fear, because it wasn't happening as I expected it to. But I don't remember much pain. I know, I'm incredibly blessed.
Like his big brother, Finn had a touch of jaundice, but by now we knew better than to stick around the hospital. Our pediatrician agreed to discharge us as long as we came to see him soon and were very careful to monitor Finn's diapers. He was fine (of course) and pinked up as soon as my milk came in.
I should have known, after a birth like that, that Finn would be a little hellion and would keep us on our toes. He never disappoints.
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