Had a Bad Day

Ever since 10:45am this morning I've had that Daniel Powter song "Bad Day" stuck in my head. But why? you may ask. Well let me tell you...

We had a baby. Babies cry - a lot. It's their only form of communication to us. I actually don't mind (yet) because I understand that fact. When Ethan cries and screams bloody murder at 3am, believe it or not, I don't get mad or irritated with him, because I understand he's trying to communicate with us what he's feeling. Sometimes he's hungry, or pooped and needs a change, and sometimes he just cries. So that's alright. I understand it, and I accept it, but I'm still really freakin' tired in the morning after a long night of a screaming baby. Hey, I may seem to be a Stellar mom, but I'm not perfect. I need sleep, too.

It's been a blessing that so far, in the two weeks we've had Ethan, he sleeps most of the day, starting at 7:30am when I feed him and put him in his bassinet. Well, today that blessing stopped, and Ethan decided he wasn't going to rest this time. Nope, instead he wanted to cry and scream. Again. Because the little booger kept scooching himself up to the corner of the bassinet where he would get stuck with his face crammed into the fabric. Frustrating, I know, but no matter how many times I pulled him down and handed him his Boo Bear (Bear blanket), sure enough, he'd be right back to that corner, crying because he was stuck yet again.

That's alright though. Babies change their sleeping patterns frequently in these first months (so I've been told), so I can deal. Again, I understand. I dealt with the situation and accepted he was going to be a little butt. So my solution was to take him out (since he kept getting himself stuck anyway) and cuddle with him for a bit. He still had an hour left until he would be fed again.

So we snuggled and he drifted to baby dreamland, and it was nice...until I felt extremely warm in my mid-section. The same section that happened to be in his pee-stream range. "But wasn't he in a diaper?" you may ask. Of course he was, I'm no fool. But Pampers diapers apparently aren't completely pee-on-mom proofed. Funny, a diaper that doesn't do its one job. Pampers = FAIL. And this isn't the first time I've been peed on. It's about the 12th or so. I lost count after 7.

I dealt with it until he woke up - I'd rather sit in a pee-soaked shirt than wake up a sleeping baby. If you're a mom, you know where I'm coming from. Once he riled awake, I fed him and went to the bedroom to change his diaper. All was going so well, and once I wrestled him into his little onesie, I started to hear what sounded like a waterfall coming from the living room. I'll tell you right now, I do not have a waterfall or anything sounding like a waterfall in my living room, so this was bad.

I ran out to find the sump underneath our currently-running 55 gallon saltwater fish tank was on the fritz. A return pump in the sump was spewing saltwater like a geyser in Yellowstone. I pulled it out to prevent it from spewing more, and fought with the damn plug to unplug it. By the time the battle was done, a good 3-4 gallons of saltwater polluted the carpet all around the fishtank - including the carpet under the stand. By this time, Ethan had also decided he'd gone far too long without attention, and started wailing from my room. And of course, as a new mommy, my initial thought was, "Please let that be a cranky scream, not a I-fell-off-the-bed scream." It was a cranky scream, by the way. No worries.

I was livid. I was throwing four-letter words around like nobody's business. "Crap! Dang! Argh! Blue!" What? Were there other four-letter words you were thinking? Shame on you!

Anywho, after taking care of Ethan, I went to get the three crap-towels we had and started soaking up as much as I could. Oh, and I forgot to mention at this point, I had 45 minutes until I had to take him to his pediatrician, and I was still in my pajamas, with wet hair from a shower. On my hands and knees, I soaked every towel to its last fiber and threw them in the washer. I went to our bathroom to grab the towels in there to wash (you know, kill two birds with one stone) and the towel rod, wouldn't you know it, broke off the wall. I stood there for a minute, staring at the towels in my hand that had a rod sticking through them. I took a deep breath, and I laughed. The day had officially become a Sitcom Day.

"What's a Sitcom Day?" It's a bit self-explanatory, really. Today, the things that went awry were things you'd see in a sitcom like Everybody Loves Raymond or Big Bang Theory. Comedic accidents that would get an audience roaring with laughter. But alas, I had no audience laughing at my misfortune. Just me. And maybe the animals that were watching.

Luckily, I was still able to dry my hair, put on an appropriate outfit for the public, and get Ethan to his appointment on time (despite an asinine van parked next to me at the doctors who wouldn't move so I could *easily* get my baby out of the back seat. Five struggling minutes later, I had the baby out, and the van reversed and drove away. Bastards).

So now, after a grueling morning, I am planted on the couch, everything at arms reach, because I really don't want to know what may happen to me if I attempt to do anything else today. Wish me luck...

A Son Is Born

Our beautiful son, Ethan Riley Harrold, was born last Thursday, September 9th at 9:26 pm. The 16.5 hours of labor (3.5 of which was active pushing) was completely worth it once the nurse handed me my son and I saw his face for the first time. Something woke up inside me the minute his eyes met mine, and I now know that that Something was me officially becoming a woman. I had achieved my last goal in life - becoming a mother.

Childbirth was an eye-opening experience for me, and nothing like what I expected. I don't mean that in the "It was SO painful!" way but in the "I just wasn't expecting it to happen as it did" way. Allow me to explain.

The night before we went in to the hospital to be induced, I was lost in thought about what was to come. I thought about all the other women who explained their childbirth experiences (all very different in their own way) and wondered if mine would be anything like theirs, or completely different. I thought about the fact it would no longer be just Sean and I, but a baby as well. I wondered if I had made the right decision, and if I was truly ready for what was ahead of me. I was scared I couldn't be the mother I should be to this new child. I was afraid of not only letting Ethan down, but letting Sean down as the mother of his child. To be honest, I was petrified at the thought of what was in store for me the next day. It was fear of the unknown.

As expected, neither Sean nor I got much sleep the night before. We were both so agitated. We knew Thursday was going to be a very long day - and we had no idea how to prepare for it, because honestly, how can you prepare for something you've never been through? We got up, got ready, and left, arriving at 5:00am at the hospital. The receptionist checked us in, and a nice Russian nurse named Luba took me to the room I would be spending the next 24 hours in. It was a lovely room, and a lot more cozy than I expected. It felt like a hotel room without carpet and with an adjustable bed. I was impressed and could tell this hospital made it a point to ensure its patients were as comfortable as they could be. I appreciated it very much.

After donning the lovely open-back hospital gown, I was hooked up to an IV that would pump fluid and other medicines into me until I gave birth. After asking a few questions and checking my blood pressure, the wait began. My doctor came around 6:45am to check on me and go over a few things. I still had about 6cm to go before I could start pushing, and my baby was not down far enough for that to happen safely without c-section.

So, I was up on my feet doing laps around the hospital, wheeling my IV monitor with me, and when returning to my room, I sat on a large green ball and bounced as much as I could. My contractions were getting closer together, and they kept offering me the epidural, but I didn't want to just yet. I wanted to stick it out until the contractions were unbearable. Why, you may ask? Think about it this way - as soon as I would get the epidural, I'd be bedridden and could not go anywhere. I wanted a natural childbirth and did NOT want a c-section. If sticking out the pain so I can walk around and help move my baby down to the right spot meant giving me that natural childbirth, then I'd do it. So 8 hours after arriving at the hospital, when my contractions were less than 2 minutes apart and were extremely painful, I finally gave in to the epidural. The very nice anesthesiologist set it up, and half an hour later, the pain was gone. And by the grace of God, my baby had moved down just enough so c-section was no longer in the picture.

I tell you, it's the weirdest thing not having any feeling from the waist down. Epidurals are a wonderful thing! For me, however, epidurals are a bit tricky. My body apparently goes through it rather fast, so after about 30 minutes I'd start to feel pain again, and would have to push that button to shoot more of that numbing goodness into my back. The nurse (a different gal at this point since my first nurse's shift was over) helped me stay ahead by timing out when I should push the button to prevent the medicine from wearing off.

While this all was happening, periodically my doctor would come in to see how I was doing and check my dilation. Once I got to 10cm, things started happening rather quickly. I began pushing with each contraction, and making great progress. After about 2 hours of pushing, I started getting a bit tired, but something else became apparent - Ethan was not face down. He was facing sideways, which isn't a huge deal, it just means it would be a little trickier when it came time for him to come out. The bigger problem was the fact he was stuck in my pelvis. He wasn't moving down anymore with my pushes. A c-section became part of the picture again, and that's when I lost it. I truly lost it. I started crying and adamantly stating I did not want a c-section, oh god how I didn't want that. I began pushing harder than I'd ever pushed in my life. Even the nurses were shocked I wouldn't subside. It was hour 3 of pushing at this point, and instead of being exhausted, like most first-time mothers they'd dealt with, I had a new strength awaken and my Irish stubbornness would not allow the baby to be born c-section. Dammit, he would come in to this world as he was meant to by me, even if that meant pushing until my veins in my head popped.

Apparently, I had a whole audience in my room at one point of an emergency unit (in case of c-section) and nurses with the vacuum they would be using to help move him from the pelvis - all people I couldn't see because I was laying flat, pushing, and crying, "I don't want a c-section! I don't want a c-section!" while Sean was counting how long I had to push. It was a crazy mess, and all I remember was pushing and praying.

Finally, at hour 3.5 and one really hard push, I heard my doctor say, "Oh hey! That did it! No c-section guys, she's got this," and I felt so relieved. Then it was go time. I had Sean to the left of me counting, and a nurse to the right telling me to push and breathe. I had my doctor telling me just three more good pushes. On the second push, she had me stop because his chord was around the neck, but she got it taken care of, and by push three I felt my baby leave. My, how relieved I felt. I can't believe how relaxed my body became after that. I heard my baby sputter and start crying, and all I could think was, "Ahhhhhhh thank you God!"

And then they handed him to me...I will never forget the feeling I had when I first saw him...It all finally made sense. All the times I'd asked my mom, "How the heck did you put up with that from me?" or "How could you have still been so caring to me after all I did to you and dad?" I finally understood when she'd respond, "Because you are my child, and I love you unconditionally no matter what." And even though I'd only been holding him a few moments, I already loved this child unconditionally and would do anything for him.

It's amazing what changed in me after I had Ethan. I became a different person - a more selfless person, because now I had someone else depending on me, and that person was and is so much more important than any of my needs and/or wants. My focus had shifted from what made me comfortable to what made and makes him comfortable. It was and is no longer about me, but about him.

Looking back a week and thinking about everything I went through, I am so proud of my body. My body adapted and worked with a growing child for 40.5 weeks. It worked for 16.5 hours to deliver my child into this world healthy and with no problems, leaving me with only two minor stitches as battle wounds that will be completely healed in 2-3 weeks. It's working its way back to where it was before Ethan and is progressing with flying colors. I am in awe of the capabilities God gave to the female body so we could have babies, and I've never been more proud of each stretch mark on my stomach. They each represent the 40.5 week trek my body made through pregnancy, and the success it had with delivering my baby.

Looking back at my labor and delivery, I'm surprised it happened the way it did. I was expecting more pain, big rips and tears in unpleasant places, hemorrhoids, extreme soreness, etc. And I came out with none of the above but two minor stitches that are more uncomfortable than they are painful. I didn't expect it to go so well, and I suspect that isn't usually the case for most first-time mothers. I count myself lucky and again, am grateful to my body for everything.

And I'm grateful to my mother for having gone through childbirth to have my brother and later have me. She had it worse than I did, with no epidural and nurses that weren't so caring. Navy hospitals aren't exactly the best for giving birth, but she did it and I have never respected and loved her more than I have now, having gone through what she's gone through twice.

All in all, my pregnancy, the labor, and delivery, have all been a very moving experience for me, and I am happy I had them. They helped me grow as a woman and made me a better person. And I am reminded of that every time I look at my son's adorable face. I feel confident I made the right decision to become a mother, and I am so excited with each day to see what becomes of our new family :)