Ruminations: Time is a funny thing.

Time is a funny thing. 

The other day I went to bed at 9:15. Now, this may not seem so unusual for a new dad, but for those who know me, they know that my bed time was usually around 10:30/11:00, even with a little one. Since these are the last few weeks before the February California Bar, Chels has been hitting the books hard, which means that I am on baby duty throughout the night. The little one had a rough night the night before, so I decided to go to bed early. Not only was I out like a light but she only woke up once and I was only up for 30 minutes. As morning came, I woke up at my regular time, around 5:15, but, even though I had a pretty solid eight hours of sleep, I wanted more. Then it hit me: time is a funny thing.  

When I was younger I made an effort to only sleep six hours a night. I thought sleep was overrated and there was so much to experience in the waking world: books to read, friends to visit, shows to watch, and work to do; so why waste time on sleep? Some may share this philosophy, others may think me a raving lunatic--sleep is a passionate topic. But the other night I realized, I am getting older. Time is waging war on me and marching on its merry, destructive way. But it’s inevitable.  I can’t avoid it, I can’t fight it. That fourth dimension is out of my reach. Granted I am only in my mid-thirties and I have plenty of life to live, but this was the first time I felt my age.

A couple weeks ago, I was at a teacher training and I left some nonfiction articles for my kiddos to read. All of the articles were based around a theme: What makes a person an adult? Is it just time? Or are there certain characteristics that make a person act like an adult? One could argue either way or one could say both since those characteristics usually come as people age. But for the teens it was an interesting introspection on their own behaviors. Anyway, I mention this because I am at the point where I feel like I’ve reached a good spot in my life: I have a beautiful wife and daughter, a pretty awesome job, a dog, a car payment, bills that I can pay, and a pretty good routine.  It’s nice but it can  also  be deceptive.

I like pushing myself, sometimes change is hard for me, but I’ve never been one to settle down. And my life will be changed again when I finally go back to school (something I greatly desire!) However, the deception can come from complacency. When we were younger we wanted to be older. Time seemed to be going so, so, so slow. Summer couldn’t come fast enough. School, for some, wasn’t engaging. Life, for many, wasn’t exciting.  But now once we get our routines, our jobs, our lives; our adult lives, our life settles down, time flies. For example, we’ve been in Sacramento for 3.5 years! Where has that time gone? My little girl is already 14 months old! She’s walking, talking (well making noises that she knows what she is saying) What happened to our little blob? Maybe time seems so slow when we are younger because we are constantly and drastically changing and growing. As we get older that change decelerates and it becomes more gradual, less noticeable. It’s a funny thing. 

This last week I’ve been tossing this idea for the blog out to some of my friends and colleagues who range in age from early 30s to late 40s. And it has been interesting conversations. One, who is in his early 40s, said “What happened? I feel like I just woke and I became old…I can’t run like I used to, I can’t be as physical as I want.”  Is it just a realization like that? Does that mean we are old? Is that how it hits?  Another colleague in his late 40s mentioned that to him his change became a decade thing. He’d realize that another decade had passed and would reflect and make changes to his lifestyle. He wasn’t able to be as physically active as he used to so he had to tone down and start sleeping more too! I was talking to another friend and she was reflecting on how she isn’t the same either. She recently started working as an attorney, doing her grind and it is similar for her too. These conversation helped me realize that I am not alone on this overwhelming ocean of time and breathed a sigh. 

Time is such a funny thing. But one thing is certain we can’t avoid it. We just have to live with it. All we can do is keep swimming. 

Looking through the Lens of the Year.

Friday night we drove to a sacred spot in Chelsea’s family. It is about three hours north of Sacramento, along the coast, through winding roads and hills. We left around 7:30 PM  for the sake of the baby. Yeah, that’s a new thing: traveling during baby sleepy times. It’s ingenious. (Baby tip #56 - Drive when babies sleep - Just to be clear…there are no set numbers for the baby tips…yet.) She slept the whole way, this is something we discovered over the holidays as we drove down to Southern California.

During this drive, the rain fell steadily for the second half of the journey but Chelsea handled it like a champ. My SoCal nerves would have been frayed. This spot is called The Sea Ranch and someone told me once that it is a magical place. A place where ionic particles rise from the crashing waves that run roughshod over the roughened coastline. The ions float and encircle this whole coastal area. I am not sure of the veracity of that claim since I have never really looked into it, but I like the story regardless. But, anecdotally, I always feel a little refreshed coming away from here. The baby naps on my chest, while Chelsea is out studying...So now, I can reflect on what has been happening these last few months:

First, not much has changed on our front. I am still working and Chelsea is still working, but one thing that did happen was she did not pass the California Bar Exam. She missed it by the skin of her teeth, just 2 percentage points. That was pretty stressful considering she was ready to move into a full time position at her job. But they kept her on and have put her on an hourly wage rather than a salary. But despite the drawback, there are benefits, the money isn’t the same, but she is able to adjust her schedule a little better to give her some study time. She’s taking the Bar again at the end of February.  GO Chelsea!

Tori has changed dramatically since our last update. She is walking now, which changed our lives forever. She took her first “steps” on October 30th. These were only 4 at a time before she plopped down, but by the time her first birthday came around on December 18 she was walking everywhere.Chelsea says she feels like just when we learned the rule of the game, Tori learned to walk and changed them on us. She has also been forming words. She can mimic what we say, but it isn’t perfect since she is still waiting for some teeth and her pronunciation needs a little work. But her syllables are coming along nicely. She can say things like “cheese” and “daddy” and, thanks to her T-ma, she also bows and gives thanks to here food during meal times. It’s cute, if not a little strange, but we love it.

She has pretty set routine, bath around 6:15-6:30, depending on the day, then being rocked and nursed down to sleep after. So by 7 on most days she is out. She wakes up now again, and hasn’t mastered the 'Sleeping Through the Night'. Some days she does and some days she doesn’t, especially since her teeth have been growing lately (Baby Tip #57: teeth ruin everything). Moreover, during the day she still attends day care where they love her. Chelsea drops her off about 7:45 in the morning, and then I pick her up between 4:15 and 5 depending on my work stuff. She naps with the bigger kids from 12:30 to 3. We are in awe at how they get her nap so long. Her weekend naps aren’t nearly as long! (Baby Tip #58: If you find people who can get your baby to nap, keep them round forever and buy them chocolate!)

The other day Chelsea and I were eating at a happy hour with Tori (Baby tip #59; going out to early happy hours and/or day drinking is key; brunch also rocks - although now "brunch" is really breakfast because the kid is up at 6 am...) and we were talking about the past year as being parents. We were reflecting on what we have learned. I made a joke referencing Malcolm Gladwell’s 10, 000 hour theory: as long as you do something for 10,000 hours you master it. I did a quick calculation and realized we had clocked about 8,856 hours as parents for Tori! We rejoiced! Only 1,100 hours to parenting mastery! However, we quickly came to the conclusion that there is a flaw in that theory. In a regular job, you perform the same tasks over and over again, and if you do that for 10,000 hours you master them. There isn’t much flux. But, wouldn't you know, babies change. So despite our 8,000 plus hours, Tori's constant evolution from just being a blob to crawling, talking, walking, grabbing, feeding herself, drinking from a cup, and evolving ways of playing, that theory is moot.

We learned so much in this last year and a month, but I feel like we are still learning every day. Every new experience she has is a new one for us (and her!). Which is great, it keeps things interesting, but it is extremely exhausting. There is a ton of joy, but there are also times of struggle (Baby Tip #60: The Struggle is real). But I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Newbs

So yesterday we had an interesting experience. Chelsea and I are spending a whirl-wind weekend in Southern California. We are visiting my side of the family so they can have some quality time with the T-Bug and for Chels to attend one of our best friends' baby showers; we are also going to check in with some of our So-Cal peeps (but the time is too short to connect with all of you! Sorry!) .  Regardless of our itinerary, we are feeling quite newbie-ish at this whole traveling-with-a-new-baby thing. Hence, the title.

So last time we came down here was in June to attend an amazing wedding in San Diego. (Whooo Brangelista!). It was during the summer so we drove. Bad idea. It took us 10 hours and Tori was not feeling it. Especially in L.A. traffic. This time we chose to fly from Sacramento to LA, and then rent a car. 

Here are some useful things we have learned from our experience: 

1) When traveling with a baby remember to bring shot records, birth certificates, and/or some sort of identification for the child. Yea, we forgot. But the nice guy at the counter helped and informed us about the situation; however, we still need to get that information sent to us some how before we depart Sunday night. 

2) When going through security do not wear your baby in a wrap for it will set off the metal detector. Chels was wearing T-bug and walked through the detector. She set it off because of the metal ring attached to the wrap. She stepped back through and was about to take the wrap off, but since she set off the metal detector already,  she had to go through a super search anyway. She and the baby were both throughly, thoroughly searched. Also, the milk we'd brought had to be put into a machine to make sure it was not and explosive device. Win for TSA! We are safe to travel. 

3) Great! With a child you get family boarding! But, do remember to check your plane side car-seat, stroller,  or other things before you pass through the gate or be ready to get a withering look from the attendant and a guilt trip as he reluctantly goes through the 30-second task of placing a gate claim ticket on the item. Sorry, guy. It was our first time! 

All very good lessons. One's we will not forget. But I had to share them to the world at large! By the way, she travelled like a champ so lets see what Sunday brings! 

Birth Story of Victoria Rose, Born at 7:56 PM, December 18, 2014

On Wednesday, December 17^th our baby was already 12 days “late” from the expected due date of December 5, 2014. I had been getting advice from everyone for the past week or so on common tricks, urban myths and old wives tales for ways to bring on labor. Trust me, after being pregnant for over 10 months, I was more than willing to try all the things, no matter how outlandish. So I ate pineapple, took evening primrose oil, drank red raspberry leaf tea, ate spicy food, walked and walked and walked, bounced on an exercise ball, got acupuncture, got a prenatal massage, got a chiropractic adjustment, got frisky, did acupressure, got a pedicure, tried to meditate and visualize baby coming, sat out under the full moon. Then finally, I got fed up and stopped doing all the things. I was just so over it. So I went about my life, enjoying the fact that both my doting husband and dedicated mother had taken weeks off work to be home with me and the baby. Well, since we had no baby yet we all just acted like it was a vacation. And it was. We went out to movies, I took long, lazy naps, I got coffee with friends and baked Christmas cookies with family. It was actually pretty wonderful.

Thinking back, I realize now that Tori was trying to teach, or perhaps, reteach me an important lesson: Then, and forever more in my life as a parent, I must surrender control. When Tim and I were trying to get pregnant we were given the opportunity to learn this lesson and had our first taste of feeling frustrated and powerless in this process and I think that by being late, Tori was coming in as the clean-up hitter (to use Sampa’s baseball metaphor) to bring this lesson home. She was reminding us that there will be so many aspects of childrearing, including birth and labor, that require us to let go, realize that we are powerless and have faith that all will be well in its own time.

Anyway, on Wednesday afternoon when Rebekah, our midwife, came to visit she and I agreed that it was time to take more aggressive steps to get this baby born! Although I had finally accepted that it was out of my control, Rebekah had a few tried and true midwifery tools that she knew would speed up a labor that was already in motion. We wanted to jump start my labor since I had been having contractions for weeks, but not ones that were steady, rhythmic or increasing in intensity or frequency. She and I were both well aware that risk factors increase after 42 weeks so we were eager to get things moving.  The good thing was I never felt like I was under the pressure of a ticking clock to have my baby before 42 weeks or else go to the hospital and be induced medically, because Rebekah partners with an OB/GYN who attends homebirths after 42 weeks and would have attended mine, with Rebekah alongside her, if there were no other risk factors present. Regardless, we still thought it would be good to encourage this stubborn little baby to come out and greet the world sooner rather than later. So, Rebekah checked me to see how far along I was. This was the first time I had checked for dilation and effacement in my pregnancy. Up until this point I had not felt it was necessary to introduce the possibility of infection by getting a vaginal exam just to know numbers. Even knowing specifics about dilatation and effacement still wouldn’t tell me when I was going to meet my baby, as people can be very dilated for weeks without going into labor (someone really should invent in-utero e-mail so babies can let you know their birthdays in advance!).

When Rebekah checked me, I was excited to find out that I was already over 3 cm dilated and 90% effaced. This was pretty amazing considering I hadn’t been having steady contractions prior to this point. This let Rebekah know that my body was getting ready to go into labor but just needed a little push in the right direction. So she said she wanted to do a membrane sweep. I was ready to do whatever it took to meet my baby ASAP so I said yes. After the membrane sweep, I started feeling regular contractions all evening. I played a game of Settlers of Catan with Tim and mom and Stephan (and won!) while feeling waves of contractions that made me catch my breath. That night, I knew I would need energy for labor so I took a benedryl and drank a glass of wine to help me sleep through the contractions. From the way I was feeling, I expected that that night I would be having my baby.

I woke up in the morning, still pregnant and then no longer contracting. I felt a little down, but the plan that we had developed with Rebekah was that I would take castor oil in the morning if I wasn’t having real, rhythmic early or active labor contractions. So, after breakfast had digested, I drank a not-so-delicious cocktail of OJ and a shot of castor oil. Less then an hour later, things kicked into gear. I wasn’t violently sick like many of the people who I know who have also drank castor oil. Instead, around noon, I started having real labor contractions, every 3-5 minutes. They were painful and I got the chance to put into use the birth class meditations, and labor positions that Tim and I had practiced. I remember thinking how I was bummed that I was in labor in the daytime because in my imagination I had always pictured myself giving birth in the cozy darkness of my home lit by Christmas lights. Around the same time, my dad texted and called. Coincidentally, he was in Sacramento for work and wanted to know if he could stop by. I was in too much discomfort to talk to him so I had Tim call him back and tell him that the baby was on the way and that I was not feeling up for visitors. All I wanted to do was lie down on the couch and get some rest but I couldn’t seem to get comfortable lying down. So I resigned myself to laboring standing up, bouncing on the exercise ball and leaning over on the couch.  After a few hours of this I asked Tim to call my mom to come over. I was so grateful to have her coaching and support during labor. She helped put counter-pressure on my back, gave me encouraging words and supported Tim as he supported me.

After about four hours of laboring with contractions every 3-5 minutes I called Rebekah to check in. She listened to the sound of my voice and my breathing during contractions and she suggested that I take a walk around the block. I could not imagine going outside in the condition I was in but she insisted. She told me it was a beautiful day out (it was, sunny but chilly) and that that sun and fresh air would do me good, even if my walk was only as short as to my mom’s house around the corner. So, Tim put Toast on her leash and I put a sweater on (I am embarrassed to say that I didn’t change out of my pajama pants) and off we went for a short walk. As we slowly walked around the block, I had to pause frequently when the contractions hit me. They seemed stronger than at home but did not increase in frequency. Rebekah had told me over the phone to call her if anything changed, but I did not know what to expect in terms of a “change”. When we got home, Tim took the dog out to the backyard to play fetch (since the walk had not been long enough for her). It seemed that as soon as he left me alone, the contractions started coming on faster. I doubled over on my knees, leaning on the couch and tried to breath through the wave of contractions, but I couldn’t seem to get a handle on them. They seemed to be coming one right after the other. When Tim came back inside he noticed immediately that something had changed. “You should call Rebekah,” he said. I could barely catch my breath enough to say back, “You call her.” And so, around 4pm, Tim called the midwife to come. It was time to have the baby.

The next approximately three hours were a blur to me. I remember at one point I came out of the bathroom and Rebekah was there and she listened to me labor through 5 contractions. After she listened to my, and the baby’s heart rate and determined that I was far enough into labor that she would be staying at my house because the baby was coming soon, I asked to take a shower. She asked if I wanted her to set up the birth tub, but I said no. I just wanted a shower and I think I had a sense that things were going to move fast. In my subconscious I thought there would not be enough time to set up the tub. Plus, I didn’t want anyone paying attention to setting up a whole new environment for me to labor in. I just wanted to have the baby!  

I think being in the shower was my favorite part of labor. Tim brought the exercise ball into the shower and I sat on it for a while, alternating between bouncing and standing under the hot water. I remember feeling like I could tolerate the extreme discomfort of the contractions better while I was in the heat and steam. At one point my mom came and checked on me. I could still talk at this point and told her that I thought it was cool that my water hadn’t broken yet. It was good luck, I said, to have a baby born in the caul and I’d heard it makes labor easier. Right after I said that, I heard and felt something pop and thought I felt a gush of fluid. I wasn’t sure, since I was all wet already, but I was pretty sure that’s when my water broke.

Again I came to a turning point in the labor. At this point I sort of got lost inside myself. I don’t remember much after I got out of the shower other than I spent some time laboring on the toilet and holding on to Tim’s neck and squatting, bearing down. Anne Marie, an OB/GYN and Rebekah’s back-up midwife arrived to assist in the final stage. I vaguely remember Rebekah checking me and telling me that I was fully dilated except for an anterior lip. She pushed it back and then told me I could start pushing whenever I felt like it, which turned out to be right away.

I started pushing a little after 7:00 PM. When I had learned about the pushing stage of labor in my natural childbirth class I had been taught that lying on one’s back is not the most efficient way to push (although it is the most common in hospitals) so I had envisioned myself in a squatting or kneeling position. But in the moment, the place that felt the best for me to push was on my back, in my bed, so that is where I labored in the final 45 minutes.

Pushing was the worst. I felt out of control and remember repeating, “I don’t like this” over and over. But Rebekah got me to focus on her and asked me to ground and center myself and send all my energy downward. Listening to her and my mom’s voice and seeing Tim’s reassuring face was the strength I needed to push the baby out but it still felt like it took forever. Once, between pushes I was so frustrated, because I had no idea how much progress I had made, I whined to Rebekah that my baby was a “jerk” for making me wait so long to go into labor and then making me do all this work to push the baby out. I think that was when she told me to reach down and feel how close to being out the baby was. Feeling the baby’s fuzzy head was the motivation I needed to put all my effort into the last few pushes to get her head out.

After the head was out, her body did not immediately and easily follow. Rebekah and Anne-Marie struggled to move Tori’s hand out of the way because she was holding her hand up to her chin and that was blocking the rest of her body from coming out. I didn’t have any idea that they were struggling with a difficult positioning because I was totally absorbed with staring at my baby’s little face for the first time. Two minutes after her head was out, they were able to scoot her hand back and after a few more pushes Tori Rose was born. Because of the finagling the midwives had had to do to get her out, Tim didn’t catch her on his own, as we had planned, but Rebekah did have him assist her in guiding our baby on the final slide out into the world and onto my chest.

When I had her in my arms I could see she was perfectly gooey but a little less pink than expected. She did not cry right away. She was sort of gurgling a little and struggling to take the first big gulp of air so Rebekah leaned over and gave her mouth to mouth. With that little assistance from Rebekah, Tori was able to push all the fluid out of her lungs and cried a healthy cry. It was only then, when I knew she was breathing and safe that I realized we still didn’t know the gender. Everyone else had been preoccupied with delivering her safely and stabilizing her that no one checked or announced her gender so I reached down to feel whether she was a boy or a girl. I was surprised to find she was a girl because I had had dreams and intuition that she was a boy throughout my pregnancy.

The next few hours were a warm, fuzzy blur of relief, joy and exhaustion. I hadn’t torn or needed any stiches so the midwives and my mom left Tim and I alone with the baby for almost 40 minutes before I started having contractions again to deliver the placenta. In that time we just marveled at the little life we had created. After the placenta was delivered, the cord had stopped pulsing and Tim cut her away from me. He took off his shirt and held her for the first time, skin-to-skin. Then, while Anne Marie helped me to the bathroom, Tim helped Rebekah assess the baby and do the basic newborn tests, all of which she passed beautifully. Once I was tucked back in bed, Tim weighed her (8 pounds even) and Stephan brought us food and came to meet his niece. Rebekah stayed long enough to make sure that Tori could latch on and was nursing and then left, saying she would be back in 24 hours to check on us. Mom made Tim and I the post-partum reward that I had dreamed of (a top-shelf margarita). And then left us alone with the baby.

By 11:00 PM Tim and I were cozied up and sleeping in the warmth and safety of our own bed, with our beautiful, healthy baby daughter in our arms. I was so grateful to have had the baby I had yearned for in the homebirth that I had dreamed of.