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Zen and 3 a.m.

October 1, 2012 by Farewell Stranger ·

There comes a time in many challenging situations where we realize that maybe, just maybe, we aren’t quite as zen about something as we might have hoped.

For me, that time was about 3:00 this morning.

It’s been nine days since I started having the usual early labor signs. Nine days since I started thinking, all right, let’s do this.

I’ve never done this before, this whole labour thing. I know all the terms – all the normals and typicals and what-to-expects – but I’ve never experienced them firsthand. 10 days ago, all I wanted was to experience them firsthand.

At 11:00 last night, I turned the corner from ooh, look at my body, doing all this good preparation! to hmm, I wonder if this is actually it… I’d had more can’t-miss signs of early labour during the day and last night there was a full moon and today is my dad’s birthday and it seemed like all of that was conspiring to make today the day.

Today is not the day.

Image credit: bilbord99 on Flickr

At least not so far. Between 11 p.m. and 12:30 my belly squeezed and I dozed. At 12:30 the occupancy of my bed was increased by a factor of four when my husband came in with a small eye-infected child who needed cuddles and one dog. My family, I thought, as they all quickly fell asleep.

By 1:30 the intensity and frequency of the contractions were hard to ignore and I started trying to get my sleeping family members to move away from me. A small boy’s knees in my back? Not comfortable. A dog who runs and squeaks in his sleep? Not helping. A husband who was sound asleep? Leave him, I thought. If this is it there’s no point both of us being tired.

By 2 a.m. I was at the holy crap, this is uncomfortable stage and I’d started cracking one eye open to check the clock. From 10-minute intervals down to six-minute intervals. Is this it? This hurts but I can’t tell if this is really it.

It wasn’t it.

At 3 a.m. I abandoned the family bed and went to sleep in my son’s room where I at least had a little bit more space. The contractions continued – just rip my insides out and be done with it already! – and I decided to stop looking at the clock. I lay there in the dark, the glow from his little-kid clock shining around the corners of the bedside table I’d tried to hide it under, and wondered about this whole process.

How do you know when it’s really time?

How long can this go on for?

If this is the beginning then it’s going to get worse and, frankly, that’s going to suck.

I’m living up in my head with this – breathe, remember to breathe – but my head doesn’t get to control this. My head needs to stop worrying about it and trust that it will happen when the time is right and I will know what to do and everything else just really doesn’t matter so much anyway.

But it’s hard to find that zen at 3 a.m.

Around 3:30, in the dark, facing away from the clock and with my son’s stuffed penguin lying next to me, I let it go. I acknowledged the zen and embraced it and slept.

Until 5:30, at least, when the contractions woke me up again.

Maybe tomorrow will be the day.

Filed Under: Pregnancy · Tagged With: firsts, mom's instinct

Birth Conversations

September 28, 2012 by Farewell Stranger ·

Tomorrow I will be exactly 38 weeks pregnant.

Connor was born at 38 weeks to the day, but he was breech – so stubbornly breech that we never really got into many discussions about labour and birth. Though looking back, I’m not sure it would have occurred to me that birthing a baby was anything other than contractions > hospital > decision about pain management > pushing > voila, a baby.

I had read some books and we had done prenatal courses but most of what is presented as the de facto way of birthing babies in our society is so clinical, isn’t it? So factual. You either refuse an epidural (in which case you’re a goddess) or you get one (in which case you’re being smart, because why suffer needlessly?).

Or you get a C-section.

And that’s where most of our dialogue about birth comes in, at least in my experience. And most of it is after the fact.

A C-section for many, myself included, is not the desired birth experience. It doesn’t meet our expectations for how we will bring our children into the world, as though the experience of giving birth is somehow a profound rite of passage into motherhood. The baby gets here either way, to be sure, and giving birth – in whatever fashion – doesn’t actually make a woman a mother.

But the experience is profound and the method does matter, and anyone who dismisses a woman’s grief over a C-section simply doesn’t get it.

So why don’t we talk about this more in the weeks and months ahead of our babies’ births?

I, like many other women, skipped the C-section parts of my labour and delivery books. I thought I was going to have a choice. (I didn’t, really, though four years later I still question whether there’s anything I could have done.)

In many cases, women do have a choice – they just don’t know it. How many of you became educated about labour and delivery after the birth of your first child? That’s the case for many women I know. (For me I think it really started when I saw The Business of Being Born shortly after Connor was born.) I’m not saying birth needs to be complicated — I’m really not in a position to make that sort of assertion — but I do think we need to have more conversations about what we hope to get out of the experience.

Image credit: Christy Scherrer on Flickr

Other than a healthy baby, of course. Let’s just put that out there. We all want a healthy baby (and a healthy mother) and we will do whatever is necessary in the moment to protect our baby’s health. But birth is more than that, and it’s okay that it’s more than that.

I have had midwives for both pregnancies, and while both experiences have been positive and definitely in line with what we were looking for with prenatal care I’m surprised at the lack of discussion about the birthing process. At my 36-week appointment a couple of weeks ago I asked my midwife about this, and we had an interesting discussion about how things might go. The assumption in her response was that I would avoid an epidural, or any pain relief for that matter, and simply work with my body. Which I think is fantastic and definitely what I’m hoping to do, but I’m not sure it’s safe to assume a woman will be planning that approach or, more importantly, know how to achieve it.

A couple of months ago we were at the library and while Connor browsed through his book selections I poked around in the pregnancy and birth section. I picked up a couple of things, put them back, and then came across HypnoBirthing: The Mongan Method: A natural approach to a safe, easier, more comfortable birthing. I almost skipped right over it on the shelf for fear it was too hippie for me, but something compelled me to grab it and check it out.

Later that night I asked on Twitter if anyone had used hypnobirthing. Expecting crickets, I was surprised at the onslaught of responses I got from women who not only used it but credited it with giving them the birth experience they had hoped for. So I cracked open the book and contained therein was not only a method of birthing but a philosophy.

For me, it wasn’t the philosophy itself that was interesting. It was the notion that a particular kind of birth experience is something we can discuss and aim for and hopefully achieve with a bit of insight and some tools to help us get there.

I don’t know what my birth experience will be this time around. I’m trying to have an open mind and accept whatever happens (though I’m already enjoying the novelty of the early signs of labour I’m experiencing). But regardless of how this next, and presumably last, birth experience turns out, at least this time around I feel better informed.

I’m interested in hearing about your experiences with birth conversations – let me know in the comments.

Just so you know: The link to the hypnobirthing book above is an affiliate link. I really like this book and am grateful to have found it, and if you choose to buy it also I’ll get a penny or two when I accumulate enough for Amazon to actually pay me.

Filed Under: Motherhood, Pregnancy · Tagged With: expectations, firsts, mom's instinct, perspective

Making (a) Room for Hector

September 26, 2012 by Farewell Stranger ·

When we first moved into this house, one of the bedrooms was pink. Really pink. I’m not sure the photo below even really shows how pink it was, so let’s just say it was bubblegum pink as an introduction to why we wanted to change it. (To be fair, the people who lived here before used it as their baby girl’s room, and it did have some cool circular decals on it. But still, it was PINK.)

The initial plan was to turn this into an office/quiet space for me — I will have one of those in my house someday — and Rich and Connor went on stealth missions to choose paint colours in order to decorate it. Or at least it was stealth until Connor came home one day and told me they were going to paint the room black for me. They weren’t, but I appreciated his enthusiasm nonetheless. They were actually looking at some cool blue colours and had all sorts of paint chips to consider.

And then I got pregnant, and suddenly my room was gone and we started planning a baby room instead.

I pointed out that we could leave it pink just in case, but my husband was not a fan of the idea. (Bubblegum pink, remember?) So we chose yellow instead, which turned out to be a good thing because we’re not having a girl (even though Connor still tells me he thinks Hector is a girl).

Here’s a peek at the room reno. (Note: my husband, to give credit where credit is due, did most of the work here.)

These are the previously pink walls (and oak trim, which I don’t love but that’s present through the rest of the house).

And here’s the colour we chose – a pale yellow, and my husband opted for white wainscoting, which I think looks awesome. (And look, white trim around the window too.)

Braggy picture – look at those corners! He’s good, isn’t he?

This piece of the project actually started when it was going to be a room for me. I had seen this idea on Pinterest to put a bench in the closet and I thought that seemed like a cool idea for a room that wasn’t going to need a traditional closet. My husband was game, so he started to build this (and then we just covered the bench in a different fabric than what we might otherwise have used and did something different with shelves and hooks).

Here’s another angle so you can see how deep it is. Kind of cool, right?

Once we he got all that done we started to think about how to decorate. I’m a big fan of wall decals because they’re relatively easy and there are so many possibilities. We used small decals when Connor was born – it was a last-minute pregnancy panic but I like how they turned out. We had a jungle/safari theme in his room, and I wanted something different for this baby. I didn’t have anything specific in mind, just not something overly cute, because that’s not really my thing.

I started looking on Etsy and came across these owls, along with some other similar decals. I know owls are totally in right now – I don’t know why, and I’m not really an owl nut, but I liked these. I pondered this for, oh, weeks and weeks. I showed Rich my favourited choices and he saw one he liked that had a tree with it, and after much pregnancy-induced indecision we finally ended up choosing a couple of the original owl decals I had seen.

This is the placement of the big one. I was skeptical about whether this would work with the wainscoting, but we cut the bottom off the tree and it does work.

This is the trickier part on something this big – peeling the backing off. My terribly handy and artistic husband, however, had a method.

Once the main tree was in place, we added the branches, then the birds and leaves. (Had to have birds in there somewhere.)

This is the other decal we chose – a mom (dad?) and baby owl. We originally tried it above the crib but it didn’t work (which is why they recommend you place first before starting to actually stick it to the wall). It’s now on the wall just inside the door, which I think looks better. (The stripe of tape down the centre is part of the magic method for getting these placed correctly.)

And then we added leaves to this one too.

And here’s how the room turned out:

What do you think?

Filed Under: Happy things, Hello, Inspiration, Photos, Pregnancy ·

Time Will Tell

September 24, 2012 by Farewell Stranger ·

Image credit: tamburix on Flickr

My head is not quiet.

Two days ago it was quiet, or relatively so. With three weeks to go before my due date I was living in a surreal space. I know what’s to come (more or less) but I was having a hard time believing it’s coming so soon.

Having a second baby is a weird experience. Before my first was born I was anxious, though just how anxious I didn’t actually realize at the time. I was still lost in that first-time-mom fog of dreaming about sweet babies and sighs and soft blankets. Because you don’t know, do you? You can never really know what it’s like to have a new baby until you get there yourself.

This time I know what it’s like, and yet not really. What will it be like with two? How will I be? Is it going to be okay?For the past several weeks I’ve been more focused on meeting this new little being than I have been about how he’s going to get here and what will happen in the days and weeks and months after. I feel like I know this child already – the one who likes to stick his feet in my ribs, the one who gets hiccups a lot, the one who dances when I eat something sweet, which are all things Connor never really did. I’m trying to picture him – his hair, his cheeks, his fingers. Will he look like his brother? Will he have my eyes?

And then on Saturday night I woke up around midnight having contractions. They were the mild Braxton Hicks type, slow but rhythmic, and unlike anything this mama who’s never laboured before has experienced. I thought, Hi! Are you getting ready to come? and Good. We can do this together.

Then on Sunday morning I got cranky. At first I blamed my efforts to play around with design (never a good thing) and then I retreated upstairs for a bit.

And then I couldn’t breathe.

I’m not ready, I thought. We don’t have the hospital bag packed and the car seat isn’t installed and we haven’t figured out where we’re going to store the receiving blankets. We need to get the windshield replaced. The dog needs to go to the groomer. We need more freezer meals!

The list I had made the night before suddenly seemed overwhelming and despite being organized I felt ill-prepared. I let that feeling of the list, the list drown out the little voice in my head that was telling me that’s not what this is about.

But I don’t want to think about that.

Like a big girl, I did think about it and realized I was having an anxiety attack. Yes, we have more stuff to do. No, none of it is critical – the hospital bag is half ready and we can chuck the rest in if we need to, and the car seat can be installed quickly. But I’m not ready.

I need to think more about this whole birth process (more on that in another post) and I need to sit with my thoughts for a while. This baby might be as challenging as Connor was. I might not cope this time either. It might be better or worse, happier or harder, but I need to internalize the knowing that ultimately it will be okay.

It will be okay.

So I took a deep breath, let the anxiety in and acknowledged its presence, then watched it leave. I don’t know what the next day will bring, or the next three weeks, or the next three months. Whatever happens will happen, and it will happen on its own schedule.

I’m not ready, but I don’t have to be.

It will be okay.

Loosely based on the current prompt at Just.Be.Enough: “Now what?” We’ve got a giveaway happening with this one – come join us!

And linked up with:

UPDATE: This post is featured on BlogHer Moms today – I’m honoured!

Filed Under: Be enough me, Pregnancy · Tagged With: admissions, anxiety, meltdown

Let’s Just Name Him Hector

September 20, 2012 by Farewell Stranger ·

Naming boys is hard. We had this struggle with Connor too – we each had a list (you might remember some of the spectacular names on my husband’s list, which is how we came to refer to this fetus as Hector) but the number of real contenders was few. When he was born, it took us three days and literally going through every name in the baby name book to settle on Connor (which was our first choice all along, but one needs to be sure about these things, you know…).

I again have a list, this time on my iPad. Some of the names have carried over from the last list, but mostly not. My list is fairly long — 23 names as of today — yet none of them feels like the right one. My husband has a list too and every once in a while we sit down and compare.

Our conversations tend to go like this:

Me: “How about this name?”

Him: “That name sounds like someone from the days of yore.”

Me: “What? What kind of a criticism is that? Oh, fine…”

Him: “How about Cicero?”

Me: [Sigh.]

Or like this:

Him: “What about this ‘E’ name?”

Me: “If we used that name his initials would spell ERF.”

Him: “Yarif? Why would you want to name a baby Yarif?!”

Me: “Not Yarif! ERF. You know – E.R.F.”

Him: “Oh good! I thought you were suggesting a name that sounds like barf.”

You can see why we don’t have these conversations very often.

Aside from the obvious communication problems, part of our trouble is that we have so many criteria when choosing a boy name:

It can’t be one syllable. (Rich, despite having chosen to go by that name, hates having a short first name and a short last name.)
It can’t start with F. (A first name and last name that both start with F just sounds too…cute.)
It can’t start with R. (This one is possibly flexible, but with a Rich and a Robin already it seems like another R name would be overdoing it.)
It can’t be a name in any way linked to any pop culture reference ever in the history of time. (This is my husband’s rule – “That’s too X-Men.” “That makes me think of Logan’s Run.” If I’d known it would be this much of an issue I’d have prohibited him from watching movies when we first got together 14 years ago.)

Those criteria limit the possibilities quite significantly, but then we run into issues with our last name. With a name like Farr, any name that relates to distance or travelling or similar becomes quite twee.

Walker Farr. Parker Farr. Miles Farr. Hunter Farr.

Sigh. Nope.

(The only good thing about this is that my husband jokes about wanting to name a child Hijk (pronounced Hike) but Hike Farr doesn’t work either, thank goodness.)

Then there’s anything that rhymes with fart. Carter would inevitably become Carter Farter.

Names that echo the sound of our last name don’t really work for a similar reason.

Archer… Farrcher. Hardy…Farrdy.

You just know it’s going to happen.

We’re now three weeks (give or take) from having to figure this out, but no pressure, right?

Maybe Connor is right and we are going to name him Hector after all.

Filed Under: Pregnancy · Tagged With: family