3 Weeks, 3 Boys, 3 Birthdays

Me: How old are you today?
A: Two.
Me: No, today you're 3!
A: No, I Aaron.
Me: Yes, you're Aaron and you're 3!
A: No, I a boy.
Me: Well yes, you're Aaron, you're a boy, AND you're 3!

Noah and Aaron have been very impressed with all the hoopla and visitors surrounding their birthdays: Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, cake - it's enough to make anyone welcome a new brother with open arms! Each day Nana was here, she gave each boy a little birthday present. By the time she left, Noah declared, "Baby Isaac brought us all this great stuff!" We're all discovering that there are advantages to having all three birthdays run together.

Isaac's Birth Story

SUNDAY, JULY 22

Sun 3pm: I am baking pies for a luau when I notice my usual contractions getting stronger. I’m electrified: cleaning everything in sight, re-packing our hospital bags, thinking about calling Josh to come home... Then they subside, so we go to the luau instead of the hospital.

Sun night: I toss and turn, dreaming I’m in labor. It doesn’t seem to work.

MONDAY, JULY 23

Mon morning: All is quiet on the belly front. I've never been early. Guess I’m in for another week.

Mon 6:15pm: Josh comes straight home after clinic to find the boys decked out as a race-car driver and "spider-man." We eat pizza and play board games (“chess” and “Cars”) on the family room floor. 

 

Which is where my water breaks.   

Mon 7:35pm: We are just putting the games away to take the boys up to bed when I feel the classic and shocking "gush." Josh runs to get towels as I reassure the boys that my insides are not leaking out. Aaron is concerned, but Noah is ecstatic - ecstatic - saying, "Yea, Mommy's gonna have a baby! Yea, Mommy!"

Josh loads the hospital bags and boys (including one race-car driver) into the van while I grab another towel and try to assure myself that I cannot be misinterpreting this, right? No more false alarms?

Mon 8pm: Then it’s off to the neighbors’, where we deposit the boys for my brother and sister-in-law to pick up at 8:30pm. (When I asked Noah about their time at the Corbins', he wanted to make sure I noted that they "got to watch TV!") Meanwhile, Josh and I head to the hospital, calling parents along the way.

Mon 8:30pm: Once there, my dear doctor husband who works at this hospital gets lost in the parking garage. When we make it to the maternity ward, they are full and send us (with kind apologies) to the waiting room. There I pace, worry that the contractions are not building, turn on HGTV, FB/text with friends, and marvel at the next laborer to roll in with her sixth on the way.

Mon 9pm: We get a triage room and they confirm my water has broken (whew!) and I am at 2cm (ugh). Then we move to a Labor & Delivery room where we meet my new best friend for the night: Andrea, a super-sweet nurse, midwife-to-be, and clone of my dear friend Liz P.

Over the next couple hours, I change into the classy hospital gown, hook up to monitors, have an extensive debrief with the anesthesiology resident (NO SPINALS, please), walk the halls with Josh, eat popsicles and jello and chicken broth, and wait for my irregular contractions to get their act together.

Mon 12 midnight: No dice, so Josh tells his parents they might as well crash at their hotel for the night while he curls up in a cot next to my bed. I pretend to sleep as the mild contractions continue every 6-8 minutes.

TUESDAY, JULY 24

Tues 3am: A resident tells us it’s time to start Pitocin to jumpstart my progress. I’m hesitant, having just read a Consumer Reports article recommending fewer interventions, so I suggest we go for a walk to see if that does the trick. She replies, “Sure – Have a great walk, come back in 30minutes, and then we’ll start the Pitocin.” Seems the risk of infection is a greater consideration than the risk of disregarding Consumer Reports.

Tues 3:30am: Alas the walk has had no effect, so they start the Pitocin at “2” and crank it up to “8” over the next 3 hours. It has an effect.

Tues 5:45am: They put in the epidural. I hate when they put in the epidural. There’s something instinctive about protecting your lower back, and mine seems to remember the past epidurals – not with fondness. But the contractions are insisting I ignore this instinct and go for the drugs. I go for the drugs.

Tues 6am: I’m at 4cm. FOUR. I’ve been laboring all night to go from 2cm to 4cm. In other words, right now I’m thanking God for Pitocin, or this could’ve been a VERY long labor, and I’m already exhausted. Maybe these medical folk know something after all.

Tues 6:30am: The epidural is working. It is magic. It is heaven. I’m comfortable and rest for the first time in 12 hours even as the contractions are – apparently – piling up stronger than ever. I’m floating through it. I love modern medicine. Pitocin. Epidurals. The 135/min heartbeat I can hear pumping as I rest...

Tues 7:30am: But then the baby’s heart rate is dropping (decels), and I’m feeling some pain. The nurse looks concerned until she sees a head between my legs. I’ve gone from 4cm to 10cm in 1 hour. With almost no pain. Did I mention I love modern medicine?

Tues 7:54am: Our little one pops out after two – apparently – heroic pushes which took very little effort on my part.

It’s a boy! He’s perfect. They set him on my chest for immediate skin-to-skin contact, and he stays there as they do the APGAR tests, he pees on me, and I nurse him for the first time.

Then Josh gets a turn holding him, and gets a good dousing with tar-like poop.

It’s official. Josh and I are in love. With each other. With him. With modern medicine.

Tues 9am-12noon: We introduce our newest little man (7lb 4oz, 21") to Josh’s parents. Then we’re stashed in a tiny pre-op room where I scarf down an enormous breakfast (omelet, bacon, muffin, fruit, hot chocolate – the whole enchilada, minus any enchiladas) before my exhaustion and exhilaration battle it out and I again pretend to sleep.

Tues 1pm: We move to the penthouse, or so it seems. A real recovery room with private bath, a remote-control bed for me, pull-out bed for Josh (no need for pity – he’s not having postpartum contractions), room service (and the food is good – especially the omelets and tuna salad), professional nursery, free movies, flowers, gifts, and visitors.

Tues 3-6pm: We both sleep. For real. Then we pick a name. (Rock, paper, scissors.) (Just kidding.)

Tues 6-8pm: Visitors! We show off our newest family member to the Dennys (again – they can’t get enough – neither can we), Southerns, and Stewarts, plus two big brothers who meet Isaac Robert Denny for the first time.

Tues 8-10pm: Josh and I eat Bricktop’s black and blue pizza and the-best-chocolate-chip-cookie-in-the-whole-world (Thanks, Grandma and Papa!) while we start Crazy Stupid Love.

Wed 10:30am: Isaac’s circumcision in the nursery. Josh paces in our room, muttering, “I know a great pediatric urologist…”

Wed 11am-2pm: Josh’s parents and sister visit for some cuddle time with superman. Isaac is nursing and sleeping like a champ. He is a champ. Just like his Daddy and brothers. I can tell already.

Wed 5-8pm: My parents arrive. Mom finished radiation at 9:30am this morning and went straight to the airport for their noon flight. They get Taco Bell with Josh while I eat my now-regularly enormous room-service meal. It’s like we’re on a cruise. The hospital just needs a pool.

Wed 8-10pm: They do have free movies, so Josh and I watch Larry Crowne.

Thurs 2pm: After a relaxing morning, we’re discharged with my last mementos from the hospital: canker sores (I went a little crazy with the cranberry juice) and the DPT vaccine that will give me flu-like symptoms for 36hrs. I’ve just given birth for this child – I think I can handle the flu.

Thurs 3pm: We arrive home to my parents, the boys, and a beautiful new normal. Plus the Olympics. Life is good. We are beyond grateful.

Recovery

One morning last week, Noah woke up not feeling well.

Little boy in a big bed

I settled him on the couch in front of the TV and told the boys not to touch each other. We didn't want to spread the germs around.

Guess who's sick.

I came back a few minutes later to find them "not touching each other."

Which is why--as soon as Noah was feeling better--they both headed for the shower...

They love piling on the rug and "disappearing" afterward. Where'd those boys go now??

And in no time, Noah was back to normal.

Well, at least normal for a 4-year-old boy... (yes, that's pizza dough)

Sleepyhead

The boys have handled their new sleeping arrangements really well, and I LOVE the consolidated bedtime routine that has resulted from them being in the same room. Another perk of the new format has come in an unexpected quarter...

1. It's now more important that Aaron be tired at night so he won't keep his brother up (though Noah is shockingly good at falling asleep amidst Aaron's late-night antics).

2. No nap turns Aaron into an indecisive mess whose typical conversation sounds like this:

A: I want that!
Me: Here you go.
A: No, Mommy, no!
Me: Ok (I take it back).
A: No, I want it! I want it!
Me: (I hold it out.)
A: No, Mommy, no!
Repeat.

3. To avoid these dialogical conundrums (which inevitably end in meltdowns) and still get him to sleep at night, I have to wake Aaron from his nap - which means I find him asleep on the floor every day and witness his gradual ascent toward consciousness. He nuzzles and cuddles with me and his blanket as if we were the coziest down comforters. It is hands-down one of the cutest moments of my day.

Hot and Happy 4th

It was 103 degrees, so we didn't stray far from water. After a morning at the pool with neighbors, we spent the evening at a neighbor's house watching the boys run down a slip-and-slide (none of the preschoolers could quite figure out the "slide" technique). Then we all sat on their back porch for the Franklin fireworks. The boys loved the bright displays and even the noise, which made it sound "like a battle!" A 3-yr-old next to us must have thought so too, as she asked, "Are they trying to break the sky?"

For the Record

It's been hot. Not it's-summer-let's-swim hot, but the-babypool's-a-hottub hot.

I don't like to complain about a miracle (pregnancy), but since I've been third-trimester pregnant in the summer twice before, and both times seem to have forgotten the resulting discomfort, I've decided it's time to write. it. down. If I am ever again tempted to get pregnant in November, I commit now to read this first.

At one point, the local weatherman was saying that it hasn't been this hot since August of 2007 -- the month Noah was born. The two weeks before Noah arrived, the temperature reached over 100 degrees every day.

But then, a couple weeks ago, the weatherman gave up on that comparison. Lately it's been the hottest Nashville has ever seen since they started keeping records.

I've always been a cold weather girl. It's in my blood: my relatives vacation in Massachusetts. Living in the South, I miss snow, dread July/August, and wouldn't mind a few more rainy days. And that's when I'm not pregnant.

At 37 weeks, I sweat in air conditioning. It takes 2 seconds for me to get hot and about 30 minutes to cool down. I got irritated last night with Josh because I couldn't stand watching him put a blanket over his legs. I thought about just staying at church yesterday rather than having to take the boys out to a hot car and waiting for it to cool off. I've been serving frozen vegetables with dinner so long now, that I think my boys will be surprised the next time someone offers them hot green beans. Last week, I actually considered cutting off my own ponytail to get the hair off my neck. Step away from the scissors...away from the scissors...

And it's not just that I feel hot. It's that the heat makes me feel sick. Most evenings, it has sapped my energy and left me a nauseous, crampy mess. It's possible everyone feels that way at 37wks - I wouldn't know - but I'm guessing not to this extent. I drink lots of fluids, but that just sends me to the restroom every 3 minutes instead of every 7 - which has its own set of complications...

If I were a better hermit, I suppose I could avoid it all. We do have a marvelous new HVAC, and I am INCREDIBLY thankful for it. I've thought many times about the thousands of deaths that accompanied summer heat waves in past centuries. I know there are so many reasons to be grateful - including the fact that I am still pregnant with a healthy baby. I am. Really.

But I'm no good as a hermit, so I cannot avoid the heat entirely. And I think it's affecting my brain. Saturday, I put in a movie at 9am to give us a reason to stay in, but by the time it finished at 11, I was stir-crazy. So I took the boys to the free craft at Home Depot, assuming it would be inside on July 7th at 11:30am under 102 degrees of direct sun.

Then I made a crucial mis-step: I parked and walked in with the boys BEFORE checking the set-up. They saw the fabulous toy trucks being built out front, on the pavement, under the sun, before I did. Let me just say, it's a good thing they love those trucks. I nearly sweat blood to help them build those trucks. We are keeping those trucks for a long time. On the mantle.

But seriously, I can dwell on my little rant for the moment, because there is hope for me yet. The forecast this week includes highs in the EIGHTIES for the first time in forever. I could've kissed the guy who told me that. (Actually, I did. It was Josh.) AND I plan to have this baby as soon as possible, which means I can look on those with September due dates with sympathy and inner exultation that at least we started this whole process in November and not at New Year's. Dear Lord have mercy and bless the hot little hearts of those who still have two months to go. And please, please help me remember that next winter.

False Alarm

It was 7:30pm, nearing the end of a fun, full day, and I suddenly felt really sick. From church to Costco to cleaning to errands, we'd been on the go nonstop, which is why I'd just pulled out a bagels-and-lox dinner for the boys to scarf down before bed. They were happily eating at the island when the nausea and back pain rolled over me like a truck outa nowhere. I lay down on the couch. Josh was outside trying to water our dead-as-a-doornail lawn. Both boys wanted more food. I could not get up. So I sent Noah to get his dad for help.

An hour later, Josh had finished the dinner routine and put both boys to bed. I was now in bed myself, with little change. Until the contractions began.

Let me first say, both of my previous labors have been the same. I have braxton-hicks contractions (no pain) throughout my pregnancy, but once they start hurting, it's time to go to the hospital. Both times, that has occurred right around my due date, and I have underestimated how quickly the contractions would become excruciating, which has made getting the epidural more difficult.

So when I feel a painful contraction, Josh and I both hear alarm bells. At 36 weeks, they're good alarm bells, but alarm bells all the same. They continued every 5-10 minutes while Josh packed his hospital bag and I called our neighbors to see if they could take the boys.

But I kept wondering - Can this be for real? Are they hurting enough? Isn't it too early for ME to be in labor? I don't have early babies! 

But wouldn't that be EXCITING!?

We decided to play it safe and take the boys to our neighbors' before it got too late. That way, if it developed into labor, we wouldn't be waking them in the middle of the night. Then, we packed a few more things, filled the car with gas, and started driving toward the hospital. By the time we'd gotten near Vandy, I'd gone 30 minutes without a contraction. I still felt weird, but no contractions. So we stopped in at Waffle House to wait and see (who else is open at 10pm on a Sunday?). The longer we sat there, the more our hearts sank.

Really, we shouldn't want the baby to come yet. Josh has major work deadlines over the next couple weeks, my in-town relatives are out-of-town, and my mom is tied to Florida until late July. Not to mention 40 weeks is probably better than 36. BUT I WANT TO MEET THIS BABY!! And there for a little while, we thought we might get to do it early.

Looking back on yesterday, we're pretty sure the false labor resulted from me not eating well, drinking enough, or napping yesterday. Dehydration and exhaustion are classic causes. Someday it'll be a funny story, and it has already given me even greater sympathy for those who experience false labor. But today, it just meant an ordinary day felt a bit more ordinary in light of the day we thought it might be.