The gory details

First of all, today was my due date. I can’t even remember what being pregnant and not being a mommy feels like right now. Crazy.

So, everything started two weeks ago today. That day was like any other Wednesday. Went to work, came home and went to the church to pick up our CSA food. We ate dinner, watched the greatest night of television ever (SYTYCD, followed by Glee, followed by Top Chef. God, I LOVE Wednesdays), and went to bed. But, I didn’t sleep too long. Around 3 a.m., I started having what I thought were Braxton-Hicks contractions. They weren’t too regular or extremely painful, but they were enough to keep me up. I went down to the couch so I wouldn’t wake up Chris, watched some TV and tried to get some rest.

The contractions continued through Thursday morning, and I wasn’t sure if they were the real deal, so I decided to stay home from work that morning to see what happened. The more I moved around, the less intense they got, so I went into work around 11 a.m.

At this point, even though I was pretty sure my contractions weren’t yet the real deal, I kind of knew labor wasn’t far off. So, I tried to tie up as many loose ends at work as possible. While there, the contractions continued about every half hour. Again, not terrible, but enough to take my concentration for a minute. I was also moving really slowly. So, just about everyone I saw at work could tell baby time was close, too.

That night, I just tried to relax and get some rest to see if the contractions slowed down, got more intense, etc. I was supposed to have a prenatal appointment Friday morning, so I thought I’d wait until then to see what was going on. We called my good friend and doula, Holly, to let her know what’s up.

The contractions were pretty steady through the night and started developing a pattern by Friday morning. Realizing this was finally happening, we called the midwife on call at our hospital to let her know what was going on. From the beginning, our plan was to labor at home as much as possible. I didn’t see any point in going to our prenatal appointment, and the midwife agreed, so we skipped it and stayed home. Holly came over and the three of us tried to get me to relax through contractions.

There were a few things that weren’t textbook early on. For one, the baby all on the left side of my belly. And second, although my contractions were getting closer together, they lasted between 60 seconds and 2 to 3 minutes each. (Normally, they should regulate to 60 seconds each.) To address to lopsided belly, Holly suggested a few different positions to try to get the baby to line up. Friday is kind of a blur now, but I remember walking around the backyard while Holly applied counter pressure on my lower back. It was a little show for the neighbors.

I also remember laboring with my yoga ball, laboring in the shower, and mostly, laboring in the rocking chair. That was the most comfortable position. Looking back on it now, I probably wasn’t helping myself my sitting in that rocking chair. I was so focused on getting comfortable, but if I had embraced the pain a little more, I probably would have moved things along faster.

Eventually, my contractions got to about 3 to 4 minutes apart (although their length still hadn’t regulated, nor would they ever regulate for another two days, but I’m getting ahead of myself), so we went to the hospital around 6 p.m. on Friday. Once there, we found out that I had fully effaced but only dilated to about 3 or 4 cm, which in natural childbirth terms, is pretty much nothing. I wanted to get to the hospital dilated to at least 6 cm or further. However, now I’m not sure that ever would have happened on its own.

So, we labored some more at the hospital. Again, Friday is kind of a blur, but I remember laboring in the tub, laboring in the bed, walking around and vigorously tapping my right foot to get through contractions. Chris would tap along with me to help. He and Holly took turns holding me, massaging me, applying counter pressure. My mom and sister came around 7 or 8 p.m. and joined in, too. I had an awesome support team.

At some point, I think after midnight but I don’t remember, the midwife checked me and I had only dilated to 4 or 5 cm. Frustrated, we kept laboring. My mom and sister left around 4 a.m. to get some rest, and my mom and dad went to my house to get Rosie and take her home with them for the night.

We kept laboring through the night and Saturday morning into the next midwife’s shift. (I feel like I shouldn’t name which midwives I had, but both were absolutely amazing.) Saturday’s a bit of blur now, too, but I remember trying out all kinds of different positions and techniques. I also remember starting to ask for drugs. I warned Chris months ago that even though I was totally set on a natural childbirth, when things got really bad, I knew I’d ask for drugs. And his job was to ignore me and change the subject and get me to work through it. So, he and Holly both got me to focus on each contraction and tried to distract me from insisting on drugs. It worked for the most part.

By Saturday afternoon, I still hadn’t dilated much more. We tried everything. The breast pump, showering, bathing, everything. But not only was I not progressing, I was starting to regress. The midwife said my cervix started to get swollen (sort of the opposite of effacement). We decided to break my bag of waters to see if we could get things moving forward. So I kept laboring. At this point, I was tired and weak and frustrated and scared. We were starting down a path toward a c-section, which was the last thing I wanted. (Later on, I would beg for one just to be done with everything. Luckily, my midwife rocks and talked me out of it).

Unfortunately, breaking the bag of waters did little to dilate me more. I think I got to about 6 or 7 cm, although Chris says I was further along. I don't remember. So, around 10 p.m. or so Saturday night, we had to move on to pitocin, a drug that makes you contract, and something I never wanted to have to use. But I pretty much had no choice at this point. This was the last option before a c-section. Pitocin makes contractions extremely strong, and I was physically kaput. I hadn’t slept in days. I hadn’t eaten much. I had been in active labor for close to 48 hours. I was done. So I begged for drugs again, and this time, my team didn’t fight me. So I got an epidural. I have to admit, it was pretty great. I passed out and slept for a few hours. Looking back, I wish I had been stronger. I’m disappointed because not taking drugs was extremely important to me. But I also know that I might not have gotten through pushing had I not gotten those few hours of sleep.

Which brings me to the happiest part of this whole experience. The pitocin worked, I fully dilated, and I was able to deliver my baby without having a c-section. (I’d should note here that I know a lot of women who have had c-sections and I don’t mean to suggest that it’s a horrible thing. Personally, I just wanted to avoid surgery at all costs. I’ve had enough surgeries in my lifetime.) We had to wait a bit for the epidural to wear off because I couldn’t feel a thing, which made pushing really difficult. According to Chris, I pushed for 2.5 hours. It didn’t seem like that long to me, but I hear it’s common for women not to realize how much time passes during labor.

Eventually, after three days of hard work, I had beautiful baby girl on Sunday morning. She came out slightly at an angle, with the umbilical cord around her neck (this is super common, and her heartbeat never dropped), and with her elbow up near her face, which explains why the labor was so long and complicated. But she’s perfectly healthy, and beautiful, and well, perfect. I’m a proud mommy.

So that’s my birth story. I’m sure I’m forgetting stuff, like how pushing hard made me dry heave, and the weird show about donkeys we watched on Saturday in between contractions, but this little post is nearing 1,500 words, so it’s time to wrap it up. I promise to post more often, especially because like other mommy bloggers, I’m getting good at this typing with one hand thing.

Meet Maya!

Baby TK is now Maya Adeline Wunder. She came two weeks early, but took 3 days to come out. It was rough, but totally worth it. I'll write out the gory details later this week, but for now, here are some pics of our little Wunder Baby:

Maya, born Sept. 27, 2009. 6:51 a.m. 7 pounds, 11 ounces.

Maya's glamour shot.

Me and Maya

Chris making faces.

The new Wunder family (minus Rosie, of course).

Stick a fork in me

I've been trying to write a recap post of the past month and a half, but things like lack of time and motivation keep getting in the way. So instead, here's a little story and a picture.

My sister and I both have very fine, naturally curly hair, which, in our youth, lead to knots and tangles that far surpassed those of the average kid. My mom likes to tell this story about how when she tried to comb my sister's hair — which, as you might imagine, was an involved process — after a few minutes my sister would run away, comb still stuck in her hair, repeating, "I'm done, Mom. I'm done, Mom. I'm done, Mom."

That mantra has been repeating in my head for about the past week. I'm due in three weeks, and I'm so, so done. Everything is starting to hurt, I can't get comfortable, I have to get up to pee at least four times a night, and I have cankles.

Typically, complaining is my pet peeve — especially when the act of doing so has no effect on the situation. But right now, I want to complain incessantly even though there's nothing I can do except wait. (Well, I suppose I could demand to be induced early, but that's definitely not happening.) So, I'm just going to keep waiting it out. And complaining. Sorry.

In the meantime, here's a pic of my very pregnant self and the hubby from this weekend. We celebrated our third wedding anniversary at Wildfire, which is where we had our rehearsal dinner. It's a steak and seafood place, so for someone who's supposed to curb carbs and pack on the protein, it was pretty much heaven.


I promise to post more soon detailing things what I've been up to for the past 6 weeks, which doesn't include anything too exciting, actually. Well, maybe there were a few exciting moments. But for the most part? Blah.

Will blog again

I promise. I'm just insanely busy these days. Real life is getting in the way of my social media life right now. Stupid un-digitized reality.

Not so grown-up, either

So, despite all my apprehensions, my nutrition appointment wasn't too bad. Basically, she said that I'm already doing everything right and that I just have to make a few, small adjustments. Then we went over the whole blood testing process, and it seemed easy enough. I tried it out once at the office, got my result quickly, and went on my merry way.

Unfortunately, that testing ease significantly diminished as soon as I left the nutritionist's office. I'm supposed to test my blood sugar four time a day: once right when I get up, and then one hour after eating breakfast, lunch and dinner. So, after lunch yesterday, I went to the bathroom at work to test myself. But this time, I couldn't seem to get enough blood out of my finger and onto the strip. After two finger pricks and two "error" messages on my monitor, I finally got a reading on the third try. But the number was really low, so I'm guessing I did something wrong.

Then, last night after dinner, I tried to test my blood sugar again. This time, I pricked myself three times, tried to squeeze out enough blood, and ultimately received three "error" messages.

And that's when I had a total meltdown. A meltdown of the order that would make my 3-year-old nephew look mature. And then, for some reason, all this crying and tantrum throwing gave me a bloody nose. (And no, I didn't test my blood sugar using my snotty nose blood. And yes, I briefly considered it.)

I next spent the better part of an hour crying in the bathroom, trying to get my nose to stop bleeding, all the while making the blood run faster by my continual crying. I kept wondering how I'd become such a failure at something as simple as getting a drop of blood onto a test strip, and then realizing that this is nothing, nothing, compared to how hard raising a child is going to be. And holy crap, what am I going to do?

Poor Chris, who has been my rock through this whole pregnancy, was exhausted after a long day and kept trying to get me to calm down and come to bed.

This morning, I tried to do a reading again and again got an "error" message. Then Chris tried on himself and succeeded the first time. He showed me his technique for getting more blood to come out — in his words, milking your finger like an udder. Since trying out this technique, I've gotten two good reads, so hopefully we've finally figured this whole thing out. At least I hope so, because I can't spend any more nights crying in the bathroom. The Wunder household would really like to enjoy these last 10 weeks of blissful, baby-free sleep.

Not so healthy

Remind me never to write things like "I've been blessed with a healthy pregnancy" on my blog. Because, of course, I jinxed myself. It turns out I have gestational diabetes.

I just found out on Tuesday. I gotta admit, when I found out, I was shocked, and pissed. My initial glucose screen came back on the high side, but that screen has a high rate of false positives. My sister actually had a false positive on her screen, but after further tests, was determined to be just fine. So naturally, I assumed I'd be OK, too.

I had my second round of tests on Saturday. It involved fasting for 12 hours, then drinking this nasty sugar water and having my blood taken four times over a three-hour period. (Yeah, worst way to spend a Saturday ever.) On the bright side, as a reward for having to go through this, Chris and I went to Kuma's Corner after the test and ate mac n' cheese and giant burgers until we were literally sick to our stomachs. Unfortunately, that little indulgence turned out to be a last hurrah for me. No more pasta, fries and pretzel rolls. At least, not for the next 10 weeks.

The reason I'm pissed is because I already eat healthy. Other than the occasional indulgence like the one mentioned above, I don't eat simple carbs like pasta, white bread and white rice. We don't even have any in the house. And I rarely eat sweets. My diet pretty much consists of fish and lean proteins, fruits, vegetables, eggs, milk, cheese, yogurt, nuts and whole grains. And I exercise. And I'm not overweight. And with this new food co-op we joined, I've been eating tons of fresh kale, greens, arugula and cabbage for the past month. WTF?

I suppose this means adopting a new "diet" won't be difficult. I have an appointment tomorrow to learn about all this stuff. I'm trying to be positive, but the idea of sitting through a lecture on how I shouldn't eat ice cream, fried chicken and pizza for every meal is infuriating.

Argh. I need to stop and remember that this is temporary. Lots of people have much worse conditions, none of which were deserved. And they don't get to say goodbye to those problems 10 weeks from now. So yeah, I'm just being a brat.

Countdown

I've been blessed with a very easy pregnancy so far. Never had morning sickness. No health problems (at least, not yet). No mood swings or insane fears. But I have to admit, I'm kinda looking forward to NOT being pregnant anymore.

There's the obvious reason: I can't wait to meet this baby that already seems to have a personality and sense of humor. For example, when Chris tries to listen to the baby's heartbeat, Baby TK has taken to kicking him in the ear. I'm so proud.

But then there are the day-to-day things I miss, like being able to bend over to tie my shoes, or walking up a flight of stairs without getting winded. This morning, it took me 30 minutes to walk from our house to the train. Usually, it only takes 10.

Part of me feels selfish and weak for mentally being done with this whole pregnancy thing only 70% of the way through. I'm not a C- kind of gal. But then again, this week, three people told me I'm starting to waddle. What's up with that?

Further proof that I am an adult

As of yesterday, I am now the proud owner of a home with central air, as well as a fancy, new furnace that, unlike our previous one, was actually constructed after the McKinley administration.

Add the A/C and furnace to the new windows we recently had installed throughout our home, and you'll get the next sure sign of our adulthood: a home equity line of credit.

And if those four things weren't enough, we now have a fully assembled baby crib, rocking chair and stroller/car seat combo. We are, undeniably, grown-ups.

Part of becoming an adult must involve turning into your parents. Less than 12 hours after the A/C was installed, I became my father and started scolding Chris for running the A/C too much. Our electricity bill's going to skyrocket. It's nice outside. We don't even need to run the A/C. Just open the windows.

But Chris wanted to play with our new household toy, so I caved. But after the novelty's worn off, I'll put my foot down because it really is too nice outside to run the A/C at night, and our electricity bill really is going to skyrocket.

Politically, I might be pretty liberal, but in MY house, I'm a fiscal conservative, dammit.

I am huge...

... and not in the Paris Hilton "that's hot" kind of way*, but rather in the "are you sure you're not having twins?" kind of way.

Seriously, one of my co-workers asked me that this morning. When I said no, she suggested that perhaps I'm carrying both a baby and a puppy. Which is kind of gross (birthing a puppy? ewww), but also pretty funny. Chris and I have often said that the baby should get its own dog, because Rosie's our dog and we don't want to share, not even with our first born.

To date, I've gained 16 pounds since getting pregnant, which is actually a smidgen on the low end — so much for gaining weight too rapidly in the beginning. The main reason I've slowed down is because eating has become quite difficult. My stomach must now be the size of a grape, because I get full extremely fast. As a result, I have to graze all day, eating little bits here and there. Which is actually really good for maintaining a regular blood sugar level for the baby. But it's also really good for your metabolism, meaning I probably burn a crazy amount of calories schlepping my massive self to the bathroom 50 times a day.

So, even though I haven't gained that much so far, currently it's ALL BELLY. This has also led every woman who sees me to say that, without a doubt, I'm having a boy. The fetal heart rate would suggest otherwise, but you know what? Both of these things are old wives tales.

All I know is this: I'm having a baby. Just one. And possibly a puppy.

* I just learned this term from a recent episode of "Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List," which, other than SYTYCD, is quickly becoming my favorite thing on television.

How I spent my 4th of July vacation

For the 4th of July this year, we spent the weekend at my sister's friend's annual multi-day party. We've been to this bash before, but this was the first year we stayed most of the weekend.

It was pretty much the perfect 4th weekend: there was swimming, fireworks of legal and illegal varieties, mass quantities of grilled meats and foods served in salad form, and hours of backyard whiffleball.

Here are a few highlights from the weekend:

Me and my new niece, Lucy. Also featured in this photo is my rapidly expanding belly. Thankfully, Lucy is obscuring most of that (because really, nobody wants to see a pregnant chick in a bikini). Next to Lucy's teeny right foot, you can make out my bellybutton, which is mere millimeters from becoming a full-blown outie.

At night Chris, Rosie and I camped out in the backyard, and Jack joined us as well. It was his first time sleeping in a tent, and I think he's a fan. Also a fan? The hosts' dog, Chewy (above), who wanted to hang out in the tent all the time, even when we weren't around.

Chris, demonstrating how with the use of baby sling, your hands are free for important tasks, like drinking a margarita and eating a burger. He is so ready for fatherhood.