My due date is Nov. 5.
Despite being at 3 cm dilated, daughter #2 has not dropped. My OB estimates that the baby is 7 lbs and she does not want her to get much bigger.
I have a narrow pelvic opening courtesy of 2 lousy tailbone mishaps and there is a genuine issue of a "bigger" baby not making it through.
As such, we've been asked to come up with three dates next week to schedule an induction. Which means the "p-word" (pitocin), which I had hoped to avoid.
My OB says there is little risk of a c-section using pitocin on a 2nd baby when the first was delivered via the traditional route. I just really, really, really want a natural childbirth this time around and know that pitocin amplifies the contractions for momma and can stress out the baby. Leading to all sorts of rash decisions in a clutch.
I know this sounds incredibly silly and maybe a bit selfish. However, I am the kind of person who often sets physical goals for herself though, so the desire to deliver naturally is not entirely surprising.
I have vowed to keep a mental image in my head of the obscene amount of the money I wrote in the check to the doctor who performed my epidural the last time, which essentially cost $10 per minute of pain relief.
In the meantime, I have tried acupressure and acupuncture on the labor points to no avail. In fact, I have tried all the Old Wives methods, save for castor oil. Just can't go there.
Anyone know a good astrology source where I can find the best birthday for my little Scorpio-to-be?
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Saturday, October 23, 2010
No action yet (sigh)
The moon is full tonight.
The barometer has dropped so that now it is cold and raining. The first snows are predicted in the Cascades.
I have nested to the enth degree: floors cleaned and re-cleaned; rugs rolled up, sent to the cleaners and returned; blinds vacuumed. I even re-arranged the furniture in the living room in an attempt to bring on some labor action.
The freezer (and we have one that is big like a full-size refridgerator in our garage) cannot absorb one more food item. It is stocked to the gills with homemade chicken potpies, lasagnas, and - Missy's favorite - 70 lbs (!) of frozen blueberries from a local orchard. (We go through blueberries in this house like some toddlers roll through string cheese.) That this baby's due date coincided with the final harvests of the season is somewhat to blame. I think I have 12 full chickens and our Thanksgiving turkey in there, too.
The pantry is likewise: shelves of pasta, boxes of Annie's bunny crackers, bags of flour and sugar along with dozens of quarts of applesauce, nectarines, peaches and roasted tomatoes put up in the past 6 weeks.
Everything for baby has been (a) pulled out, (b) laundered, (c) put in its place. All the momma necessities I didn't plan for with Missy - breast milk storage bags? wtf? - are under the counter in the bath.
My bag is packed. But its contents are much different than the first time. Gone are the ipods, magazines and books. In their place is a breast pump, sterlized bottles for collecting colostorum and warm shirts and hats for the baby. Did I ever mention I forgot to pack clothing for Missy the first time around?
Everything that I wasn't prepared for with my first baby has been checked off the list.
Everything except for how agonizing and physically painful those last few weeks of pregnancy can be. I am generally not a whiner, least of all about physical pain, but - Good Lord Almighty!
By being born at 36 weeks, Missy spared me this final assault on my body. Her little sister, however, seems intent on picking up the slack.
I guess this is a precursor of life to come: what one doesn't teach and prepare me for, the other one will.
Bring it, girls, I think with a mixture of pleasure and ruefulness.
The barometer has dropped so that now it is cold and raining. The first snows are predicted in the Cascades.
I have nested to the enth degree: floors cleaned and re-cleaned; rugs rolled up, sent to the cleaners and returned; blinds vacuumed. I even re-arranged the furniture in the living room in an attempt to bring on some labor action.
The freezer (and we have one that is big like a full-size refridgerator in our garage) cannot absorb one more food item. It is stocked to the gills with homemade chicken potpies, lasagnas, and - Missy's favorite - 70 lbs (!) of frozen blueberries from a local orchard. (We go through blueberries in this house like some toddlers roll through string cheese.) That this baby's due date coincided with the final harvests of the season is somewhat to blame. I think I have 12 full chickens and our Thanksgiving turkey in there, too.
The pantry is likewise: shelves of pasta, boxes of Annie's bunny crackers, bags of flour and sugar along with dozens of quarts of applesauce, nectarines, peaches and roasted tomatoes put up in the past 6 weeks.
Everything for baby has been (a) pulled out, (b) laundered, (c) put in its place. All the momma necessities I didn't plan for with Missy - breast milk storage bags? wtf? - are under the counter in the bath.
My bag is packed. But its contents are much different than the first time. Gone are the ipods, magazines and books. In their place is a breast pump, sterlized bottles for collecting colostorum and warm shirts and hats for the baby. Did I ever mention I forgot to pack clothing for Missy the first time around?
Everything that I wasn't prepared for with my first baby has been checked off the list.
Everything except for how agonizing and physically painful those last few weeks of pregnancy can be. I am generally not a whiner, least of all about physical pain, but - Good Lord Almighty!
By being born at 36 weeks, Missy spared me this final assault on my body. Her little sister, however, seems intent on picking up the slack.
I guess this is a precursor of life to come: what one doesn't teach and prepare me for, the other one will.
Bring it, girls, I think with a mixture of pleasure and ruefulness.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Waiting, Waiting, Waiting...
I am in my 36th week.
There is dilation and effacing and all sorts of random OB-speak going on.
Unlike the days before Missy arrived - and I wanted to spend time doing all these things by myself - now I want to spend them as mother and eldest daughter.
As such, I am insanely jealous that my nanny is outside blowing bubbles with Missy in the early fall sunshine (we still have some sun in the PNW...and it is October!), who is shouting "Bye-bye bubbles. See you next time!," as each one floats over the back fence into the park.
Working from home is pure bliss. And pure torture sometimes.
There is dilation and effacing and all sorts of random OB-speak going on.
Unlike the days before Missy arrived - and I wanted to spend time doing all these things by myself - now I want to spend them as mother and eldest daughter.
As such, I am insanely jealous that my nanny is outside blowing bubbles with Missy in the early fall sunshine (we still have some sun in the PNW...and it is October!), who is shouting "Bye-bye bubbles. See you next time!," as each one floats over the back fence into the park.
Working from home is pure bliss. And pure torture sometimes.
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