Spoiler Alert: It Wasn't a Velociraptor

So it's been about eight weeks since my last post.  A lot has gone on since mid-November.  Namely, Thanksgiving, my birthday, the mistaken prophecy of the Mayans, and, in efforts to not bury the lead, our daughter was born.

Much to my chagrin, she was not a velociraptor.  But she's rather cute, so I think we'll keep her.

For those not familiar with the interweb reference:



What actually was the result of labor after 9 months of a rather difficult pregnancy was far less dangerous but much, much more adorable:

Not a velociraptor

Em gave birth at the Birthing Center in Bryn Mawr -- a midwifery practice where they only do natural birth.  In other words: no epidurals.

For the males of the species who may be reading this, those two words may have little impact for you.  For anyone who has witnessed a natural birth and/or delivered a baby under those circumstances, I'm quite certain you clenched your nether-regions just now.

The recounting of the story from my shoddy second-hand perspective is a sorry substitute from getting it straight from the source, but seeing as whatever hormonal cocktail the body releases in the mother's endocrine system post-delivery seems to have a total amnesiac effect on the mother regarding what she just went through, I'll have to do my best.

Em started laboring around 3:00 PM on Friday the 21st.  At least, that's when she told me that she was feeling pretty regular contractions.  You have to realize that I'd been hovering over her for the past two weeks and every time she'd wince, I was ready to load us all into the car.  

The contractions were steadily increasing in duration and intensity, but she took the midwives advice and tried to distract herself with other activities until they became too intense to ignore.  

She actually cooked herself some pancakes and vacuumed a bit before she had to sit down.  We played video games until she had to put the controller down and hold her belly.  She called the midwife and described the pain and they told her to go take a shower and give them a call in another hour.  Hopefully by that point the contractions would be closer together and lasting for a longer period of time.

At 10:00 PM (seven hours after the "pre-labor" contractions had started) we got in the car and headed for the Birth Center.  Ruby (our noble basset hound) was under the watchful care of two of our friends and the cats were well stocked with food and drink, so there was nothing to focus on aside from getting this baby out.

But first, we stopped at Wawa.

Now, before anyone strings me up for being an insensitive bastard husband, the Birth Center tells you to bring a "victory" meal with you so that when labor is over, Mom can get something to eat.  The entire pregnancy Em's been craving an Italian hoagie.  And as pregnant women are supposed to avoid cold lunch meats, it's been off the menu for the past 9 months.  

It being after 10:00 PM, the only place I could think of to stop for one was Wawa.  So, while Em was writhing in her seat, I went in an picked up a Shorti.

If our baby is going to be born and raised in Delco, she might as well get used to it early.

Mission accomplished, we made it the rest of the way to the Birth Center.  The nurse on duty opened the door for us and led us to the green suite.

At this point the midwife came in to assess the situation.  Em was still under the impression that she wasn't really going to give birth yet and that they might send us back home, but after checking under the hood, it looked like we were in business -- she was 3 centimeters along and this was going to happen.

Now, as of this point Em's been awake for about 13 hours.  She tried to nap at home but the contractions kept her awake.  Already tired, she's in for another 18 hours of labor.

By 2:00 AM, the contractions were right on top of each other, but she was no where near fully dilated, so the midwife gave her something to help her sleep.  We dozed until 6:00 AM and within a few minutes of waking back up, the contractions started back up again.  The next nine hours were the part of the movie that they'd montage so that the summary of contractions, back rubs and bath tub soaks could be compiled into a pithy 3 minute segment while "Disco Inferno" played in the background.

Would that the same could have been said of that time.  By the end of it, Em was totally exhausted and we all were the worse for wear.  The Shorti has been consumed hours ago.  But by 3:30 things were in order for Em to start pushing.  

It's not like movies make it out to be.  There's definitely an intensity and some primal noises that happen -- but maybe everyone's birth experience is different.  By the time Em was ready to push, she was so exhausted that she was falling asleep between each contraction.  She would push for a minute, sleep for a minute or two and then right back at it.

I won't go into the more gory details for the most squeamish of readers out there but I will let you know this -- helping in the delivery is (as the midwifes are fond of saying) an "earthy" process.  There will be all manner of amniotic business going down.  But when you are the one to actually help pull your baby into this world, the whole thing makes instant sense. 

And for the tough guys out there -- don't think you won't cry.  The minute you see your little one safely in the arms of your baby's mama, Niagara Falls, Frankie Angel...

Pro Tip: when grabbing your baby for the first time please note that he or she will be as difficult to grab as a greased pig.  Seriously.  The midwife told me to help grab her and I couldn't get a good grip.  I suggest a good under the armpits maneuver if you can manage it.

I can't sing the praises of our midwife / nurse team.  They were a dynamic duo and the perfect pairing for what Em needed to get her through the process.  Our midwife was a spritely, pixie type with a Skrillex haircut.

(Not our midwife.  Skrillex)

Our RN was a wonderful Delco raised girl who had a great sense of humor and a no-nonsense attitude.  When Em thought she'd never get through the process, Jen was there to set her straight.  And given the super-human strength a woman seems to develop mid-delivery, the fact that Jen repeatedly encouraged Em to squeeze her hand along with mine through the contractions, was a testament to both her steadfastness and her tolerance for pain.

So, by 4:44 our baby girl, Lily Noel, was born.  Em was elated.  I thought for certain that she'd fall asleep instantly, but she started holding court.  She didn't stop talking for half an hour while the midwife delivered the placenta and made sure everything was all right.  There was a joy in her eyes unlike anything I've ever seen on anyone's face.  And when you see this little person who looks a whole lot like the best of the two of you, it's hard to believe that everything you went through actually happened at all.

By the end of the night we'd made all the calls and let everyone know Lily was born -- all 9 lbs. 14 ounces of her.  And then it was just the three of us.  At the Birth Center you have to stay a minimum of four hours and a maximum of twelve.  As Lily was born at 4:44 PM and Em's labor had been long and exhausting, they wanted us to stay the night there to keep an eye on both Mama and baby.  

Em's appetite was back after having not eaten anything in almost 24 hours, so I made another Wawa run.  

It took everything within my power to not announce to anyone who would listen that I was a new dad.  Being the closest Wawa to the Birthing Center, I'm sure I wouldn't be the first to do so, but I hardly think the guy assembling a series of Shortis behind the counter would have been impressed.

But I was on top of the world.  I couldn't be happier that the Mayans were mistaken.

Mother's Milk: Le Leche, the Jerkward, and the Honking

I took the photo below during one of our recent birthing center classes.

Not really.

One would generally assume that at a Birthing Center, your typical clientele wouldn't necessarily be the biggest of meatheads and chauvinists.

Last week we attended a class on breastfeeding, and it was a full house.  Altogether there were 12 couples, all of who were well on the way to month #9.  Most of the couples looked and behaved like you might assume a well-attended breastfeeding class at a birthing center would be.

There was a lot of plaid.  And men with ponytails.  And earrings.

When we all went around the room to introduce ourselves, we were asked to say our name, when we were due, what we did for a living and what town we lived in.  One couple who looked to be about our age mentioned that they were from the same town as us and I had every intention of introducing myself to them at  the first break.  They lived close by and were due right around the same time as we are.

I couldn't be happier that I didn't.

The peanut gallery comments from time to time were pretty funny.  At one point we were asked to go around the room and talk about one benefit of breastfeeding -- they ran the gamut from strengthened immune systems to the low cost (as compared to formula and bottles).  But the husband from down the street said, "breastmilk comes in nicer looking packaging," which, clearly, is correct.

But then he did something that blew my mind.  In a room full of 23 strangers (including the teacher) he reached over and honked his wife's boob.

Yup.  Room full of people you don't know and your impulse is to tweak her boob?

His wife didn't seem terribly put out by it, so I figured it wasn't a big deal.  But then he repeated the behavior whenever he'd answer a question.

The teacher asked the class -- "If dad can't participate in the feeding of the baby, how can he bond with his newborn?"

Our new friend from around the block raised his hand and said,"we can demonstrate how it's done."  And then he leaned over his wife's chest and pantomimed suckling.  That's right.  Pantomimed.  Suckling.

I wish I were making this up.

At this point, the poor girl who was married to the clown blushed from her neck to her forehead.  She pushed him away and stared at the floor.  The teacher was nonplussed but it seemed so strange to watch this guy at a freaken birthing center breastfeeding class bully his own wife.

That poor girl is going to be raising a human being with this turd.  And, in all likelihood, this turd-spawn will be in the same grade/school as our daughter.

By the time he was cupping her breast like he was weighing a melon at the supermarket, I was grateful that class was at an end.  Was he uncomfortable being surrounded by so many hippies?  Do boobs as food-source make him squirmy?

Why would he feel the need to assert his masculinity in that setting, of all places?  He fathered a child.  Pretty concrete evidence, if you ask me.

The good news is that it was a pretty informative class.  You'd think the whole process would be rather straightforward, but there's some art to the science of it all.  Probably the coolest part of the class was a video that showed a baby being placed, immediately after birth, onto his mother's abdomen and kicking and climbing his way to her breast and self-attaching.

It doesn't happen with babies when the mom has had an epidural, and even then not all babies will do it even if the mother hasn't had drugs during labor, but it was crazy to see.

I couldn't find the exact video of it on YouTube, but if you Google "baby self attachment" or "breast crawl" there are dozens of videos that crop up.  This one gives you the basic gist.

breast-crawl-self-attachment-biological-nurturing

Crazy stuff.

Next week starts the final countdown.  As of Tuesday, we're cleared for launch at the Birthing Center.  Maybe she won't be like every other Gach and actually show up on time.

Childbirth Class: I Thought This Was Supposed to Be Helpful

I don't always have the best of attention spans.  In fact, while I'm writing this I'm thinking of all the things I need to do around the house:

• mow the lawn
• wash the dog
• mop the kitchen floor
• replace the battery in the smoke detector
• vacuum the stairs
• cook dinner
• unload the dishwasher
• reload the dishwasher
• write an email

In fact, xkcd had a wonderful webcomic on this very subject today.

ADD

Click the link above if the image in the blog is too small to read.

Essentially, I've got a lot of balloons in the air right now and I'm just trying to make sure I hold onto the most important ones.

I'm not much of one for making lists.  I primarily shoot from the hip and figure if I forgot something important, I'll remember it later.

Which leads my to our prenatal class.  Aren't I just the best at segues?  

Saturday we went to our prenatal class.  Now, we had the option to go to four two-hour seminars or just get the whole thing wrapped up in one eight-hour birthing extravaganza.  I'm a guy who likes to rip off the band-aid in one fell swoop.  Thankfully, I married a woman who is also a fan of the approach.

We got there on time -- thanks to Em getting us out the door -- and we were the first ones there other than the instructor.  She was nice enough.  Not quite as crunchy-granola-breath-patchouli-wearing as I might have expected, but seemed rather low-key and the right energy for a bunch of people embarking on bringing their first child into the world.

The class itself (consisting of five other couples other than us) looked about as engaged as a class of Seniors the last week before graduation.

Em's had books all around the house for some time and we've watched a number of documentaries, so much of the information was already familiar.  The instructor tried her damnedest to get the class engaged, but they just wouldn't budge.  

The class is conducted in the basement of the Birthing Center.  So the layout looks like this:

Le expertly rendered birthing center

I was just getting bored enough to start making a list in my head of all the stuff I need to get done before the baby gets here when the sounds started.  It began as a low moan but suddenly rose to a fever pitched scream.  I imagine the woman in the birthing suite immediately above our heads looked something like this:

Bloodcurdling, thy name is
Janet Leigh

...at least that's what she sounded like.  Suddenly unable to focus on my list making, my attention turned to the instructor.  She noticed the screams (of course she noticed them.  The woman was screaming bloody murder.  What I mean to say is that she acknowledged the screams) and thought that putting a movie on and turning the volume up might help to drown out the woman upstairs.

The screams definitely went against everything the instructor had been preaching...thinking of yourself "opening like a flower" and having the "power of a contraction wrap around you" and the "counter-productivity of the act of screaming" itself.

The video she chose to put on was this one.  CAUTION: BEFORE YOU CLICK THIS LINK TAKE A MINUTE AND CONSIDER THAT THESE ARE WOMEN GIVING BIRTH. IN A SQUATTING POSITION.  IT'S CRAZY GRAPHIC.  SO DON'T CLICK IT UNLESS YOU WANT TO SEE FOOTAGE OF WOMEN GIVING BIRTH.  IN THE SQUATTING POSITION.  OH, AND IF I WASN'T PERFECTLY CLEAR IN THE PREVIOUS CAPS LOCK TEXT, THIS IS CLEARLY NOT SAFE FOR WORK.  AS WOMEN ARE GIVING BIRTH.  IN THE SQUATTING POSITION.

Actual. Statue. Used. In. Movie.

 Birth in the Squatting Position

Yes, that's the real title of the movie.  The cliff-notes version (of the 10 minute film) is this: a bunch of women give birth in the squatting position.  As the title would imply.  But what blows your mind, is that there are rarely doctors present.  Mind you, this was filmed in 1979, and it was shot in Brazil as a anthropological piece.  But the babies are born, perfectly fine, without anyone catching them -- they land on a soft bed and the moms pick them up like nothing happened.

For those of you not wanting/willing/able to watch the video the children come out slowly at first and then, the minute the shoulders clear, they...well...it's kind of like this:

And BOOM goes the baby

After the first six times, you get kind of used to it.  I did lean over to Em at one point and mention that they should probably have some kind of bumpers set up so the child doesn't overshoot the landing, but at one point I looked at the guy closest to the TV (we were sat in a semi-circle) and this was the face he was making:

Caption unnecessary

Which was unfortunate for him, as his wife was 36 weeks pregnant.  I think I'm a pretty bad procrastinator, but if you have no idea what's about to happen to your wife, you'd probably benefit from taking some time to acclimate to the idea.

After the video was done, she let us go for lunch.

Nope, not kidding.  Fifteen babies born in the squatting position and then off to get some grub.

The rest of the class in the afternoon was pretty tame.  They took us through some relaxation and pain management techniques and then let us know the rules and regs of birth at the center.  Probably the most important thing I walked away from the class with was knowing it's probably best of install the rear-facing infant car seat before the day your child enters the world.

Which is yet another thing to add to my ever growing list.

On Midwifery: Or, The Lion, the Witch and the Birthing Center

This is not what a midwife looks like:

I'll get you, my Pretty.  And your little baby too.

Just so we're clear.  

My wife and I decided right when she got pregnant that we were going to a midwife to deliver the baby.  I'm not going to soapbox about why we made the decision, but it was (and is) the right one for us.

People immediately freak out when you tell them this.  I try to remind them that this has been the model for centuries and oh, by the way, most of Europe (who has far better rates of healthy, natural childbirth) still operates this way.

To blatantly steal from Jim Gaffigan's most recent special, Mr. Universe, why would I want my wife to deliver our child while wearing the gown a person died in the night before?  Hospitals are where sick people go to get better.  Pregnancy is not a state of illness so why go to a guy who specializes in cutting people open for a living?

I have nothing against OBGYNs, whatsoever.  They serve an important purpose and save lives under the most dire of circumstances.  But most pregnancies don't require the skills of a surgeon.  Women have been delivering babies for ages without the help of a trained surgeon.

And before anyone starts freaking out, the Birthing Center we are attending is directly across the street from one of the best hospitals in our area.  If something were to go wrong, it's directly across the street.  And in the company of the Midwife is a trained RN.

We aren't winging it.  We've done a ton of research on the subject.  And I find it really strange that people try to dissuade us from using the birthing center.  People spend more time researching the next car they are going to buy than what they dedicate to the facility where they will deliver their baby.  

If you are interested in a crash course about midwifery (and they primarily focus on home birth in this movie, buy you have lot of options) I highly recommend The Business of Being Born.

Business of Being Born

It may be a bit crunchy-granola-breath for some, but so is the whole midwife thing.  If you are squeamish, the most unpleasant parts of it are during the C-section, so avert your eyes if you see a scalpel.  But it is a great source of info for anyone interested in options outside of the typical hospital environment.

My favorite part of the movie is when this one

Beware if your midwife has a spinning wheel anywhere nearby.

turns into a dragon.