Home with New Baby

So, about 9am on the third day in the hospital we packed up the mountain of baby stuff with a little help from the hospital nurses, stuck Berkles in the baby seat we had studied over for 30 minutes in the store before finally selecting based on color, and off we drove, headed home with our little bundle of joy.

The little booger even fell asleep on the drive, all half a mile of it. How cute. So, we took the seat inside and put it in the middle of the den, went in the bedroom and went to sleep. Turns out that's a bad idea, but we didn't know babies don't get much oxygen while sleeping in a baby seat. Looked happy to us, and after sleeping no longer than 37 seconds in a single stretch in the hospital, we left him there. Hell, I'd have left him on the roof if I thought he preferred it at that point. And so we all slept. Joyous, wonderful sleep, for a couple of hours.

Then he woke up, which was fine. Time to eat. So, we tried breastfeeding. And here was our schedule for the next 10 days:

Minute 1: Baby cries like it's hungry
Minute 2: Courtney whips out a breast, and somebody, just whoever is close, brings the baby over to feed.
Minutes 3-30: Baby screams at breast as if it's made of actual fire and is burning baby.
Minute 31: Baby magically latches onto breast and drinks for a while.
Minute 60: Baby falls asleep
1Hour Minute 20: Baby cries as if it's hungry...
Rinse, cycle, repeat.

Except sometimes, we skip the sleep part. All total, there is on average negative 432 minutes of sleep per day. In contrast, there are 7 migraines and at least fifty-eleven tears. And keep in mind, the baby can't make tears yet, so they're really all mama's tears. If someone came to our house they would have been justified calling social services, or maybe the police. Social services to say "there is no way these two people can care for a child, they need help." The police to say "obviously someone is coming in here and torturing these people when no one is around. Maybe the Chinese and their advanced methods with sleep deprivation."

So, finally I called BS on this whole situation and make Courtney give me one reason to not give the baby a bottle. In her totally destroyed and mind-altered state she couldn't come up with one in 10 seconds, so I made a bottle, and Berk drank it as if he had just caravaned across the Sahara.

And so that was the end of the great breast-bottle debate in the Willis house. Courtney was not happy and neither was I. We presume all the screaming at the breast meant Berkley was less than amused. But since the first bottle, all cartwheels and sunshine, much better sleep for everyone, etc. So, we stuck with it.

And after 7 days of wearing cabbage and ice packs on her breasts, Courtney's breasts returned to normal from the size of small planets.

Our next challenge was sleep (for the baby). We both used to go to bed at about 11, and sleep for 8 hours, straight. No waking up, no going to pee, nada. Babies are horrible at that it turns out. I slept light and if I woke up I was up for good. So, we went on a search for how to teach Berkley to sleep.

And after trying the cradle thingy, and his bed, and our bed, and a sleep sack, and a swaddle, and the couch, and the car seat again, and even pondering that roof idea, we settled on just dealing with it. We'd feed him about 10, then put him to bed until about 3am, then feed him, then again about 6am. This is not the same as sleeping 8 hours straight.

This went on for a couple of weeks, until someone suggested the novel idea we just NOT feed the baby in the middle of the night. Swaddle him tight, shut the door on the way out, and then walk back in there in the morning. That's it. This sounds very simple. We would feed Berkley about 7pm, change his diaper, put him to bed swaddled like a mummy (I call this baby jail), then close his bedroom door and do our thing until we went to bed. About 7am we walk back into the room and feed him again.

This is NOT so easy. The baby cries. And when you live in a home the size of a postage stamp, you hear it, all.the.time. But, sure enough, after a couple of nights he started sleeping the whole night. And has pretty much done just that every night since.

In The Hospital

Here, in this post, I tell you about our hospital stay. The one directly after the baby was born.

So, squirt, out came baby. And then the fun really began. The doc announced to Courtney that it was time to get the placenta out. By this hour the drugs from the epidural had kicked in, so he could have announced it was time to remove her kidneys with a butter knife and all would have been good. I, on the other hand, had heard some not so fun stories about this little process, and I was NOT drugged up. So, to work he went massaging her belly and being very nice about the whole thing while I stood watching with trepidation. Luckily, this went much quicker and more smoothly than the actual birth, and out came this... thing. It reminded me of a really shiny/silvery gallon sized zip-lock bag with spaghetti sauce inside. I was WAY more interested than I thought I would be. The doc noticed our interest and so yep, he just brought it right up into our faces to check it out. He turned it inside out, so then it was no longer silvery and slick, but instead very much like carpet in consistency, except still reddish purple and wet. So, there you go, time to play with new baby.

We got to hold him for 13 seconds, then we brought the families in to see everything. My 4 parents, my sister and her boyfriend, and Courtney's mom were there. Her dad was on the way.

So, in they all trooped, and the baby got passed around, my sister's boyfriend announced he was happy to be an uncle, and much merriment was had.

Then 15 seconds later, it was time to move to the "not so expensive, not as nice" room. So we all trucked down the hallway to a room to stay a couple of nights. Halfway there the fire alarm went off. Super.

We finally get into this room, everyone heads home, and we're alone, with this baby. We tried to breastfeed. How hard can it be? Take baby mouth, put on breast. Whammo.

NOT whammo. We turned, pinched, contorted, and the baby was just getting more and more angry. So, we gave up, and a little while later a nurse came in. She showed us how to do it right, and baby drank a little and went to sleep. Parenting is so simple.

10 minutes later, baby started crying. Well what the hell little man? You ate, your diaper is clean, you're all wrapped up and warm, nothing is wrong. And so on it went, through the night. Happy and sleeping a while, crying a while. Not a lot of sleep was had. It should be noted that for those without children that a baby crying in the room with you is roughly equivalent to someone exploding a 50 megaton nuclear bomb. Courtney was exhausted. I was pretty tired myself. About 6am, we sent the little guy to the nursery and slept in bliss for a few hours.

About 9, they brought him back to have more breastfeeding lessons. It went pretty well, and he ate a while and went to sleep. Through the day people came by and we told the same birth story over again and again. And the baby just sort of did his thing. Cry, sleep, pee, poo, rinse and repeat.

That night, we're alone again, and here we go. We want to be with the baby, but there was not much sleeping happening. And we try to breastfeed, but it isn't going all that well. The baby is best at screaming at us.

So, back to the nursery the baby goes, and to sleep we go.

Throughout all of these 3 days, it should be noted that Courtney is having to wear these gigantic maxi pads with an ice pack in them. I have no idea how she was comfortable or slept for one minute.

Also, if everyone did get settled and about to sleep, someone, anyone would barge in the room and want to test the baby's hearing, or make sure Courtney is drinking water, or something. Pure craziness.

Next morning, it's time to go home. They have circumcised the baby, we're all packed up, and down to the car we go. We live about 3 blocks from the hospital, so it's a short drive.

And upon getting home, the little man slept hard for a few hours. We all slept, more exhausted than we've ever been.

So We Have This Baby....

I haven't posted since well before our baby was born. This should be your first indicator of what it's really like to have a baby around the house. I'll take time over the next couple of weeks to talk through the ups and down, but mostly just hilarious reality of two people who were obviously built to be an aunt and, uncle bringing a baby into the world.

Today, I'll catalog the birth experience.

If there was one thing Courtney was terrified of, it was the act of pushing a 8-10lb baby out of her naturally. Or having surgery to remove said newborn. And I felt this was a completely justifiable fear. I'm sure there are husbands out there who tried to help their wives out by saying things like "It won't be so bad" "It'll be over before you know it" or "It's been happening for thousands of years.." Not me. I agreed wholeheartedly that it would likely be awful, painful, and scarring to the psyche. For this reason, we both agreed, and informed anyone within earshot that there would be massive drugs administered in the Willis birthing suite at Forsyth Hospital.

We were right! The big day came, then went, and no baby. So, we waited a week or so, then scheduled an induction. Super. Everyone said this would make the labor process even longer. Just Courtney was hoping for: a few more hours of agonizing pain. So we drove over to the hospital at 6am, checked in, and got hooked up to the labor-inducing drug, Pitocin. Nothing happened.

Sure, the little monitor went up and down, up and down. But no pain, no contraction feelings, no baby. So, the doc finally came in around noon and suggested he "break her water" to speed things up. "Super" we said. "Is it time for drugs?"

He says "Well, it's still likely to take several hours, so let's wait until you need them." We went along with the doctor's suggestion.

He took this big plastic hook, shoved it up inside of her, and broke the water. I sort of expected a gush of liquid. Didn't happen. Sort of nothing happened. For a few minutes. Then WOAH.

Contractions came like the breakers at Waimea Bay. (for the geographically challenged, that's a big surfing spot in Hawaii with huge waves...) My normally placid, angelic, Christian wife transformed into a fire-breathing monster. With every subsequent contraction over the next ten minutes, she demanded more and more loudly for the drugs.

The anesthesia team finally showed up to get to work. About this time, the OB doc decides the hear rate on the baby is not rebounding quickly enough to contractions, and puts Courtney on oxygen.

So, she's hurting more and more with each contraction, and she's on O2, and she's pissed. She's jerking the mask off of her face because it feels constricting, and she's demanding the baby be removed by c-section, NOW.

So then, the OB gets the super idea to place a heart monitor on the baby's head and check to be sure the umbilical cord is not around the baby's neck. This apparently hurts. By Courtney's reaction, this is about the same as having your foot removed with a butter knife. And, at this point, the contractions are for real. Courtney is coming 2-3 feet up off of the bed with each round.

Remember those anesthesia guys? They keep having to pause each time Courtney has a contraction, which is approximately every other breath. So they're not making a lot of headway.

So they turn her on her side to get the meds flowing into her epidural, and this one nurse, who I have not seen all day, non-chalantly says "she looks ready, we should probably check her cervix." So, she just reaches up in there like she's checking the stuffing in a turkey, and says, "oh wow, it's time. Baby is here." She says this in same tone of voice I would announce it's time to get more gas in the car. So, not too wound up, I'm betting to keep Courtney calm.

Courtney hears, and it the opposite of calm. Instead she begins to repeat her mantra for the day "IT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN THIS WAY. THIS IS NOT THE PLAN!!!" She's crying, upset, screaming with each contraction, and the scene has gone from serene to pure chaos.

Remember the anesthesia guys? they announce that the drugs take a minute or twelve to take effect.

Courtney has a fit. They double the dose and pump harder. One looks at the other and says "the button" in reference to the self-administered button for more anesthesia. The other docs just gives a no not to wave him off. I wonder why. The OB doc then makes an off-handed comment "I think we need to hurry up and get the baby out, and there may not have time for the meds to take effect."

HA! Courtney comes unraveled. This is her worst nightmare. And we all hear about it. He's saying push, she's saying no. It's a battle of wills.

The baby wins. Apparently, when the nurse said it's time, she really meant "it was time 20 minutes ago." Courtney loses, and has to push. Or at least tell us she's pushing, because it turns out she's been pushing all along.

The meds finally take effect, and the next round of contractions are "not so bad."

So I get assigned a leg to hold back. I thought this meant just hang on to the leg. No, it means pull the leg back to where the knee is beside her ear. and much to my surprise, this means I'm face to face with a vagina. (Courtney's of course)

And here comes a baby. I had sort of planned on "peeking in" on the whole vag area. Not an option. It's facing UP. Anyone in the room has to look at it.

And two contractions later, baby.

It was really just that simple. And everything since has been just as easy.

Due, or something like it.

Today is the "due date" for the baby to be born. What a crock. So I did a little research and it turns out "due dates" were originally calculated in the mid 1800s by a German doctor. (280 days) And no one has thought to re-calculate based on modern medicine and diet, different races, regional differences, or anything. Pure silliness.

So I did some more research, and there actually have been some studies done on Caucasian, American women recently. Like, since 1980. And they are pretty consistent. The average is really closer to 288 days. That's an extra week and a day, boys and girls. So for all of you who are "overdue" keep those numbers in mind. Maybe you're still early, just like Courtney and Para.

Alien vs Mommy

So, if you want to know what life is like for a 37 week mother and her unborn fetus inside, I can give you a simple script for your reading pleasure:

Mother To Be: "Ouch!"
Anyone Nearby: "You okay?"
Mother To Be: "Baby Kicked Me."

Mother shifts positions, rubs belly where she has been kicked, alien looking foot possibly protrudes from belly, mother goes back to what she was doing, and people nearby are either mesmerized or run for the exits after seeing the foot about to break through belly skin.

30 SECONDS PASS

Mother To Be: "Woah Baby!"
Anyone Nearby: "What?"
Mother to Be: "Baby is Hurting Me, I can't breathe."

Mother shifts positions, breathes hard, goes back to what she was doing.

30 SECONDS PASS

Mother To Be: "Ooh."
Anyone Nearby: "What's up?"
Mother To Be: "Braxton Hicks Contraction."
Anyone Nearby Thinks Internally: "I have no idea what that means, but it sounds and looks painful."

And on we go, hour after hour, day after day. I picked up one of those "What to Expect When You're Knocked Up" books yesterday and it said "...although you may want to hold your doctor at gunpoint and have her induce labor at your next weekly checkup, do not, your baby's lungs have yet to finish developing."

We don't have a gun (as far as you know) but I think I'm starting to understand why that sentence is in the book.

A Happy Woman is a Floating Woman

We just got home from a week at Myrtle Beach (or as I call it: Gatlinburg at the Sea). Every year we go with a big group down there and stay for a week. Good times. This year I was skeptical. I mean, it's like 4 weeks to due date, and as I may have mentioned before, there are no cities in the 5 hour drive between my house and MB. But, the doctor said it's fine to go, and away we went.

And a wonderful thing happened: the swimming pool. This house has a really nice pool. If I could post pictures in here I'd show you, but Blogger is acting like one of Jerry's kids, so imagine a pristine, clean big pool that looks out over the dunes then the ocean.

During the past few weeks, the Willis pregnancy (hers, not mine) has gone from "hey, come feel the baby kick, this is way cool" to "Damn baby, get off my bladder, ribs, and longs for a minute." She has descended into a struggle to get comfortable, breathe well, and sleep well.

But it turns out a swimming pool solves most of those problems. The added buoyancy takes some of the baby's weight and moves it around to places that are, well, good. And with the right type of float, sort of shaped like a hammock, she can lay in there and sleep on her belly. So, I'm happy to announce that I drove 10 hours round trip to figure out that pregnant ladies should stay in the swimming pool. If I had only known this earlier I would have added to the list of home improvement projects. Just what everyone with a toddler needs, right?

Behind The Curve? What Curve?

I recently read Courtney's post on all the things she hasn't done to prepare for our baby's arrival. And I pondered it for a few days before coming to this conclusion: so what?

Let's discuss these birthing classes. My buddy Jason and his wife went to one, and he said it was taught by a total crack-head who made them watch a birth (afterbirth included) on tv and then told them all that if you don't breastfeed your baby it's child abuse. Uh, nay. Not going to happen. I work in the hospital. Dozens of poor women come in there every day who haven't had the first day of prenatal care, and haven't even heard of a birthing class and by what I can only determine is a miracle of luck over and over, a healthy happy baby pops out. And all without the first new-age breathing technique. Bring on the drugs, forget the hippie-fied seances.

We did take a hospital tour. Very interesting. Reminded me of the hospitals I spend my time in, but for smaller people. They showed us a "birthing suite." I had been hearing this term get tossed around, and for some readson I envisioned the suites I stay in when I travel. Not exactly. When I go on a business trip I have 2-4 rooms to MYSELF. In this suite, 4 mothers are all giving birth in the same 4 room suite. It's a little trick they're playing with the words so they can bill you more. Maybe it's a suite because there is a bed for you and the baby in that one room, plus a tiny couch for sleeping. All in all it was a pretty nice room, but after hearing question lady (you know this woman, brings a paper full of questions to ask about everything under the sun when we're all just trying to get through the tour. Probably sat at the front of the class..) ask how long you get to stay, I found out that as soon as you deliver, you're OUT, and down to a much more drab, economical room. Super.

I admit it, I have been reading "What To Expect The First Year." It's on the bed-side table, and most nights I open it up and read something at random. Last night I learned that some babies have colic, which really just means they cry a lot, and you should not abuse them if this happens because babies...cry. Thank you, Arlene Eisenberg, you are a sage.

A pediatrician, before the baby is even born? Seriously? I have probably seen 50 different doctors in my lifetime, I'm sure Baby Willis will do the same. Whatever. I'll take whoever is in the building that day. Or I'll just call some friends and ask who they use, then wham, we're done. I've got news for you: it's all of you crazy parents demanding unnecessary tests and procedures that got us in this health-care mess to start with. Now Obama has to bail us out, for about $3000 in taxes per adult. That's 1000 boxes of girl scout cookies I could enjoy! Think I'm crazy? Read on:

I have no input on the childcare issue. If she works, we will get some childcare. Preferably a nanny type caregiver. If not, no problem.

I'll leave you with some wisdom:
We spend the first twelve months of our children's lives hoping they will hurry up and walk and talk, and the next Twenty-four years telling them to sit down and shut up!