Twenty-What?!

Well yesterday was a very special man's birthday. No, not special like that. Just very special to me :)

This year has been the year of lame holidays for us. My birthday was spent NOT getting the free massage I had planned on. Instead we went to WalMart, Costco and of course, Home Depot. Woo. The highlight of the day was going to Pounders and playing in the waves for an hour or so but even that was kinda lame because David had to hang out on the beach with the little peanut. For our anniversary, David worked at our house all day long and then watched the baby while I went to a Zumba class. Yay.

Yesterday David went to work in Kailua. Zalea had a doctor's appointment at 2pm so I decided to head into town early and hit up WalMart to get some supplies to make David an awesome birthday present (which I shall not describe here because I may still be able to use the idea for Christmas or something). Everything was going as planned. I mixed up some Jello for him, packed up the van and headed out towards Honolulu. Eventually Zalea fell asleep and I started to feel excited about making David's surprise. I was sitting at a red light at a busy Honolulu intersection humming happily to myself when from under the hood of our trusty (not) Nissan Quest came an explosion BANG! and a huge cloud of hissing steam blew up over the windshield. My jaw dropped and the engine died. I had a flash in my head of the entire car exploding into flames which caused me to leap out of my seat and sprint around to the passenger side, throw open the sliding door and snatch out Zalea in her carseat and rush her to the safety of the sidewalk in a flurry of protective maternal instinct.

Unfortunately my maternal instinct forgot to tell me to put the brakes on and the van happened to be on a small hill. Some dude passing by happened to be kind enough to point out to me that my van was running away from me (slowly) and so I dashed back across to put the brake on, collect diaper bag and yoga ball (yes I bring that thing with me wherever I go) and try to remove the keys, which were stuck somehow.

Back on the sidewalk Zalea had her usual perplexed look on her cute little face as I returned once more, looking like some kind of crazed yoga instructor with the huge ball and diaper bag. People were definitely staring. But not helping. Just staring. So I got out my phone and called the USAA roadside assistance people, who then called the cops since the van was very much obstructing traffic. The cop came and said I needed to move the van out of the road. Really. He said that. He also said if I couldn't do it he'd have to call his own tow wagon to get it out of the way which would cost me. So I loaded up baby, ball and diaper bag once more and got in the driver's seat. The cop pushed from behind and we made it through the intersection and off to the side of the road where I waited for the USAA tow truck to come.

While I was waiting I called David and let him know that the van blew up. Happy Birthday. He came to pick me and the baby up and took us to WalMart. But it wasn't as fun because he was so mad that the van blew up that he didn't even want me to buy him anything for his birthday. So I bought some bar soap and we headed to the doctor's office. An hour and two needle-pokes later we were on our way home. David cooked us dinner and Zalea started to get fussier and fussier. Poor babe. Her little legs were so sore and tender that it was hard to find a good position to hold her in. She finally drifted into fitful slumber and I put her in her bed.

David wanted to go crab catching for his birthday but none of the family was answering their phones to go with him. And I couldn't leave the baby either. Looked like the night was going to be a total bust. But then David walked down to his parents' house and convinced his mom to come sit at our place while Z was sleeping so we could go crab catching together. So, flashlight and plastic bag in hand we walked down to the beach and chased crabs for an hour or so. It was the most fun we've had together in quite a while, sprinting and frolicking in the sand, trying to nab the crabs as they zig-zagged down to the water. By the end of an hour we were hot, soaked in salt water and covered in sand. And we had a bag full of crabs. When we got home we even had time to boil them, shower and brush teeth before Zalea woke up. All in all it was the least lame part of the entire day.

I'm so happy to be married to this awesome dude. He is strong in so many ways, but also tender and kind. He is a great dad to our baby and provides for our needs without complaint. I love him despite the fact that he's an old fart now (this is his last year to be a twenty-something) and even a whole year of lame holidays can't change that.

Musings of My Sleep-Deprived Mind

Zalea is awesome and I love her. But sometimes when she's awake at 2 am and won't go back to sleep I feel like I'm about to lose my mind. Thankfully this has only happened a handful of times since she was born (the awake and not going back to sleep thing . . . not the losing my mind thing). I never fully understood how precious each minute of sleep could be until now. And some funny things happen when I don't get enough of it.

I've nearly left the house in my underwear. Numerous times. I'll be rushing to get out the door, making sure I have baby, binkie, diaper, blanket, phone, purse, sun protection, and a million other things that never seemed necessary before. I'll step out my door and feel . . . . different. Why does the breeze feel so much more. . . . breezy? And then I realize my error. Luckily for me my door opens into a dark stairwell where nobody would ever see my mostly-naked self. Clothing just is not at the top of the list these days I guess. I think it's overrated anyway.

You'd think that since the number of hours I spend asleep has dropped dramatically my body and mind would be ready to conk out and take me to the deepest realms of relaxation the minute I close my eyes, so as not to waste a precious second of it. Not so. I have had the straaaaaangest dreams of my life during these past 4 months, and they generally end in me jolting awake out of a dead sleep. The worst ones always involve something bad happening to my teeth, but the subject matter varies wildly. My favorite dream, however, did not even belong to me. One night as I lay slumbering in bed, I was awoken not by Zalea, but by David as he lurched across to my side of the bed and started digging around frantically in the covers. I was immediately wide awake and concerned. I asked him if he was ok. He assured me he was and continued pawing around in my side of the bed. I started giggling and asked him what he was doing. He told me he lost something and was trying to find it. I asked him what it was and he answered with this gem: "I dropped my funeral knife." He was obviously very concerned about it so I soothed him and tried to tell him it was alright and to go back to sleep but it took a lot of convincing before he gave up the search.

Forgetting. Everything. Even if I make a list. I've gone down to Foodland several times with the express purpose of depositing a huge bag of rolled quarters from our laundry machines. I even fill out the deposit slip ahead of time. The bag is huge and heavy and I always put it near the door to make sure I don't forget it. I get all the way down to the bank, and hand over the deposit slip with whatever other rent checks I brought to deposit and the teller gives me this look and says "hm I'm getting a different total." No, everything should be there, I reply. And then I remember. That stupid bag of quarters. Sitting by my door mocking me. The worst part of it is having to fill out a new deposit slip. At least it's been different tellers each time (I think).

And many, many, many more strange things. Life is crazy but amazing and when it comes down to it, I wouldn't change a thing.

Baby Blessing

Well yesterday was fast Sunday and we finally got our act together and blessed Zalea. It was pretty special and very hilarious. I got her all dressed up in her gorgeous blessing gown that my mom bought for her, and made sure we were all ready to go early (which in itself is a feat worth mentioning). She looked like a fluffy white cupcake, or a princess or a little angel. We walked to church, hoping it would put her in a sleepy mood but it didn’t. She was still perky as ever by the time we got there. So I coaxed her into taking a bottle which usually makes her full and drowsy in no time, but to no avail. She was wide awake, taking in all the commotion around her. It’s beyond me how this happened, but somehow David and I combined to make a little social butterfly. She gets very unhappy if we go too long without seeing new faces and is always happiest when there are lots of people and noises around. Strange.

Anyway, it came time for the main event and so I passed her off to David and he made the long walk from the back pew up to the front of the room. David, his dad, his brother, Noemi’s dad, and the bishopric all formed up into a circle and laid Zalea in their arms. I got out my notebook and was ready to record. From the very first word Zalea started crying. She worked herself up into fury and was screaming by the time David ended the short but sweet prayer. The second he said Amen and lifted her up into a sitting position she was miraculously silent! She was grinning, teary-eyed, at all the people as he walked her back down the aisle, and the whole congregation was laughing, myself included! It was very special and definitely very funny.

New Beginnings. . . .

*DISCLAIMER* Due to the detailed and graphic nature of this post it is not recommended for the following groups of people: anyone who has not experienced childbirth, anyone who has not witnessed childbirth, anyone who has witnessed childbirth and did not make it through the experience with their last meal intact, anyone who has recently given birth and is still “postpartum,” anyone who frequently uses the expression “TMI.” All others, proceed with caution. :)

*DISCLAIMER 2* Due to the lengthy nature of this post, you may want to read in installments so as not to fall asleep from too much reading.

Well it's been quite a while since I last even looked at this thing. But a whooooole lot has happened since then. . . .

Zimbabwe was great. We had a lot of fun there and did some truly amazing things. . . . including make a baby! I think that's why I quit posting for the last little while that we were there. I was feeling really yucky. Nauseous really isn't the word for it. Everything just smelled and tasted foreign and I could never find anything that made my stomach happy. It kind of spoiled the last part of the trip for me because I just wasn't up for roaming the bush for hours at a time. Needless to say I was glad to get back home to my Subway and Cheerios.

We spent some time with my family in the East, made a quick stop at David’s grandparents in California and then were back in Hawaii. There’s nothing like that first breath of sweet Hawaiian air when you come off the plane. Smells like home. We eventually moved into our lovely little 2-bedroom apartment on the Point where we currently reside.

I had decided long ago that when we had a baby it would be at home, health and circumstance permitting. While I was pregnant I would occasionally be asked what hospital I planned to give birth in. When I shared my plans to do it at home I got a variety of reactions from admiration to strong disapproval but the most common seemed to be slightly raised eyebrows and “well, if anyone can do it you can.” From this oft-repeated comment I had to assume that people thought I was possessed of some kind of extreme bravery to attempt such a thing. However, I have to admit that this decision had nothing to do with being brave. If anything, it had roots in my fear and distrust of hospitals and doctors. Give me unmedicated labor any day, but tell me I have to have a C-Section and I may have a meltdown. Seriously. Any of you ladies out there who labored and delivered in a hospital . . . . you guys are the brave ones as far as I’m concerned, C-Section or not.

So in addition to my possibly irrational fear of hospitals, I also just felt like it would be easier to give birth in the comfort and privacy of my own home. If you want to discuss it in depth, give me a call and we can delve deeper into my reasons. . . but anyway, just thought people might be interested to hear about how it actually went. So, here goes.

Once I hit 36 weeks and I was technically full-term I was so ready to not be pregnant any more. It may or may not have anything to do with the seemingly magical appearance of a few little stretch marks. . . but only on the left side. Seriously, they were not there when I went to bed one night, and then they were there the next morning. It also may or may not have had anything to do with the sugar-restrictive diet my midwife put me on. . . . which I was failing spectacularly at anyway.

Week 37 rolled by, and week 38. On the last day of week 38, which happened to be a Sunday and the day after the full moon (some people say there’s a correlation) David and I took a bike ride back in the farms and hauled our butts up the hill to the water tower, in hopes of moving things along. Any of you who have been there know the hill I’m referring to. It’s at least a 45 degree incline, possibly more, and we were both wheezing by the time we made it to the top. But no magical onset of labor as I was hoping for. So we headed back home, had a nice Sunday dinner and went to bed expecting nothing out of the ordinary.

At midnight my water broke. It was a distinct popping feeling with a trickle of warm liquid (ew). I was instantly wide awake and knew exactly what happened. I waddled to the bathroom, leaking all the way and sat on the toilet for a while contemplating the unknown road ahead. I have to admit I was mostly excited, and a little bit scared but in a kind of thrilled conspiratorial way. Like the kind of scared/excited feeling you feel as a kid when you sneak out of your bedroom at night down to the kitchen for a fridge raid.

After a while I figured I should lie down and try to get some sleep for the supposedly long and tiring work ahead. I strapped on a Depends and climbed back into bed. I woke David up and told him my water broke. I asked him “Are you excited to be a Dad?” He said “I’m more excited now that something’s happening.” I wasn’t sure what that meant but I tried to close my eyes and relax. Maybe 5 or 10 minutes later I started having little contractions, although at first I wasn’t sure that’s even what they were. They just felt like little tremors in my lower belly. . . like when you do too many pull-ups and your arms start to tremble.

Towards morning the contractions started to feel a little different. . . still the same tremor-y feeling, but accompanied by a kind of warm, dull discomfort. Not really pain. Every time one would come I would consciously relax my whole body and picture my cervix opening around the baby’s head. I don’t know that the whole visualization thing actually worked but I think being relaxed and in my own place, free to move around or get a drink or snack at will, surf facebook, rock in my rocking chair and enjoy the constant breeze probably did.

At some point my body decided it would be best if everything I had ever eaten in my life were to be deposited in the toilet, and who was I to argue? In the hospital they used to (and in some cases still do) give laboring women enemas. At least in this category I definitely think my way was better.

The midwife, Dr Lori arrived around 11 am. She asked if I wanted her to check to see how much progress I’d made, qualifying the question with something about it sometimes being discouraging for first-timers to find out that they have been laboring for hours and are only at a 2 or 3. I wanted to know anyway, and we were all shocked to discover that I was already 7cms dilated. I was still able to talk through contractions, or sit still and relax through them, though they were getting more uncomfortable.

An hour or two passed, Heidi the doula suggested we go for a walk down the gentle hill to Foodland and back up again while Dr Lori filled the birth tub, which I didn’t actually intend giving birth in. So we walked and returned feeling not a whole lot different, although every once in a while there would be a real whopper of a contraction and I’d have to stop walking and just be still or hang onto David and rock a little. Once home I hung out on the toilet for a short while and started to feel real pain. It was harder to sit still and I felt fidgety and anxious for it to be over.

So I came out of the bathroom and decided maybe I’d give the tub a try. Just for labor, of course. . . I still planned for the main event to happen on solid ground. I had Dr Lori check me before I got in. She looked at me with a somewhat puzzled face and asked “Are you sure you don’t feel like pushing at all?” I said no. . . I didn’t think so anyway. She announced that my cervix was completely dilated and the baby was just waiting to come down. It was at this point that I got a little nervous. Was I really ready for that? Was that really what I wanted? Was I sure I was ready to be a parent? Mostly questions that were very much superfluous and beyond the point. But can you expect a woman in labor to be thinking rationally? Probably not.

So I decided to get in the tub anyway, feeling nothing like a pushing urge. I felt the steaming hot water and asked if it was too hot. . . but Dr Lori assured me it was fine. So I stepped in cautiously. As soon as both my feet were in the tub the contractions started getting harder and stronger. When I sank to my knees (slowly and with much help from David) and my belly was submerged I discovered what the “pushing urge” really felt like. Kind of a combination of the inexorable convulsive sensation that accompany throwing up or having explosive diarrhea. A deep muscular squeezing that you just have to push along with.

So I pushed. And yelled. A lot. No words, just really loud yelling. And I was grateful that it was 2 pm on a Monday. My midwife had related stories of labors that were visited by the cops, called out by a neighbor worried that a murder might be taking place, and I’m glad that I didn’t have to deal with that. And I’m sure the cops are too. I vaguely remember David whispering in my ear to calm down, words which meant nothing to me at the time and which I now have to laugh at. . . He’s just lucky I wasn’t the angry husband-beating type of laboring lady or he probably would have gotten a black eye for his remark.

At some point when I was having trouble holding my head up it was suggested that I turn around and sit/squat instead of kneeling. David got in the tub to help support me from behind, though this meant that he wouldn’t be able to catch the baby when the time came. I can really say at this point that I was thinking nothing. Nothing at all. Just pushing and resting, pushing and resting. And of course, yelling. After much hollering and pushing and resting, the baby’s head finally made it out. Ouch. And there we rested for a minute or so. I reached down to feel his/her head and David was kind enough to remind me not to poke the eyes out. I guess maybe I sounded more frantic and out-of-control than I actually was.

I pushed a few more times with no discernible progress and so Dr Lori intervened. She announced that this baby had nice, big shoulders and was definitely stuck. So with deft fingers (and much yelling and pushing) she dislodged the stuck shoulder (double ouch) and the rest of the baby’s body shot out much in the same manner as a shaken bottle of soda when the lid comes off. Dr Lori caught the baby and immediately landed it on my chest, like a little fish out of water.

The baby had the most endearing look of consternation and surprise on her smushed purple face as she looked at me with bright twinkly little eyes. She had the most gorgeous cupid’s bow lips and the longest, pinkest tongue I had ever seen. Her abundant dark hair was plastered to her head in baby lamb fashion and I gave her her first kiss despite the coating of vernix. It was instant love. I rubbed her back and eventually she took her first breath and let out a bubbly little cry. And I cried too. A lot. A few minutes passed in rapturous tears. I was so busy being in love that I forgot to even check to see if we had a boy or a girl. Dr Lori couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. She lifted one of the baby’s legs and asked what was there. I already knew she was a girl, but this confirmed it.

After a while the umbilical cord stopped pulsing and David got to cut it. It was really weird realizing that she was no longer attached to my body. David got out of the tub and I handed her off to him, which felt even weirder, and pushed the placenta out. Yuck. The water soon resembled something from one of those Jaws movies and I decided it was time to get out. When I stood up to get out of the tub I felt dizzy and short of breath. I eventually was able to roll out of the tub onto the couch and lay there loving our little girl.

Dr Lori had to leave to attend another birth elsewhere on the island but promised to return to assess the damage and make necessary repairs. It didn’t much matter to me at the time. . .

Dr Lori’s assistant stayed with us and eventually suggested I try to go to the bathroom. I held onto David’s shoulder on the way there, still feeling weak and dizzy. My bodily functions completed, I decided to make a move on my own. I tried to stand up from the toilet and lost my vision, so I sank down to my knees and rested my head on the floor in a most undignified position. But hey, it was comfortable and I could see again. From this spot I put myself in another Depends and called for reinforcements. David came to the rescue and I asked him to carry me into the bedroom, damsel-in-distress style.

He held me under the arms and I tried to stand while he hoisted me up. I made it about halfway to my feet and felt myself lose consciousness. I woke up on the floor to see the door opened and Dr Lori’s assistant telling our family (who David had called earlier) that they would have to come back later. As I was sprawled on the floor in nothing but a Depends it was probably the right call to make.

It was decided that I should try to crawl into the bedroom to keep my head on level with my heart, and so like some kind of strange diapered four-legged creature I made the journey to the bedroom where I was restored to a semblance of dignity and modesty.

Dr Lori returned later that evening and played seamstress to my nether regions. She said I would probably have been fine without stitches but would just give me a couple quick ones anyway. For this part of the proceedings I did NOT go unmedicated and was indeed grateful for whoever invented local anesthesia.

The family was again called over to see me in bed, comfy and at least clothed, if not completely glowingly beautiful, none the wiser about the less-than-dignified manner in which I got there.

Weeks later we decided on a name: Zalea Sage Paddock. She is the center of our universe now and although being a mom really really hard some days (how does anyone ever have more than one?), I can’t imagine life without Baby Z. She’s a little over 2 months now and growing at an impressive pace. Born 7lb 2oz she’s now over 12lb. Her face has filled out and she’s begun to smile at random, but especially after diaper-changes and bathtime, or any other time she gets to be naked. There used to be only one sound in her repertoire. . . the grating newborn cry that makes you want to jump out of your skin. But now she’s making all kinds of noises. She has the frustrated squeal, the happy squeak, the raspberry blow, the I’m-hungry cry, the I’m-mad-because-I-can’t-sit-up cry, the tired cry and a bunch of happy cooing sort of noises.

It’s been quite the crazy ride so far and we’re only just beginning. . . .