Meet Paxton!

Today is my original estimated due date. After my successful induction last week, Paxton is six entire days old.

And boy, is he ever cute.

No, really. I made a really cute baby.

After being given the Cervadil on Monday night, I started cramping mildly around 9 PM. I reported the official start time of labor to the delivery nurse as 1 AM, as that is when I started to have regular contractions. My husband had to get up, unplug me from the monitor and help me to the bathroom a couple times, and at 5 AM I woke him up for good as the contractions were becoming painful rather than just uncomfortable. He and the nurse got me situated on a yoga ball to take some pressure off of my hips, and shortly after 6 AM I was allowed to get off the monitor for a little bit to "prepare myself for labor".

The nurse checked my cervix before I headed for the shower--2 cm dilated and 75% effaced. Not bad, considering that I'd been completely closed for business when I was given the Cervadil. I managed to last ten minutes in the shower--standing up seemed to make the contractions ten times worse. When my husband had me toweled off and re-gowned, my cervix was checked again and I was at 3 cm and almost fully effaced. Seriously, guys, ten minutes. Ten minutes.

I begged not to have the Pitocin drip. The nurse called the OB on call and it was agreed that since I was already in crazy labor, the Pitocin wouldn't be needed. Thank god, because I can only imagine how much worse labor would've been with the Pitocin.

That was about the time that the contractions got really bad and I started getting a little crazy. I wanted an epidural right then, but I couldn't have one until I got to 4 cm. The contractions started to hit hard, and soon I couldn't even breathe through them. I don't remember exactly when I started with the uncontrollable screaming--this is where things start to get a little fuzzy.

I remember my water breaking. It was right after the nurse had checked my cervix and I had just scooted back up in the bed. I felt a giant rush from between my legs and, in my panic, I might've screamed the words, "what was that, what was that, what the hell was that?!?!?!"

I use simple words when I'm hysterical.

You know in movies, when the pregnant lady gives birth and it is all very dramatic? Like, she's screaming, the husband is helpless, the nurses are giving each other nervous looks? Everyone says that's not realistically what labor is like, but that sure is an accurate representation of mine.

I was having contractions on top of contractions with very little or no time in between--often I'd hit two or three peaks before coming down, and then I'd only have about twenty seconds--yes, twenty seconds--to "prepare" for the next. There is no "preparing" for that outside of maybe taking a nice, deep breath so that you can scream more profanity. I felt like someone had my entire torso in a very fast-acting vice. Not good.

The nurse waited almost an hour to check me again. I'd gone from 3 to 6 in a snap. That was probably when I really started demanding the epidural. I remember screaming at the nurse to quit effing touching me because I swear she had her entire hand up my junk and it hurt like hell on top of the contractions (which also hurt like hell). (By the way, I did not use the word "effing"--I used the less family-friendly version--and there may have been other nasty words involved. And maybe flailing and/or a weak-willed attempt at pushing the nurse away. Very embarrassing.)

6 cm meant the anesthesiologist could be called. By the time the anesthesia cart came into the room, I was in full-blown shock. Literally, I went into shock from being in labor--I was shaking, almost completely incoherent, and unable to control my body. It was scary. It was very, very scary. The nurse checked me one last time before the epidural and I was at 9 cm.

The epidural took awhile to get in... mostly because I couldn't keep still. The nurse was trying to have me balance on the edge of the bed and arch my back, but the contractions wouldn't let me keep my shoulders down. They finally got the catheter in... and ten minutes later, I was (more or less) in control of myself again. I apologized to the staff. I am still really embarrassed about how that all went down, but it was really uncontrollable. Uncontrollable, but rude and embarrassing nonetheless.

The nurse checked me again after the epidural took effect and announced that I was ready to push.

Um, what?

I didn't even get to enjoy my epidural. I tried pushing, but I didn't really know what I was supposed to be doing and my pushes weren't effective at all. They let me rest for a few minutes, but then... they started the Pitocin drip to encourage me to push.

Just a little Pitocin. Not a whole lot.

Just enough to negate my effin' epidural.

I pushed for what felt like the longest, most hellish 45 minutes of my life. I was attended by the nurse, a nursing student, the resident doctor for the floor, and my husband--who, surprisingly, got really into the whole thing. This is the guy who feels faint at the sight of blood and can't stand even looking at a needle. Suddenly, my pansy husband was replaced by a guy who thought it was really cool that he was able to see a head coming out of my downstairs. The words "I wish you could see this" actually came from his mouth (I still did not wish I could see it, for the record).

The OB almost didn't make it to the room in time to catch Paxton. She and her team bustled in about two seconds before Pax's entire head made an appearance in one push. She tried to tell me to "hold on", but you try holding on when there is a half a baby hanging out of your lady parts. It's not possible, there is no pause button. One more push and he was out.

By the way, I was back to having full-blown hysterics at this point.

The OB told me to look down, I looked down, saw Pax, and--this is vaguely reminiscent of my water breaking--screamed, "oh my god, did I just have a baby?"

No shit, Sherlock. Like I said, I say dumb things with simple words when I have hysterics. The vocabulary center of my brain shuts off.

Anyway, from start to finish--less than 12 hours. It was awful, but it was over quickly. And we got a cute baby out of it! What marvels me is that Pax weighed a scant 7 pounds, 10 ounces--way under what the doctor's had supposed my overweight, diabetic butt would turn out. APGARs were 9 and 9, no blood glucose issues, he's a perfect little guy.

Perfectly cute, that is. <3

It's official, I'm induced.

Hospitals are boring.

My husband and I showed up to the birthing center at 4 PM. Two hours and eighteen rounds of questions later, the nurse finally shoved a dose of Cervadil up my vajay and we officially started this little adventure.

Hospitals ask a lot of questions. I had no less than four people ask if I had ever had any heart problems, liver disease, asthma, etc. I also signed a lot of consent forms, which all appeared to be the same form with slightly different print for slightly different situations. I got banded and tagged (I have a nice, bright red bracelet that screams the word "ALLERGY", which is cool--the whole world now knows that shellfish makes me puke), my husband's visitor pass makes him look slightly like a child molester (those ID cameras never make anyone look good) and I'm going to have a baby in the next 12-24 hours. Hooray!

I still do not understand why I need this damn hep-lock in place now if I'm not getting a Pitocin drip until 8 AM. It's uncomfortable and I was promised that I'd be able to shower in the morning. Am I just supposed to wash my hair with this giant IV thing in the back of my hand? What's up with that?

Anyway, no one warned me ahead of time that I'd have to lay down for two hours after the Cervadil was inserted. That was probably the most boring two hours of my life. My husband brought me a bacon cheeseburger from the hospital cafeteria for dinner and it was super awkward to try to eat it while laying down. He also brought a piece of chocolate cake. My husband is pretty awesome.

The only other thing making me uncomfortable is that I need to be hooked up to the fetal monitor until... well, until I don't have a fetus in me anymore. Continuous fetal monitoring is a pain in the butt, and Paxton wavers between being completely cooperative and being a total PITA.

The good thing is that I am already having contractions. They're not regular at all--one to four minutes apart--but they are happening. The nurse who was just in here asked if I could feel them. I can, and they're uncomfortable, but not painful--I declined the shot of Benadryl she offered to help me sleep. Hopefully by morning, my cervix will be soft enough that the Pitocin can work quickly, I can push out Pax, and this whole debacle will be over.

Except then we'll have a whole new debacle on our hands. Y'know, a baby.

Procrastinista.

It is 12:18 AM on Monday morning and my husband and I have just completed the nursery... for a certain value of "complete". There is paint missing from the closet doors (it peeled off with the painter's tape), I never got around to putting together the curtains I was going to make (and they were going to be so cute, too), and I'm waiting on my last-minute Amazon order so that I can have a functioning diaper pail, but... we're as ready as we're going to get.

The nursery is supplemented by a Graco Pack-N-Play with an infant bassinet attachment in our bedroom. Pax won't be using his crib at night for the first couple of months. Our tiny angry girl cat seems to think that both the crib and the Pack-N-Play are really overly large cat beds constructed for her comfort. The changing pad is a conveinient place for her to take a bath. This cat is going to have some serious adjustment issues.

It's time for photos:

You can see where the paint has peeled up with the tape on the closet:

Also, kindly ignore the fact that the hook broke off of the tiger. The tiger is still my favorite.

My husband and I picked up this print at the Mid-Ohio ComicCon in 2008.

Also, the wallpaper in our hallway is horrible. I know.

The closet remains mostly full of our junk. You can see my husband's guitar and my cello behind the baby cart.

My diaper stash! I'm very proud of it. Chinese cotton prefolds, hemp inserts, Thirsties Duo Wrap covers, gDiapers, and Kawaii one-size pocket diapers with microfiber inserts. Yes, that is a package of disposables in the bin--I figure it couldn't hurt to have some around.

Grumpy Bear is my husband's from when he was a child. He has only gotten grumpier with age.

The bear in the crib was made by my mom's friend Sandy. His vest has the Unseen University crest from Terry Pratchett's Discworld series on the back! The dragon on the cart, like Grumpy Bear, was my husband's childhood lovey. :)

Congratulations, I hope you've enjoyed this tour of a very, very small portion of my house. The rest of my house is nowhere near as clean and put-together (and probably never will be). Truthfully, I don't expect this orderly presentation to last all that long, either...

You wish you were cool like me.

I slept until noon today, and when I got up my dog was whining the go outside. I peeked out our sunroom windows and didn't see anyone, so I just let her out and wandered into the backyard in my pajamas.

...yeah, my neighbors were totally in their yard with their tiny dog. My big dog immediately went nuts and started running along the fence barking at the tiny dog, and the tiny dog (who thinks he is a big dog) did the same. So the dogs are behaving like wild animals and my neighbors are trying to be cordial, because it is noon and they've been up for hours and are dressed like normal people.

I'm wearing a maternity shirt, my husband's flannel PJ pants, I'm barefoot, and I haven't even looked in a mirror yet, let alone done anything with my bedhead. And my neighbors are trying to talk to me about lawn care, dogs, and how pregnant I am. (The fence is only about four feet high, so they could me in all my disheveled glory.)

This is about when I realize that our giant, stupid cat is in the backyard. He is not supposed to be in the backyard. So I scoop him up and now my neighbors are all, "oh, you have a kitty!" and I am barefoot and pregnant and wearing PJs and my hair is messy and I am holding a giant cat in my yard while my dog misbehaves.

You wish you could all have mornings that are this awesome... right?

My last OB appointment...

I had my final OB appointment today. The next time I see my OB/GYN, I'll be six weeks post-partum.

Amanda, the medical assistant whom I seem to get most often at my OB/GYN practice, commented on how much better my PUPPP looked as she strapped me up to the fetal monitor this afternoon for the final NST. My OB was also pleased at the results from a week of steroids, antihistamines and antibiotics.

Pax behaved for his last non-stress test, thankfully. Things seem to be going pretty well for him in there. My belly is, for the record, huge--as my OB put it, "you're getting big!" As if I haven't been big...

The weight gain has stopped. I've held steady at [insert embarrassing amount here] for two weeks, now. It's making me giddy to think that I will never have to step onto a scale and see that number again.

Amanda asked if I wanted more kids. I told her there was a Master's degree with my name on it waiting for me before I attempted to do this again. She laughed.

I'll be admitted to the hospital on Monday afternoon, and after a night of Cervadil, they'll start me on a Pitocin drip Tuesday morning. Like it or not, I'm having a baby this week. :)

PUPPP, now with pictures!

This is what PUPPP looks like. I was debating whether or not to show it at all, and I finally decided that showing my legs was not really all that indecent, just kind of gross.

You'd get a better idea of what this stuff looks like if I felt comfortable showing my bare thighs or stomach on the internet, but that also might make everyone want to never read my blog again. Let's just say that I looked like that "day seven" photo all the way from my waist to my knees, front and back, with the added bonus of some pretty godawful stretch marks. Sexy!

Here's what my legs look like now. Right now. Yep, right now--I just snapped t

his photo with my phone. There hasn't been a whole lot of improvement after the initial reducti

on in swelling after switching to Temovate.

The rash starts as tiny little blisters and/or lumps that itch like crazy. They don't just itch a little, they itch a lot. PUPPP itches so much that you are literally unable to resist scratching at it. I've had eczema since I was six weeks old, I know what it's like to itch, an

d I have never been itchier in my life than I have been with PUPPP.

Eventually, the lumps run together to form blotches, and then the blotches run together to make you look like a boiled lobster. After a few days (and some generous steroid treatment), the red fades to a delightful bruise-like gray-purple... and stays that way.

By the way, it still itches. At no point will this stuff stop itching, no matter what it looks like. That's probably the most delightful part, that the swelling and lumpiness will go down, but the most horrible symptom will stick around forever until delivery.

My OB and the dermatologist reassured me that, mercifully, PUPPP usually does not spread to the face. It may run rampant everywhere else (like in my case, where I am covered from the neck down), but it spares the face and the area directly around the navel (wtf?). Thankfully, PUPPP is also not supposed to scar. Healing tends to be spontaneous and complete--one day, you just wake up without PUPPP. I'll probably have a few scars from gouging it open in my sleep (I am a horrible sleep-scratcher), but they will be small, relatively unnoticeable, and mostly hidden in stretch marks anyway... and we all know that I'll be lasering those off as soon I get the money.

A Day in the Life of Nerdmama.

7:30 AM. Wake up, check blood glucose. Stumble to bathroom, apply Temovate for PUPPP.

8:00 AM. Eat breakfast, take Amoxicillin for skin infection and a Zyrtec to relieve the itching from PUPPP.

10:00 AM. Check blood glucose, eat a snack.

1:00 PM. Pick up husband from work. Eat lunch, take iron pill for anemia, slather self in menthol lotion for PUPPP. Return husband to work.

3:00 PM. Check blood glucose, eat a snack. Consider gnawing own leg off to relieve itching from PUPPP.

5:00 PM. Pick up husband up from work. Eat dinner, neurotically calculating the amount of carbohydrates in everything. Bitch at husband for losing ten pounds on diabetic diet while you have continued to blow up like a balloon; talk about needing cosmetic surgery to put your body back together until he looks like he's about to cry from the guilt. Apologize and blame your moodiness on being unable to gnaw off your own leg two hours previously. Take a multivitamin and a DHA supplement.

7:00 PM. Check blood glucose, blame your fatness on your dietitian. Consider eating a snack.

8:00 PM. Have a breakdown because your husband let you pick the TV show and you chose a documentary show from Animal Planet about rescue dogs and one of the dogs got put to sleep. Eat the snack you were considering at 7 PM to console yourself.

8:30 PM. Make husband rub your feet with aloe vera and/or menthol lotion after attempting to scratch your toes off from PUPPP. Tell him to pay close attention to your ankles as you cannot live another day without going into labor.

10:00 PM. Take a shower. Psych yourself up, telling yourself that tonight, you are not going to start scratching at the PUPPP as soon as you get wet.

10:30 PM. Get out of the shower. Bleed all over your towel since your 10 PM promise to yourself didn't quite hold.

10:35 PM. Start shivering because you've just gone from hot to mercifully freezing as the menthol lotion takes effect. Consider peeing yourself from the temperature change.

10:4o PM. Stand in the living room in your towel and start singing the dermatologist's praises to your husband, who will then ask you to please move away from the picture window.

11:00 PM. Slather yourself with Temovate. Eat an apple, take another dose of Amoxicillian for skin infection and a Benadryl so that you can go to sleep and (hopefully) not scratch yourself open during the night.

11:30 PM. Fall asleep.

2:00 AM. Wake up, stumble to the bathroom. Take a pee and absentmindedly scratch your entire calf open. Spend the next 15 minutes re-applying Temovate and menthol lotion. Take another Benadryl.

4:00 AM. Wake up, stumble to the bathroom. Scratch everything. Spend the next 15 minutes re-applying Temovate and menthol lotion.

6:00 AM. Wake up, make yourself go back to sleep. Scratch through your PJs.

7:30 AM. Wake up, wonder why you're cranky. Check blood glucose, stumble to the bathroom, apply Temovate for PUPPP...