EDD magic

Just like that, lil' B started preferring boob to bottle and sleeping less. He's growing like crazy, too! So all the mad and maddening pumping worked.

How nice, to be normal in this department. For once.

In the wee hours

...this has what's been running through my head. (Thanks, Tim and Eric! Thanks a lot.)

Because pumping, it's not just a minor part of infant care. It's a fucking way of life, yo.

The mysteries of "near term"

This is going to be one of those information posts, the virtual breadcrumbs that maybe will be of help to someone out there with a little one born around 37 weeks. Not of much interest to those of you still in the trenches, and only relevant to kids born 36-37 weeks.

Bruiser was typical for many guys his gestational age and/or size: He was strong and a good breather, very active and aware for the first few days and able to get his needs met by nursing. He took to the boob like nobody's business.

Then he stopped. Fortunately for us, our hospital is very, very pro-breastfeeding. We talked to lactation consultants, finally working with a wonderful woman who got us supplementing him with some donor breast milk (our state is one of a mere handful with these amazing institutions--we IFers should rally for more, as they can be real lifelines for premies until your milk arrives) using a little syringe. That kept him from losing much weight.

Now, as near-term babies often face difficulties nursing from the breast, we're continuing to supplement, albeit with my milk. I pump--yes, do go and rent that hospital-grade pump to establish your supply; it's worth every penny--and we feed him with a lactation-consultant approved bottle (and you know it's a decent option if your totally holistic wise woman lactation consultant suggests it).

Now he's already over his birth weight, way before that's expected and he's learning how to nurse a bit more consistently thanks to a nipple shield.

These little near termers also do really well skin to skin, like earlier premies, and need to sleep more to get their grow on. Bruiser is a master napper, though he did exhibit signs the first few days of struggling to stay asleep, another typical pattern for these babies. We've been told to expect a major shift in his behavior at around his EDD, so I'm looking forward to the 40-week mark, when I can just stick him on the boob and be done with it.

Just wanted to put this out there. This approach is based on newish research, and not all pediatricians and obs are aware of the nuances of this particular gestational age, as they usually do splendidly in the hospital, only to face challenges after discharge. My husband thinks of it like the banana bread that just needs a minute or two more in the oven to be just right.

Deliverance

"Their joy was like swords, and they passed in thought out to regions where pain and delight flow together and tears are the very wine of blessedness."

I gave birth last Friday. All is well.

It didn't start out that way. We went to our 37 week appointment with our midwife. We had a non-reactive NST. Not a sign a doom, but definitely not good. So they gave me an ultrasound. My fluid was finally, actually low and Bruiser had not grown in a week.

The conclusion: induction. We reported to the hospital two hours later, after an emotional and swift housecleaning and a buffalo burger. The plan: start with Cervadil, move to amniotomy, and then pitocin to kick start labor. I was only 1 cm, 50% effaced, so we had what looked like a long road ahead. Vaginal was our ideal, but if Bruiser had shown any signs of distress, I was going on a one-way trip to C-Section Town.

I, in my infinite IF gloom, expected the worst. I settled in for a lengthy, likely painful and disappointing experience. As long as he was okay.

But that's not what happened. Bruiser perked up and seemed to be tolerating everything just fine. At three AM, I began to feel somewhat crampy, as I had been told I would. I got up with a telemetry unit and walked around starting at around 4 AM, finally waddling back to our room at around 5, when I noticed a clear pattern to the crampy feelings. They weren't particularly painful until about an hour later, when our doula arrived and she and my man worked ardently to help me with comfort measures.

Before I knew it, I was convinced I had to poop. It felt like I had terrible constipation, and I really wanted it out of my system before the real labor started. But then the pain kicked in, pain that pushed me into a whole other realm of existance. Everything disappeared around me. I ripped my monitors off, with the nurse's blessing. I crawled around on my hands and knees, yelling for about 15 minutes, until the nurse encourage me, my man, and our doula to get me onto the bed. She did the gentlest digital exam ever (I didn't feel it and didn't care). I asked, desperate, "Am I in transition?"

"You're having this baby now!" she laughed. And I pushed him out in three, irresistable pushes, bellowing with something so deep and primal, I felt as if some other force had taken over my body.

It wasn't an orgasmic birth, but it was profoundly powerful. He was born at 7:40 in the morning, crying and screaming and kicking. He was tiny, but perfect and perfectly healthy. I barely bled (for someone giving birth) and I was up and walking just an hour or so later (no one got a chance to tell me not to go pee yet, so I just up and went).

I was blessed. And that experience, that incredible, unbelievable good fortune, has blasted a huge hole in the wall of grief and bitterness. There is deliverance. There is.