The Story of Danny T

As most, if not all of you know by now, Daniel Tennyson Muhlestein was born on August 27, 2011. The night before, Paul and I had had a late dinner out. I wasn't really hungry, but it was nice to get out. I awoke a little before 5:30 am to my water breaking. I don't know if you've ever experience that, but there was sooooooo much fluid. It just kept gushing and gushing. So I woke up Paul, apologized for getting the futon all wet and took a shower. I actually didn't feel any contractions until the shower. Paul tried to time them and began to get very concerned when they were less like five minutes apart (when you're supposed to go to the hospital) and more like three minutes apart. I called the hospital and they said if the water was broken, to come in within an hour. I ate a granola bar, Paul grabbed the bag, and we were off. The contractions got worse in the car and I began to worry we were never going to get to the hospital.

But we did. It took FOREVER to get registered and heaven forbid they let me go into the ward and leave Paul to fill out the endless paperwork. Then we stood there and waited for some woman in a rascal to deign to leave her station and weigh me. By now the contractions were really starting to hurt and not very far apart, but no one but me (and probably Paul) seemed to care. A nurse finally came to check and lo and behold, I was already six cm dilated. She was quite surprised. That got things moving. By 7 am, I was admitted and had my epidural. I'm pretty sure it was the fastest an anesthesiologist has ever arrived and administered one. It was not nearly as slow or unpleasant as I had prepared myself for. Around 11, the doctor arrived and decided to crank things up with pitocin since I was so close. Maybe this was a mistake, but maybe not. Certainly, I'll never know. It did its job and I started pushing around noon. He was so low, the heart monitor couldn't be attached and I had no idea how to push. Seriously, how do you know what "push with your butt" means until you find the position where they say you're doing it? The doctor was uncomfortable with how long things were taking without being able to see the heart rate, but he came out just fine. He got whisked off to be checked out and Paul went over to watch. I wasn't worried since he started crying right away. 8 lbs, 5 oz; 21.5 in long and two thumbs on each hand. We definitely weren't expecting that, but oh well. He was (and is) still very cute.

Meanwhile, I was getting stitched up. It was taking forever. The doctor had a vague air of barely contained panic, but the L and D nurse (who was AWESOME) didn't seem particularly concerned, so I figured there was nothing to worry about. After 30 minutes and an ultrasound, I started to feel pretty lousy. I threw up and began shaking violently. They told us I needed surgery to control the bleeding. Paul went up to the nursery with the baby and I went to the OR. Everything went fine and we were reunited in the recovery unit. The next two days were a mix of sleep-deprivation and discomfort. Hospitals are terrible places for sleeping and I was frequently monitored the first day between the blood loss and passing out in the bathroom. (Note: I might not have if the nurse hadn't insisted I keep my head up. Everyone knows if you're feeling light-headed, you put your head down.) At one point in the wee hours of the morning, two nurses, two nursing assistants, the OB, the resident, and the pediatrician all came within a two-hour period. Every time I would start to drift off, another person would come in. It got comical.

Several different pediatricians came in. Partially to see his thumbs (the residents seemed most interested in that, it's something they don't usually get to see) and partially to disagree over whether his urethral opening was abnormally small and fused to his foreskin as well. It is very nerve-racking to have all the doctors disagree with each other. As it turned out, his opening is just fine and an old-fashioned circumcision fixed the foreskin problem. If you can't tell, I'm still a bit annoyed about being so worried by about something that turned out to be nothing. Parents worry enough as it is, don't add to it with words like "pediatric urologist" unnecessarily!

Anyway, we're all good now. Everyone is happy and healthy and one of us (him) is very snuggily with a most-kissable head.

Ladies and Gentleman, Place Your Bets

Paul and I have taken to trying to guess when the wee one will arrive. We had high hopes for the 14th, but that was primarily for convenience/insurance reasons. So we've gone back to the drawing board. Here's our guesses so far:

Jennifer--Aug. 23

Paul--night of Aug. 20

Just as a reminder, the official due date is Aug. 29. Price is Right rules, person closest without going over is the winner. The winner gets...I don't know, the first picture or something.

Poor Paul

Poor Paul.

I threw up on him in the car. Again. This is the third or fourth time I've thrown up on him in a car. Somehow--voodoo or a terrible gypsy curse, no doubt--despite the fact that I've only thrown up ten or fifteen times this entire pregnancy, at least a third of them have been on Paul. At least this morning was only water.

Poor Paul.

Sometimes I am a Terrible Pregnant Woman

Sometimes I am a terrible pregnant woman.

I thought about this last night as I lay awake in the wee hours of the morning.

I do not read baby books.

I pay very little attention to what I eat.

I have interviewed no pediatricians.

Listening to his heartbeat at the doctor's office does nothing for me.

His nursery is not all set up--he doesn't even have a nursery.

Feeling him move is not magical, it just hurts.

We put together his crib last night and I realized I should have built the cat tree first because the cat tree parts take up more room.

That's right, I put the cats before the baby.

I am a terrible pregnant woman.

I wish to be clear.

I am very attached to the wee Danny T.

I am very glad that he is healthy and (as much as a fetus can be) happy.

I would be devastated if that were not the case.

But...

I would like a way of interacting with him that doesn't involve one of us whaling on the other

Or constant heartburn.

I want to be able to move about comfortably.

I would like not to down seven pills, supplements, and capsules a day

Because he is sucking me dry.

I am sick of waiting 30-45 minutes for an appt that takes 10 mins.

Every other week.

(Now every week! Yay!)

Did I mention it takes 20 mins just to drive there?

I am happy to have this baby, but I am SICK of being pregnant.

Have Some Pregnancy Update Stuff

Here, have some pregnancy update stuff. I'll put the pictures first, since that's what people want apparently. This is me at 34 weeks.

This shot does a good job of showing how low he is, but makes me look gigantic overall since it was take from an upward angle. Here's a straight on shot:

Now, some of you may feel that my shirt is too loose to adequately display my state of pregnancy. Such people will be taken into the woods and shot. Are you 34 weeks pregnant? No? Then you get no say and comfort wins.

Speaking of, being pregnant has gotten a lot more uncomfortable, just in the last few days. It sometimes seems impossible to cool off. Church is almost always so over air-conditioned as to be freezing, but today even that wasn't enough for me. I feel the unpleasantness of the first trimester (nausea, fatigue) has combined with the discomfort of the third trimester (big, awkward, constantly being pummeled from within, frequent trips to the bathroom). Sleeping can be rough--eight hours of sleep broken up into two-hr increments=zombie, but falling asleep can just as hard. (There is nothing good to do at 2:30 am.)

I suppose the upside is that the more uncomfortable I am, the more appealing giving birth is. Also, we've started birthing classes and an epidural looks more appealing every time. (Did you know they won't even give you one until you're 5 cm dilated? That's halfway!) Anyway, hopefully I'll be more chipper tomorrow. The juxtaposition of this post and the previous post is almost too much.

Is This What Being an Optimist Feels Like?

So it's been a rough, long month, yet I don't feel bummed. Have I suddenly morphed into an optimist? It's all so very strange. Let's review:

Unexpected car repairs and maintenance: $1000.

Time spent at AAA: 9.5 hrs.

Number of Xboxes broken: 2.

Temperature: 112 degrees and climbing.

Status of pool: dirty.

Status of apartment: unresolved.

Status of baby: Able to kick ribs with ease.

Size of self: whale.

That's a pretty depressing list, right? But this is how I feel:

Unexpected car repairs and maintenance: All new tires, brake pads and rotors, suspension work and alignment, plus a bunch of regular maintenance. The Milky White Stallion is once again in tip-top shape and should be for a while to come. $1000 seems like an okay price for all that.

Time spent at AAA: Spent it reading for comp exams. Forced me through some really boring sections of important books.

Number of Xboxes broken: Was able to snag a (more) reliable 2nd gen console for a discounted price. It lasted less than five days, but was able to exchange it without hassle. Netflix streaming flows again!

Temperature: Okay, it's ridiculously hot. But we have AC and ceiling fans. And our power didn't go out, like much of Mesa this afternoon.

Pool: No longer green and swimmable again. Plus, with the heat, it's comfortable to swim at 7:00 pm.

Status of apartment: Back at the beginning of May, we received a notice that our apartment complex had been foreclosed on and was being auctioned off. After six weeks in limbo, we learned Monday that it didn't sell and the bank signed an agreement to continue management. So everything stays the same until our lease runs out in September.

Status of baby: Holy crap, I have never been so pummeled. They say he'll calm down when he's out of room, but he's running out of time. He's favoring the rib shots these days and sometimes, it's like his foot gets caught on them and that really hurts. The upside is I literally never have to worry or count movements because he is always moving.

Size of self: Yes, I feel like big and heavy and like a whale. But according to the doctor's, I am actually quite small and lightweight for a 32+ week pregnant woman. Paul is convinced that all gain is baby-related, which is a very charitable position to have. At any rate, when you feel gigantic, it's good to know that it is merely how you feel and not how you actually are.

Miscellaneous Update

Here is the picture of Paul and me from my graduation that I promised.

I'll be trying to fill in some stuff that happened in the past few months, but I make no promises. I am forgetful and life can be pretty mundane.