Day Six

Engorged

This isn’t fun. It’s day 2 of engorgement, and I found myself at my wit’s end with how to deal with it today. Luckily, Michelle and Orna came over and gave me some AMAZING tips. They taught me how to self-express like a pro - Michelle even got my milk to shoot out in a stream, which I was certain was impossible. They taught me how to get the milk flowing so it’s easier for Milo to drink more and lessen the engorgement. They showed me how to hold her so that her drinking is more efficient. I love those ladies. Every time they visit, they are so reassuring and make me feel like I can rise to whatever task is at hand. Today: conquering the engorgement. I can do this!

Milo loves that I have milk now, too. She drinks constantly, sleeps for little spurts in between, and looks fully sated when finished. I think the term most people use is “milk drunk.” I don’t really like that term. But that’s what she is, all day, and I’m glad I can provide that kind of satisfaction for her. We also found out that she is almost back up to her birth weight. She was born at 8lbs 9.8oz, and as of Monday was down to 7lbs 15oz. Well, to everyone’s delight, today she weighed in at a healthy 8lbs 6oz. She gained 7oz in only two days. She’s an eater. I love it.

Debbie arrived today, after some terrible flights and delays yesterday. She held Milo and comforted her when she got fussed. It’s nice to have another mom around to help when Chase and I are uncertain about what to do.

I think the baby blues may be subsiding. I still feel a little sad and disconnected, and I still get annoyed incredibly easily by silly things. I still don’t have an appetite and find it difficult, at times, to find the positive in all of the motherly duties I have to attend to. But it’s getting better. I’m able to smile through it more and more.

DIY

Some people hire a postpartum doula to shoulder some of the burden of new parenthood. We didn’t, but now I understand why one would. In this first full day alone, I would have liked to focus on Misty and Milo and myself, making sure that we all rest as we should and that I spend the time I have on this already-too-short work leave to get to know our daughter. After all, it’s supposed to be bonding leave. But instead I was busy returning the birth tub, taking out trash, washing dishes, picking up lunch, writing our birth story, etc. — everything but bonding.

But I really do want the place clean before my mom gets here (tomorrow, since her flight was delayed), and I don’t want to fall further behind because she gets here. So I’ll push a little further, try to talk to Milo here and there, and hopefully regain my balance very soon.

Day Five

A Better Day

Today, Chase is a busy boy. He has so much to take care of, even though we’d both like for him to be home. Debbie is supposed to arrive later tonight, and he wants to clean and be prepared for her arrival. This includes so many chores, it’s difficult to remember them all at the moment. Return the birth tub, take compost and recycling downstairs, laundry (also downstairs), etc. I can help with the things that need to be cleaned around the apartment, so long as they don’t require much ab strength; but I can’t do anything that requires stairs.

Edit: Found out that Debbie’s flight is coming in very late in the evening or tomorrow. So, after Chase finished his long list of to-dos, he and I were able to hang out a bit today, between Milo cries and feedings. It is nice to be next to him, somewhat alone, almost feeling like the people we used to be a scant week ago.

As for Ms. Milo, she’s still got a voracious appetite. She wants to eat every hour or less. Michelle says this is due to her body trying to get back up to its birth weight. She says it’s fine to feed her as often as she’d like because her stomach is growing and she’s growing and this is not going to last forever. I trust Michelle’s guidance, and I’ve been giving Milo as much milk as she can handle.

Looking at Milo, I still can’t tell who exactly she resembles. That’s to be expected at this point, I know, but you can’t blame me for staring at this lovely girl. I think she’s going to have Chase’s eyes - at times they look very dark, but then in the light, they look like a gray-blue. I think she has his eyebrows - well-defined, dark, perfect arches that are so expressive. Right now, I think she has my roundness :) Mom says she has my lips. A nurse at the hospital mentioned that she has “amazing thighs.” Not sure, but probably also something she got from Chase.

Day Four

Milo and Orna.

Milo and Michelle.

Day 3

We were warned many times that the third day after the birth would be one of the hardest, mainly because Misty’s hormones would be shifting. That happened, but there were so many other highs and lows: the departure of Misty’s mom and Alyssa, the arrival of Misty’s breastmilk, the onslaught of Misty’s breastmilk, our first [joyous and helpful] reunion with Michelle and Orna, and our first night alone as a family of three.

I’m just glad I have Misty. It helps to have a constant.

Day three

Mom & Alyssa left today. I wept a lot. This was probably the worst day for them to leave since it’s the day when my hormones are supposed to bottom out. I would have scheduled differently if we could have predicted when Milo would be here. I just really couldn’t handle mom leaving, and I wept and wept at various times during the day and night.

Michelle and Orna came over just after Chase got back from the airport, and I cried more. They listened, they showed infinite patience, they helped me with breastfeeding, and they made me feel like this is something I can do. Motherhood.

It’s hard to describe how I’m feeling these days. I don’t know what I thought day 3 would feel like, but this is not it. I feel drained. I feel emotionless. Except, of course, for the bad/sad emotions. I feel those. I feel lethargic and, in general, like there is nothing in the world that could make me feel better. Even Milo.

And then there’s Chase, who brings back all the love just as I think it’s gone from me. He, too, has infinite patience. He is all kindness and giving, and I don’t know if I could do any of this without him. He lets me cry and holds my hand. Tells me that this is going to pass and he’ll do whatever he can to help me through it. I don’t know how I found him, but I’m so glad I did.

Day Three

Someone has a hard life.

Mind the breast. Milo passed her hearing test with flying colors.

Coming home to a homebirth

When we arrived home from the hospital and saw the tub where we might have breathed our way through more surges, and the cartons of eggs our midwife might have cooked for a big post-birth breakfast, and the bed where she might have tucked us in with our new baby; when I emptied the tub, and we put away our table of unused birth supplies, and laid the baby down in the second bassinet and on third bed she had ever touched; when Sophie failed to notice our tiny new flatmate because she was too excited to finally see us again — I have to admit, I felt a loss.

Skin to skin

Last night was a bit harrowing. After a few days in which we thought breastfeeding was coming more or less naturally, Milo stopped being satisfied. From nightfall to midnight and beyond, we were either feeding her or soothing her nonstop, and because she kept fussing, it didn’t seem like we were doing a good job of either. We kept calling the nurse, who didn’t have great hands-on guidance for our technique but who seemed to have limitless patience for our hair-brained schemes; she gave us a nipple a shield, and then an hour later she set us up on the breast pump (even though she must have known that we wouldn’t have any luck with colostrum), and then an hour later she brought a pacifier (which Milo flatly rejected).

Frustrated and sleep-deprived, we finally found our own way. We fed her again, played white noise from our phone, and I took off my shirt and cradled her in the crook of my arm, skin to skin, as I crowded out Misty on her hospital bed. Our girl responded to the heat and finally gave us several good hours of sleep, and in the morning we once again felt like this is something we can do.

Coming Home

It was bittersweet. The birth tub was still set up in the living room; all of Michelle’s birth supplies still unpacked and neatly organized in the corner.

It’s still good to be home, though. Mom and Alyssa cleaned up as much as they could, which made it feel nice and welcoming. We got home later than expected because of delays at the hospital - we needed to be cleared by the pediatrician because Milo still hasn’t passed any meconium yet; we needed to see the doctor and get clearance there, too; we needed to get my prescriptions and make doctor appointments for both me and Milo; and all of it took longer than we would have liked. But, home by 1:30pm is still not bad.

Milo was a handful last night. She just wanted to eat and eat, and Chase and I had no idea what to do about it. Eventually, we got her to sleep for a couple of continuous hours by having Chase hold her next to his skin while we played white noise in the background. Today, Mom made us take a nap while she calmed Milo every time she started fussing. Moms are good.

Milo continues to be the cutest baby in the world. Alyssa and Mom spent a lot of time holding her since this is their final full day in the city with us. That’s bittersweet, too. I wish we’d scheduled differently, but there really was no way to know when our girl would come. We certainly didn’t predict that it would be last day in our birth window. We thought mom would have plenty of baby-holding time on this trip. Hindsight, I guess.

Today’s thoughts:

• Mom’s leaving tomorrow, and I wish more than anything that she could stay.
• Breastfeeding is hard.
• Tomorrow is “day three,” which means my hormones are going to bottom out and there’s a good chance I’ll be a mess. It also means I’ll get my mature milk (probably), and breastfeeding will change again.
• Sophie is completely uninterested in Milo. Not surprised.

Day Two

It wasn’t really a bad day.

Newborn clothes barely fit.

Milo’s first bath. She didn’t like it.

The Hospital

I can’t even count how many people we’ve met since being here. Nurses, mostly. I’ve been introduced to residents and attendings and pediatricians and lactation consultants and RN after RN changing shifts. All very nice, some more helpful than others. My favorite so far has been Kate who felt like a friend right away. It is very strange, though, that so many people have seen all of my private areas, many without even introducing themselves properly.

What we learned from the pediatrician: Milo’s latch is not perfect because she’s extremely tongue tied. The pediatrician (whose name I can’t remember because we’ve met so many people) came and recommended snipping the frenulum. I was very nervous that she was going to do it in front of me; I was also nervous that she would take Milo away to do it. She wrapped my little Milo up tight and carried her off, returning after just a few minutes, Milo still sleeping with a freshly elongated tongue. I can’t wait to see how she latches now!

My day-after c-section body: lots of needle marks (I was dehydrated, so that made it all the more difficult to find a vein; some nurses had to try multiple spots); a rash on my arm from the blood pressure cuff; tape residue all over my back from the epidural; nicks and scratches on my leg from where they had things taped down; a very sore wrist from the IV; and, of course, the incision in my low abdomen. I haven’t had the courage to look at it yet. Soon, maybe.

Let me try to be positive about the hospital experience:

• Milo is here with me.
• Mom and Alyssa are here with me.
• Chase is here with me.
• my meals are delivered (most are chicken-based, but let’s not dwell on that).
• pain medication.
• the rooms have nice views.
• I actually kind of like the disposable underwear.
• Milo is here with me.

Milo's Birth Day

Day One

Looking good!

Our chubby girl!

Milo looks a little like Ice Cube in this pic. I dig it.

Meeting Milo

I didn’t know how to feel in the moment, if I’m being honest. The birth was so different from what we’d imagined. I’d begun laboring on Tuesday night after a full day of castor oil induction and all that it brings about. Wednesday was miserable and slow, but I kept reaffirming my commitment and telling myself that every surge brought progress and Milo would be in my arms sooner if I just stayed the course. So I tried. And Chase was wonderfully supportive and loving. He whispered affirmations when I needed to hear them, rubbed my back when the pain was becoming unbearable, encouraged me to eat and sleep when I could.

But by this morning, I was settling on a new reality. I was at the hospital, I’d been on pitocin for over 24 hours, was on IV fluid constantly (which was causing all sorts of problems since, for some reason, I wasn’t able to expel urine), and was making absolutely no progress toward labor. We were faced with two options: turn up the pitocin to the max allowed by law and see if that does anything, or have a cesarean. I was tired. I wanted so desperately to have an end in sight. I wanted to meet my girl. Chase and I talked about it for over an hour, then Michelle joined us and was as tender as she could be with as much information as we wanted. We chose option b: remove our daughter from my body surgically. It wasn’t just not ideal. It was exactly what we didn’t want when we first talked seriously about having a baby. And now it was happening. I won’t list the fears and sadness that Chase and I expressed to each other in making this decision. We made our decision with compassion and having considered all possible outcomes. Ultimately, the outcome we cared about was this: Milo would be delivered safely and our healthy girl would be in our arms without much more suffering.

The operation felt surreal. It went as well as could be expected, though my body’s reaction was not great. The moment I heard her cry, I sobbed harder than I ever have before. and I didn’t want to see her. I sent Chase to check on her, he came back with reports and pictures, and I said no, keep her away, when he asked if he should bring her over. My reasoning: I couldn’t hold her. I couldn’t touch her. I could barely control my upper body at that point because of the shivering. I was in pain, in more ways than one. I wanted to hold my girl close and kiss her and spend that sacred first hour with her and Chase and without all these people in the room. That wasn’t possible right away.

I met her a bit later, in the recovery room. Chase brought her over to me, but my arms were numb and the pain of the epidural shivers made it difficult to focus on anything else. I saw a girl who looked like both me and Chase but not clearly like me or Chase. She was perfect. After a few minutes, Michelle came over and placed Milo on my chest. I couldn’t really move my arms well, but I decided I’d waited long enough. “We’ll do a makeshift breast crawl, ok?” Milo wiggled and squirmed and eventually found my breast, latched on immediately and tried to drink, all on her own. “What a precocious little girl! - look at her latch!” Michelle was impressed.

And so that was our first glimpse of each other. Milo, a cute little tootsie roll who knew exactly what to do when she met me. Milo, the girl I’d been waiting so long to meet. The girl Chase and I would get to know very well and have been talking about for years. Milo, our stubborn daughter, who we couldn’t have imagined would be so perfect for us, despite a slightly imperfect beginning.

Birth Story

We were overjoyed to welcome our daughter, Milo Ruth Lassiter DuBois, into the world at 8:14am today, August 14th, 2015.

Tuesday

The long and winding road to get there began on Tuesday morning. After weeks of long walks, accupuncture, chiropractic care, supplements, tinctures, and lots of waiting and wondering, we faced a fast-approching 42-week deadline beyond which California would not allow the homebirth we wanted. Misty’s mom and niece (Alyssa) were also set to arrive on Tuesday evening, and we wanted to be able to greet them with a new granddaughter/cousin instead of a belly. So we made the hard decision to induce labor at home by ingesting castor oil.

We woke up at 6am, ate cereal, and began drinking water. Around 7am, I mixed the castor oil with vanilla ice cream and gave Misty her first dose. She rested until a second dose at 8am. For a while she wondered if it would have any effect, but by 10am the oil’s laxative properties had kicked in and Misty was making regular trips to the bathroom. She continued drinking water regularly and we both watched the clock and her belly, ticking off the hours as they passed by and questioning whether each new sensation might be the start of labor. We continued a jigsaw puzzle of Sir Frederic Leighton’s Flaming June (depicting a woman who looks nothing if not peaceful in her body), and we played a very close game of Scrabble.

At 7:15pm we drove to the airport to pick up Misty’s mom and Alyssa. It was in the car that Misty had her first surges, although we didn’t know it at the time; she just knew she was experiencing waves of discomfort. In the first of many bold moves to come, however, she held out while we waited for burgers and fries at the In-N-Out drive-thru on the way home. She even managed to eat half an order of Animal Fries, despite castor-oil-related nausea.

At home, we made quick work of settling our guests and went to bed by 11pm. As per usual, I nodded off in about 10 seconds, but Misty’s increasingly frequent and intense surges kept her up. Bold move II was that she let me sleep while she handled the pain on her own; she filled the tub in the bathroom, hoping that the water would soften the experience. It didn’t. Her surges were strong and fast; she began timing them, and by 1am there seemed to be a sustained pattern of surges every 3–4 minutes, so we called our midwife (Michelle Welborn). She asked us questions, and while she had reason to believe we were still in early labor, she decided to come see for herself. She asked me to set up the birth tub while we waited for her.

The tub needed to be in the living room where Misty’s mom and Alyssa were sleeping, so we woke them and kicked them out, giving them our bedroom in exchange for the use of the rest of the apartment. It was a tough situation; they knew Misty was in pain, and we knew they cared about us and wanted to help. But we had chosen homebirth in part because we wanted the birth to be a really intimate experience, and that couldn’t happen unless Misty and I had personal space we needed to focus fully on each other and Milo.

Michelle arrived within half an hour and went straight to Misty to welcome her to labor with a hug. After checking her progress, she helped me finish setting up the birth tub. By the time she returned to Misty, the surges had become less frequent and intense, and we realized that even at their peak the surges had not been consistently longer than one minute. Michelle said that this sort of ebb and flow was normal for early labor, and so with a few more hugs, she bowed out for the night.

Wednesday

Misty’s labor did not. It continued to be painful throughout the night, and we slept little. (Misty did what she could to be comfortable on the couch, while I jerry-rigged a too-short bed for myself on the floor using the cushions from a chair). In the morning, Misty’s mom made breakfast tacos, but Misty felt too nauseous to eat. Meanwhile, I reached out to our friend Puja, who lives seven blocks away and had offered to host Misty’s mom and Alyssa if they needed a place to stay during the labor. By mid-morning, Puja’s husband had dropped off the key, and after breakfast I walked the two over them over to Puja’s apartment.

When I returned, Misty and I immediately got in the tub. The water was soothing and it felt wonderful to finally have some time alone together to focus on Misty’s body and her labor. But the contrast betweem the warm buoyancy of the water and the sharp pain of her surges was too great, and we couldn’t stay long.

Misty spent the rest of the day being mostly uncomfortable and unable to move. Michelle texted us and urged us to hydrate, eat, pee, and rest, with an emphasis on rest, since we had gotten so little of it the night before. We did okay (not great) on rest, but because of pressure from the baby, Misty was unable to pee; every time she tried, it triggered a very intense surge and everything closed up. In turn, she was unable to drink water and uninterested in food, so over the course of the day she became increasingly dehydrated and famished.

It kept getting harder. At 2pm, some water went down the wrong pipe and Misty’s Animal Fries made an encore appearance on our living room floor. We kept texting updates to Michelle, who tried to help but only had the view I was giving her, which reflected my own underestimation of the level of pain Misty was experiencing. Around 4pm, and exhausted Misty explained that her full bladder was making the “rests” between surges painful, and the surges themselves more painful than they already were. Meanwhile, the surges were not becoming more frequent or intense; she was suffering for no reason.

We shared this with Michelle and she — like a knight in shining armor — made it to our apartment within half an hour and began solving things. Step one was emptying Misty’s bladder; Michelle was ready with a catheter and had relieved the pressure within ten minutes. Feeling much better, Misty was able to start drinking water again. We also checked Misty’s cervix and were delighted to see that it had made tremendous progress; Misty was in active labor! Equally tremendous was the sense of weight being lifted off our shoulders when Michelle told us that we were close enough for her to stay with us until we met our baby.

She continued making our lives better. While Misty and I rested in our bed, Michelle shuffled back and forth to the kitchen, returning to our bedroom door each time with a new food item presented gleefully in the palm of her hand, as if she were one of the assistants on The Price is Right and we were supposed to choose which showcase we wanted to eat. Eventually we settled on a jar of soup, which Michelle heated up and presented on a small plate in a bowl circled by elegant little triangles of toast. So unnecessary, but so nice.

I fed Misty a few spoonfuls of soup. She peed again. She drank water. Michelle sent us both to bed. Eat, drink, pee, rest. Michelle had it covered.

But when she did an exam again at 11pm, not only had Misty not progressed, but she was less dilated than we previously thought. 24 hours after Misty’s labor had begun, we were once again deflated. Knowing that we might have a lot more waiting left ahead of us, Michelle went home to get some deeper rest while she encouraged us to do the same.

She was back soon. Misty’s surges, though still too far apart to presage active labor, were still rather intense, and there was no way she could sleep. The pain was too much. Misty needed relief. At 2:07am, I called Michelle. She talked to both of us, and when we hung up, Misty and I started packing a hospital bag.

We somehow crammed all our stuff (backpacks, blankets, pillows, car seat) and ourselves into Michelle’s tiny Fiat and drove the 1.2 miles to to the Kaiser Permanente Medical Center. Michelle had called ahead, so they were expecting us, but it was evidently a very busy night because they put us in one of the last available triage rooms and it took a long time for the right people to appear and evaluate Misty. When they did, they never stopped coming; over the next several days we met a dizzying array of doctors, nurses, residents, and attendants. In many cases we had the surreal experience of seeing the same person after they’d clocked out, gone home, lived their life, and were back for another shift — and there we still were, still at the hospital, still waiting.

While most of the Kaiser doctors were exceptionally kind, understanding, and skilled, there were definitely a few who did not inspire confidence or whose beside manner left something to be desired. Unfortunately this included the first resident who checked Misty’s cervix; she told us that Misty was even less dilated than Michelle’s most recent assessment, and when we mentioned that Misty was unable to pee, she ordered — and made us wait for — an ultrasound-like test called a “bladder scan” to measure the volume of urine in Misty’s bladder (lo and behold, the result was: A LOT). When at long last they asked us what we wanted to do, we told them that Misty was overdue and wanted an epidural and an artifical induction. To which their response was something like, Oh, why didn’t you say so? Come on up!

We got the last available labor room (evidently baby deliveries have a season, and it’s August/Setpember). When the anesthesiologist arrived, Michelle left, I put on a mask, and Misty sat up on a bed with her back concealed by a sanitary drape. Setting up the epidural went pretty quickly, and for bold move III, Misty was a champ about it; she quivered a bit and asked questions about the weird sensations, but she kept her composure. Meanwhile, as I sat on a short stool in front of her and watched her face as it happened, I totally lost it. I felt hot and cold at the same time, broke into a cold sweat, and could barely resist the urge to poop or vomit; I was certain I was going to collapse on the floor. I knew Misty was about to get the pain relief she needed, but as the image of what I was seeing burned into my mind, I couldn’t help thinking this is our homebirth and worrying about Misty and feeling profoundly sick.

Shortly after that, Misty got more tubes and wires (IV, catheter, fetal monitor) and finally, at about 5am, started receiving pitocin to help induce labor. Michelle went home again to rest, and we contacted Misty’s mom and Alyssa, who had checked into a hotel after going to dinner with JP and Puja. After Misty and I got a few hours of much-needed sleep (as she now could with her pain relieved and her bladder emptied), daylight broke, and they joined us. While nobody was happy about the circumstances, it was nice to finally bring them into the the birthing process and have their company instead of just wondering and worrying about them.

Thursday

The next 24 hours were, unfortunately, uneventful. The doctors (who, by the way, were surprisingly and wonderfully tolerant of our desire to continue giving labor a chance) checked Misty’s cervix every four hours, and while we were teased with signs of progress, we never made it past a tipping point. Misty dilated to 5cm, but then she stayed there for another four hours, and then four more. Her surges — which, with the help of oxytocin, happened every few minutes for most of the day — never sustained an intensity that was sufficient to encourage further progress. Her urine output, though no longer a comfort issue, continued to be a medical concern; despite receiving more than four liters of IV fluid over the course of the day, she barely peed. It was hard to know whether to blame severe dehydration or a fetus-related blockage in the path from kidney to bladder; in either case, Misty’s legs swelled and progress stalled.

Michelle visited a few more times over the course of the day and otherwise kept in frequent contact via text. It amazed us both how at ease she was with the entire staff at Kaiser; she knew half of them already, and with those she didn’t, she earned their trust quickly by speaking their language (acronyms, data). They even let her help in ways that I would have thought impossible for liability reasons: she put on gloves, grabbed absorbent pads, and helped move and clean and re-dress Misty periodically. She also acted as our guide, reading the charts and explaining instead of just telling. After Misty’s mom and Alyssa went home for the night, Michelle and I also ordered Thai food, shared recipes and recipe apps, and geeked out over gourmet chocolate and The Simpsons. For all the reasons, it made a world of difference having her there.

Friday

By about 5am, what few spikes of intensity we had seen in Misty’s surges were long past. As a last ditch measure, we had tried cutting off the pitocin, restarting at a high level, and quickly ratcheting up to higher levels — a technique that can sometimes jolt the uterus into renewed action. But Misty’s uterus, nearly 60 hours into labor and fed only by the most bare-bones (as The Oregon Trail would put it) rations, had nothing left to give. So we made the hard but compassionate choice to deliver Milo by Cesarian section.

Michelle, who had gone home earlier, returned to help us make that choice and then to prepare for it. She explained what would happen, confirming what few details she wasn’t sure of with the [extremely helpful male] nurse who was tending to us at the time. She made sure we took our final opportunities to get some rest, and she joined me in the cafeteria to make sure I had food in my stomach. Then Misty was carted away, I donned some surgical scrubs (Michelle was thoughtful enough to protect me from all the surgical scents by placing a drop of lavender oil on my mask), waited a bit, and walked down the hall to join her.

The operating theater was brightly lit with floodlights and big windows that actually had a lovely view of the hills of Pacfic Heights. Could have been worse. As Michelle had warned us, there were more doctors and nurses and pediatricians than ever — some we knew by now and some who were new to us. They led me to a stool next to Misty, on the side of the curtain where her head and arms were sticking out. We didn’t say much, but we held hands as the anesthetic kicked in and the procedure began. Within just a few minutes, the a very nauseuous and uncomfortable Misty gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, and I joined Misty in failing to hold back the best tears of my life.

I took photos of Milo as she was checked by the pediatricians. She had expelled meconium in utero, so they vacuumed it from her throat and patted her on the back to help kick her lungs into action. I also got to cut the cord, and then we weighed and measured her — a whopping 8 lbs. 9.8 oz, and 22”! When the surgeons were done sealing Misty’s incision, Misty was wheeled — and I wheeled the baby in her bassinet — back to the labor room, where we were soon joined by Misty’s mom and Alyssa, and a still-recovering Misty got to hold our baby for the first time.

Milo stayed awake for the first hour or so, silently observing the new world around her before falling into an extended nap. Later, when she woke up, she proved precocious by latching onto the breast easily. Though we still have no idea how to be parents and though there are many challenges yet to come, we couldn’t be more happy to have finally met Milo. Getting there took us down a different road than we had planned, but we’re so thankful for the love and support that we had along the way, and in the end we got the healthy momma and the perfect little girl we wanted.

Control

Last night we decided that we’d go to bed early, wake up at 6am, and nudge a well-rested Misty into labor with a dose of castor oil. But in the night we were awoken twice by text messages, and twice by the sound of our cat Sophie heaving her stomach juices onto the carpet. It made me realize how much we’re still trying to be in control, and how persistently life is going to keep reminding us that we’re not.

Until we get it.

Soon, life, soon.

On a birth timescale

We spent our almost-certainly-last weekend before Milo’s birthday doing nothing in particular in no particular hurry. Dishes were washed long after they were dirtied. We went for walks when the sun came back out, no matter how long we had to wait. And as for the jigsaw puzzle we pulled off the shelf — we caught up only to where we last abandoned it, and now the pieces fall into place only when they’re good and ready.

Milo's First Photos

At 19 weeks, she waved, and we found out she is a she.

And the big reveal

Yearning for Mañana

Kerouac has this quote, which I’ve always loved:

Sure baby, mañana. It was always mañana. For the next few weeks that was all I heard––mañana a lovely word and one that probably means heaven.

I feel that quote acutely these days. Mañana. Each day I wait for Milo to make her entrance, I think to myself, it’ll happen tomorrow, and that will be heaven.