My days as a Playboy Bunny

If there is anything I’m not, it’s a centerfold model. But for a couple days postpartum, I could have been.

** Dad: maybe now is a good time for you to not read... **

Since bleeding and tearing and a sore booty aren’t torture enough, Mother Nature keeps mothers rotund well after baby escapes the uterus. As a mother herself, you’d think she’d have a little compassion. Perhaps it’s biological birth control.

Reproducing is an ugly, swollen sticky note, reminding you to think twice before doing it again. ...And I haven’t even mentioned the flatulence yet.

My experience was unsightly:

* My fingers and toes felt like jelly rolls.
* My shoes didn’t fit.
* My thighs resembled Redwood trees.
* I wore my wedding ring on my pinkie.
* I put pictures of my ankles on milk cartons in hopes someone would recognize them and send them home.
* Five days postpartum, the lady in the nursing bra section of JCPenny’s asked me when I was due. Ouch.

I tried not to let it bother me. After all, I had a kid in the NICU and a house without running water. I had bigger fish to fry and no intention of not eating them. Diets would come later.

And then later happened.

About a week after our sojourn home, my body thinned out everywhere except my engorged and now plastic-looking looking chesticles. The width of my waist was thinner than that of my forearm, but I needed a 34-D braziere.

My nurse friend, Kyle, (who is a girl, not a boy and likes to tell people she had a sex change) said bodies swell once inflated with IV fluids like I had when I received the labor-inducing drug, pitocin. Note: the cankles.

After a few days, the body expels all those fluids and defies its natural state, she said, rendering Playboy bunnies where new moms are supposed to be.

How sinister is that? I finally look like Malibu Barbie, but I’m handcuffed with a husband (although awesome, but think how many free drinks I’d get if I could play the field??), a small child and a doctor’s note forbidding hibbity dibbity.

Like all good things, my post-baby bod didn’t last. I’m back to normal Katie-weight, just different shapes and sizes, i.e., the bowl full of jelly where my abdominals used to be.

I’m satisfied in this. The treadmill and I were never Facebook friends anyway.

Some women get really down on themselves, mourning their old bodies and contorting their new ones with control-top undergarments, butter-less diets and self-esteem below sea level.

I feel bad for them. I can understand the frustration. It helps to have a husband/partner obtuse to such benign beauty, someone like mine, someone more focused on changing our baby’s diaper than me trying to show off in a tight-fitting tank. He only noticed the obscenities I called “ankles” because I asked him to rub them so much. And he did. From the floor. Because sitting in chairs hurt his back to much.

Oh, memories.

Anyways, I’m more willing to show off my bod post-baby than before. Not because I’m particularly proud of it, but because no less than 74 medical professionals looked at my goods and reached their hands where even tampons don’t go. (TMI? Good. Remember that next time you leave the Prophylactics at home.)

But what about you and what about the other women? Are you proud of your new body? Ashamed? What did you do to reclaim it? Or are you too busy with housework/real work/breastfeeding/holiday gift wrapping to notice? Any good, mushy husband/partner stories to share? Or even better, got any really bad ones? I promise to throw cyber stones at the real assholes...

Don't pass on the pacifier

Remember how my child likes bouncing? Well he prefers his pacifier more. Or me less. Both are fine.

Yesterday, I forgot his blue binkie, leaving it home while running errands 40 miles away. The drive was fine, the little tyke made hardly a peep. But when I took him to my office, he got antsy.

Just pick up a pacifier at the store, my coworkers said. You’ll thank us later.

But I didn’t listen.

My child is an an angel. His second love to bouncing? His car seat. He won’t need one, I thought.

Note: if you find yourself in a similar situation, be ye not so stupid.

Bouncing at the office did the trick, but that didn’t last through lunch, a feeding and a trip to the Ol' Wal-Marts.

It started in the canned vegetable aisle, he squawking as I analyzed the spice severity in chili seasonings. Cole cried in the cart, so I held him.

He also cried when I held him, so we bounced.

I got a few stares and several smiles. One Chatty Woman even struck up a conversation about her own children, but amidst the screams, those conversations are complicated to carry. I smiled when her lips stopped moving, but truly, I missed every word.

And of course, in typical small-town fashion, I ran in to people I knew. Sigh. People who were so excited to meet little Cole, but then fast-pitched him back to me when his cries turned to a sweet symphony of jackhammers and car alarms. 

Still, I thought I could handle it. He cries. I bounce. This usually solves the problem. So I bounced my bawling baby in the cereal aisle, debating between regular flavor or honey nut.

Chatty Woman returned. In my attempts to hear her, I stuck the knuckle in his mouth. Perhaps it was from the ringing in my ears, but she sounded like she needed a Sucret and some salt water. Good thinking, Chatty Woman. Again, I heard not what she said other than “finger” and “germs” but I didn’t care. Frankly, I preferred my rioting infant.

Chatty Woman sauntered towards produce as I ducked into dairy, but Cole’s one-man fire alarm remained sounding.

Fine, I sighed, resigning myself to the looks, stares and although infrequent, a few glares. Let’s book-it to baby.

As if she were a mosquito attracted to my knock-off perfume, Chatty Woman reappeared, lips moving AGAIN, and me with my mouth open and free hand upturned. We’re headed to the pacifier section, I hollered over my shoulder, ignoring the niceties I should teach my son to observe.

I may take my time choosing brands of breakfast, but I made haste in the baby aisle. In fact, I didn’t even waste time paying for the pacifier before I opened it. Like I'd already made the purchase, I tore the packaging, swiped the nuk with a diaper wipe and quashed what sounded like the high-pitch of a screeching microphone.

I’m not sure if it was one second later or two, but instantly, his eyes closed.

I fastened Cole’s car seat belt immediately, a trick I’d learned earlier that day. Strap him in when he’s kinda asleep to avoid waking him when he’s really asleep.

Dear Crystal: I owe ya one.

Although the awkward glances subsided, I hadn’t erased them completely. I chose check-out No. 12 because the associate there looked like she mothered children and maybe even grandchildren of her own.

According to the look on her face, she had neither.

Best Christmas/holiday gifts for the wee ones

As the holidays approach, my mom enlists me to create my annual, "What do you want for Christmas?"-list.

Since I'm a little on the broke side this holiday, instead if starting my shopping early, I've started my list-making early instead.

So far, I've come up with these ideas for my son. Perhaps these are good ideas for gift-giving and receiving in your family.

Note: there are the ideas of me and some awesome Twitter/Facebook friends. No one paid me to post them.


 
* Recordable storybooks: like this "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" version for about $20 from Amazon.com. It's perfect for families like mine... I live with my husband and son in North Dakota but my parents and brother live in Colorado. If they record their voices in books like these, little Cole can hear his grandma, grandpa and Uncle Mike all year long. (Hallmark sells them too but purchases aren't available online.)


 * Books of any kind, really. Especially board books. They stand the tests of chubby fingers and regurgitated applesauce. 

* Savings bonds, savings-account investments, contributions to baby's 529: little babies don't know what presents are and even toddlers appreciate the gift wrapping more than the gift itself. A relative bought me a $20 savings bond when I was young, it's worth more than $600 now. Cha-ching. Read more about 529s here.

* Personalized winter wear: Ok, these hats won't always fit, but they are darling, handmade and can be purchased at any size. PLUS if your child has a small head, big ears, or affinity for rainbow colors, etc., crocheter Heidi Bear can custom-make them. This is Cole, sporting her pumpkin design. Check out Heidi's Etsy website here.






* Scrapbooks, photo albums or any sort of collected mementos: This gift gives twice. The child's parents will also thank you. If you like photo books of the online variety, try Shutterfly.com, Snapfish.com or kodakgallery.com. Don't forget to first register with shopathome.com for 25 percent to 30 percent off your purchase.

* Quality time: give the gift of memories... bake cookies, go hunting/bargain hunting, spend the day at the zoo. Your little ones may not remember, but they'll appreciate the occasions anyway. BONUS: Take lots of pictures and use them for gifts next year. :)

Happy shopping!

Baby's first er, uh second slumber party

Today, my husband has surgery.

The nearest hospital performing such a procedure is 100 miles away, so the little tyke is crashing at grandma's. It's his first slumber party since the NICU.

While I'm sure he won't notice our departure, i.e., he'll probably have more fun without us, I'm already teary about leaving him.

Please tell me this is normal and will go away.

If one night is tough, how will I handle summer camps and college?

Bath time photo-try

photo-try: n. a combination of pictures and poems. name and idea stolen from Rebecca Woolf at girlsgonechild.net

The boy wails with lungs now healthy

as bathtubs spout a scare

Soap suds and bubbles cause his lament, 
a muppet cloth won't console him

Even his great comforter,

the plastic binkie,

before Johnson & Johnson it trembles

And while the towel dries his body 

In daddy's hands he is warm.

teaching my son the human races

One of my biggest fears, living and raising a family in North Dakota, is failing to expose my children to different cultures. Not only do I live in a state who's population is more than 90 percent white, but it's also mostly Christian and predominantly German- and Norwegian white. 

Don't get me wrong, living in a state so small and area so rural has SUPER advantages for child-rearing, namely, my child will never have to walk through metal detectors on his way to school. Check mark in the pro column. 

I grew up in a bigger city and at age four, still touched the head of a little black girl at Sesame Street Live. I wanted to know what her hair felt like. Even with my upbringing, I didn't and don't know nearly enough. 

I don't want my son to walk the graduation stage without ever meeting someone who's skin tanned faster than his does. 

So what to do? 

* Cable TV, movies, media is a start. Watch a show with black people in it. And if I'm feeling really civil rights-y, I can throw in "The Color Purple" or "How to Kill a Mockingbird." I guess that has potential. The problem is, reality TV is seldom (if ever) realistic. I don't want him getting the impression that these over-the-top personalities represent any one culture as a whole. And he won't have much by way of real people and local examples to teach him any different. 

* Art: I can't think of any other offering here that would expose him to more cultures and perspectives. Even if the project is a little cheesy, like: here, make a fan. That's what Asian people do... A project like that at least it opens the door for opportunities to explore that fan and the reasons and culture behind it. He and I can read books on the topic or research "Asia" on the internet. In fact, I like that idea. I'm pretty sure hand-held fans don't represent modern Asia, but perhaps making one represents an opportunity to explore another heritage. 

* Travel: Duh! It's the bottom line frightens me. On our budget, traveling to relatives and friends in Colorado and small-town Iowa will have to suffice. As much as I'd love summer vacations in India, Egypt and Ireland, something tells me they'll have to discover oil in LaMoure County first. 

So what would you do? How did you grow up? 

I'm with baby 24 hours a day, but sometimes I feel I neglect him

Do you feel you spend enough time with your children?

I sort of wrote about this before when I asked how often you hold your babies. A facebook friend asked the same question yesterday: even if you spend all day with your children, is it enough? She said she stays at home with her child, but is often preoccupied with schoolwork and studying. She said she feels guilty when her daughter plays alone while my friend betters herself in the books. 

Then today, I read this post  and one of my favorite Momaha.com bloggers wrote about living in the moment. Most days, she attempts punctuality and efficiency, but for the last week, she took life as it came. The blogger said she learned to enjoy the everyday moments, because she’ll never have them again. Her daughter will never be 6 years old again and may not always want to give her extra hugs and kisses. 

Those two posts combined are like a sign, or rather, a punch in the groin. 

I spend everyday with my baby, usually 24 hours a day. I mostly don’t mind nursing him, although at 4 a.m., I sometimes wish he’d eat a little faster. But I won’t always have the luxury of maternity leave and napping (almost) whenever I please. I won’t always have the free time to watch his little face or the **occasional** “Say Yes to the Dress” while he eats. Soon, I’ll have to make phone calls or stir spaghetti in a race to do the laundry and get some sleep before the next work day instead. 

Today, I opened his baby carrier and tried to hold him hands-free as I hung clothes in his closet. After a few minutes, I put him in his crib. Even at 7 lbs, my back ached. 

I love my son so much, I want to spend every minute with him, looking at the face which after four weeks, already looks like a new person compared to pictures of Day 1.

And while I don’t love scrubbing my kitchen as much, I do like living in a clutter- and dirt free home.

And blogging, I love it. It gives me a chance to research parenting and write about it. Plus, I can chronicle my life with my newborn and share stories with family and friends far away. But with every minute in front of my Mac, I feel guilty I’m not spending those minutes with my boy.  

So what do you do and do you have any advice?

How much time do you spend interacting with your children and can you accomplish your other daily tasks as well?

Correspondence with Cole: one month

Dear Cole,

Today you are one month old. Today marks 30 days since the morning the doctor vacuumed you from my womb, sat you on my chest and subsequently whisked you away. 

I waited two days to hold you, three days to nurse you and five days to buckle you in a car seat and drive you home. 

Looking at you in the NICU, with an oxygen helmet over your face, afterbirth still in your hair and wires in your belly button, it was hard to believe you were once in my tummy and that your father and I were responsible for such a man. 

Three days after you arrived, the nurses laid your bare body on my chest and the feelings of maternity flooded me. 

Our first attempt at nursing didn’t go well and nurses didn’t want you to associate breast feeding with frustration. So along with the wires and oxygen tube, they laid your bare body against mine. 

When skin touched skin, I learned what motherhood felt like.  

That evening, after your father and I returned to the NICU, washed our hands for three minutes and bid you good night, I stood by your plastic wheel cart and cried. Perhaps it was the postpartum hormones or just the pressure of parenting a child under such circumstances, but I wept for fear I wasn’t worthy. I just wanted to be a good mom to you, and at times, I already felt like a failure. How can someone who eats Frosted Mini Wheats for dinner possibly be a good parent?

You didn’t grasp my finger the first time I grazed your hand, but that night, you grabbed tight. For many years, I will hold you, but that night, you held me. 

Today, you entertain us with faces which turn from sweet infant to angry teenager faster than the days on the calendar turn until you become one. We like dressing you in outfits and laugh when they don’t quite fit. Your father jokes about your pants and how they make you look like grandfather, they’re so high. Don’t worry, when you grow up, we’ll make fun of daddy’s clothes too. In fact, I already do. 

Today, we rush through your diaper changes because you’ve taught us a baby’s bum is a loaded weapon. My first christening was at 6 a.m. the second day we had you home. I had no idea kiddie keisters carried so much force. If you ever have children, know their rear ends explode like sundown on the Fourth of July.

Already, our families joke about your entrance into this world and how it must mean you’re adventurous, a fighter or if nothing else, a little shit. 

But I know better. 

You’re a big softie. 

We used to think you cried because you hated diaper changes after feedings, but realized it wasn’t the changes you hated, it was their loneliness. Once we held you close, the tears ceased. Aside from the diaper drama, you cry when you’re hungry. And that’s it.  

I hope you know that while we lose our patience at 2 a.m. when you sound like nails on a chalkboard, when we wake in the morning, we know we’re fortunate to see you cry. I’m not sure we deserve a baby as easy as you. 

Help me remember that when you’re 15.

Love,

mama

Happy birthday to zzzz...

Today I turn 26.

For most of my other 20-something birthdays, I wanted a cute outfit, a cocktail and maybe a boy to smooch.

This year, I only want one thing: someone to watch the baby so I can nap :)

If breast is best, why does it feel like the worst?

My mother bottle-fed me. For all the rest of you breast-fed kids, how did you survive?

Nursing is HARD.

Actually, nursing itself isn’t, but learning to is.

Just because mothers since Eve have performed this act does not make it natural. I was schooled for five days in a hospital where he was monitored 24 hours a day. If my son starved, nurses would know. Had I been home alone, I know I'd have switched to formula for fear my child wasn't eating enough.

The first day we tried nursing, my child screamed so loud South Dakota could hear. And that was with the help of my husband and two professionals. Baby never latched. Not once. After 15 minutes, the nurses took off his little clothes and had us cuddle skin to skin. We don’t want him to associate the breast with frustration, they said. So this happens a lot? I asked. This first attempt was actually a pretty good one, they said. Yikes.

Every time I failed, nurses brought me new tricks and products to try.

Some of them included:

* glucose water: the sweetness is baby’s first bribery
* soft shells for inverted nipples (TMI?),
* a syringe for inverted nipples (Yes, like a shot without the needle. The suction from the syringe pulls your nipple out ** hi dad **) In case you aren’t feeling unattractive enough, stick a plastic tube on your boob.
* lanolin for sore nipples

What finally worked was a nipple shield. It basically turns your bosom into a bottle. PLUS no soreness or cracking! Woot.

And even though the shield is supposed to be a last resort... natural boob-to-mouth is best... I use it each time. The nurses and lactation consultants warned me to ween my child, but I didn't. Maybe I should have tried harder. But the shield worked. Finally, something worked! And I’d rather have my child eating through a plastic nipple tube than starving. It's no better or worse than an actual bottle, me thinks.

Note: By his two-week check up, my little porker had gained 8 ounces. Doctors only expect two-week-olds to return to their original birth weight. He went from 7 lbs, 2 ounces to 7 lbs 10 ounces in 15 days. Also, a nurse weighed him before and after a feeding to see how much he ate. He'd eaten 3.3 ounces on one side alone. Most babies his age eat 2-3 ounces total. Added bonus: I’m 1 lbs lighter than my first trimester... and that’s not from Jenny Craig either. Nurturing a breast-feeding relationship is worth it, yeah yeah sure sure, for the nutritional benefits to the child. But even if it didn't, think how good I'll look by swimsuit season!

Not sure how many details people want to read about how I nurse my child, but I write about it because breast feeding is SO difficult. If it took me, my husband, several professionals and multiple breast-feeding products to succeed, it must be almost impossible for a new mom to figure it out on her own. I know very little about parenting, but if my little bit of experience helps someone else, I'll write about even my sutures down under too.

I hope this helps calm a new mother's frustration and convince her she can do it too.

How to swaddle a baby

Many hospitals likely teach this to new parents, but in case you never learned, here’s a trick to calm and soothe a crying baby. Or at least get one to sleep.

It's also nice because it keeps the little ones from scratching their faces. When I learn how to effectively file, trim or chew my sons nails, expect a post on that too. In the meantime, anyone have advice?

Anyways, swaddling a baby is like recreating the womb. My cousin calls it the “baby burrito.” My husband calls it the “baby straight jacket.” Either way, as the NICU occupational therapist explained, babies, especially premature ones, like the feeling of closeness. They want to know their boundaries, she said. It’s comforting.

Here’s how it works:

1). Using a receiving blanket or any small, thin throw, fold the top corner down to about the middle of the blanket.

2). Set baby on the blanket with his or her ears at the fold. Slide baby’s right hand into the folded corner.

3).  Pull that side of the blanket across baby’s body.

4). Tug tight and tuck the right side of the blanket under baby’s left side. 

 5). Pull the bottom of the blanket tight and towards baby’s left side. Tuck it beneath the first folded corner.

6). Slide baby’s left hand into the left folded corner. Pull the remainder of the blanket across baby’s body. Tuck the blanket under baby’s right side.

Presto.

Now go find a rocking chair and cuddle your happy baby :)

How often should we hold our babies?

How often do you hold your child? Can you hold a baby too much or too little?

I hold my baby when I nurse and when I write. Sometimes we cuddle before and after feedings. I’m not going to tell you how long that is for fear of your judgement, but let’s just say I hold him more hours than I sleep at night, OK?

What’s the optimal time for holding? And how do you factor in the time other people hold him?

I ask because sometimes I stick baby in his rocking baby chair and am immediately flooded with guilt. I like when company visits and holds him. That way I can use the toilet and not feel bad about it.

Baby websites and experts agree: you can’t spoil a baby. But is the opposite true? Can a mother not hold her child enough and deprive him of social development? interaction? human connection? does he think I don’t love him?

According to babycenter.com, http://www.babycenter.com/404_how-much-do-i-have-to-play-and-interact-with-my-baby-do-babi_6882.bc babies need some alone time to explore and play with toys.

My child hasn’t discovered his fingers yet. I think rattles and a jack-in-the-box are a little advanced for him.

I don’t know who James Prescott, Ph.D., is, but according to a couple websites, he said this: The single most important child rearing practice to be adopted for the development of emotional and social healthy infants and children is to carry the newborn/infant on the body of the mother/caretaker all day long…”

Like the advice of so many medical professionals, this too is conflicted.

So mothers and fathers, grandparents and caretakers of cyber world, what’s the answer? If baby hangs out in his rocking chair for a few hours, am I a bad mother? Will my child resent me? Will he never learn to bond with another human being? Or am I just  a new mom, paranoid and over thinking things. Please say “B.”

Make me a MILF costume this Halloween

I want to be a MILF for Halloween.

If I can’t be one everyday, I can strive once a year.

To me, the term “MILF” isn’t so much Mom-I’d-Like-to-”haveFunwith” as it is a woman who cares for herself and her children equally. A MILF is someone who exudes confidence in a nursing bra and smells sweet even when showered in leaked breast milk.

To me, “MILF” has so little to do with sex, especially of the casual, shallow, just-checked-you-out on the street variety. It’s a total compliment: a woman who works hard, plays hard and basically has it all. 

View this video from momversation.com in which three women share their opinion on the subject.

I like what Daphne from coolmom.com (the one in the French maid bow) says about how flattering it is to get a double glance from someone.

Boys don’t check you out so much when your preg-o belly resembles that of the jolly old elf. Even though I’m happily married, a slight stare down is a compliment. Call me shallow, but I get the warm fuzzies when others think I’m a righteous-looking babe. And after nine months without a double glance, I don’t care who it’s from. Matthew McConaughey? Great. Homeless man? Boo-ya.

It’s not easy for moms to give up their bodies, their 8 hours of sleep and most of their free time and still feel attractive. I have one child... one beautiful, easy, sleeps-for-five-hours-at-a-time-sometimes child... and my gumption meter is still at sweatpants level. Someday I’ll get the balls to wear jeans and heels again....

Ok, it’s not the biggest deal in the world. I don’t need some random dude to think I’m pretty to make me feel good about myself. But there’s no harm in allowing another’s judgement (or at least my perception of his judgement) to put a little pep in my step. Right?

In the meantime, I’m preparing my costume for Halloween: a turtleneck with glitter should do the trick. Wait... What did you think I was going to wear? A halter top and daisy dukes? Psha! I’m a mom.

What to pack for the labor and delivery room

Any mommy book or website will offer a list. Listen to them. They are experts. I’ve given birth once. But here’s what worked - and didn’t - for me.

Note: I talk about bleeding and nipples in this post. If that offends you, perhaps skip this one. :) Also, I've linked to some commercial sites on this post. None of them are sponsoring it. They are just businesses I patronized in this process.

* Always Extra Heavy Overnight Maxi with Flexi Wings: (the ones in the blue package with purple wrapping.) True: the hospital will likely send you home with ample supply, but they’re thick, uncomfortable and don’t cover as well. In short, they feel like a king size Twix bar between your legs. The Always maxis are longer than the Great Wall of China, but they stay in place and offer coverage when doctors tell you to prop your feet above your heart to reduce swelling... And all that leaning backwards can get really... messy.

* Nursing bras: I brought one, but ended up in the NICU for five days so I needed more. Many more. I had no idea nursing was so messy. A tip? Try the nursing camisoles. They come in small-, medium- and large-type sizes, which is nice because you never know what size you’ll be once your engorged and in pain. (I think I gained and shrunk two cup sizes in a week) Also invest in a box of nursing pads (about $8 for 60). The hospital will provide some but you’ll likely need more. Another tip? The nursing pads may come in a half-moon shape, but unfold them. You'll thank me when your at the shopping mall with two wet spots on your chest, wondering why your boobs resemble Niagara Falls. JCPenny and Kohls.com had the best selection of nursing bras I could find and Old Navy.com has some cute and not-too-expensive nursing tops. Tip No. 3? My cousin told me to avoid any nursing bra with wire.

* Cell phone, camera and all their appropriate chargers: Whoa, did my phone ring a lot throughout the labor and delivery process. And then all I wanted to do was take pictures of the precious babe and send them to everyone I knew. Plus, I got shipped to a NICU in another town. Chargers were vital. Also, if you have a laptop bring that too.

* Supportive coaches, friends, family members: as many as you can find. OK- maybe you don't want them in the delivery room per se, but let them help you before and after. I had people buying my lunch, washing my laundry, communicating with friends and relatives and packing my suitcase for the trip to the NICU. Even though my husband was with me, without that support group, we'd have wailed more than our newborn.

* Pretty lotion: or anything else that makes you feel like a woman. Except pretty underwear. Leave those at home. Note the Always EXTRA HEAVY overnight maxi...

* An outfit for photos: As much as I love shopping, I feel bad spending money on clothes when I should save the cash and spend it on diapers. But these photos are once-in-a-lifetime, so spend a few bucks and buy yourself a comfortable, yoga/sweat-pantsy type outfit to wear while the flashbulbs blind you. Also, pack some makeup, flat iron and hair dryer too. Add a photo-worthy outfit for dad to your tote too.

Advice from an adoptive mom:
Jamestown, N.D., resident Erin Romans took pictures at my wedding and also takes photos of families and children. When Erin adopted her son, she brought pajamas, warm socks, slippers, magazines and snacks for his birth mother. Erin and her husband also gave the birth mother a gift of the more heartfelt and long-lasting kind:
"We bought her a diamond necklace. It was a cross pendent and with 2 hearts in the middle symbolizing her heart and his. We wanted to give her something sentimental that she could wear and think of him," Erin said.

Other advice via Facebook and Twitter:
* Mountain Dew
* best maternity pants or dress, depending on weather
* yoga pants
* slippers
* your own robe: "The hospital provided robe kinda weirded me out so I was glad to have my own :)"- Amanda Haseleu, Underwood, N.D.
* ice packs that break and are instantly cold (for foreheads or other achy areas)
* back massage machine
* snacks and/or CASH for the vending machine: this is a good idea and I can't even take credit for it. Make sure to have cash on hand as some hospital cafeterias don't take credit cards. You don't want your loved ones leaving you for dinner or any other reason if they don't have too.

So what did you/do you intend to pack? Anything you wish you'd remembered but didn't?

The birth story

Bad sign: Laying spread-eagle on the hospital bed not two minutes post-partum, I was bleeding and alone. My husband, the doctor and the medical staff had rushed from delivery to attend to my un-breathing baby.

7:30 a.m.: Avalanche of Amniotic Fluid
1 centimeter

I felt like a celebrity when we walked into the hospital. Nurses already knew who we were and my phone rang like the homecoming queen on a Friday night. Pain was moderate, excitement was high, but of parenting in general, fear was severe.

8:45 a.m.: Bring on the Pain
1.5 centimeters
Contractions didn’t hurt but my tummy did. Time for a light breakfast.

Noon: Hustle your Bustle
1.5 centimeters
If baby doesn’t deliver within 24 hours of a mother’s water breaking, the baby risks infection and possibly death. Nurses gave me pitocin to amp up the labor process.
I remember laying on my gurney thinking: something isn’t right. I’ve never witnessed a real birth, but from what I learned in parenting class, baby usually lingers on mama’s chest until all photos are snapped. Why is my baby not here?
6:37 p.m.: Took the referral: got an epidural
4 centimeters
My philosophy on medicine is not to meddle with Mother Nature. If you need a procedure, treatment, etc., do it, but if a a child can gain immunity from Chicken Pox through the vaccine or the disease itself, I guess I choose the scratchy, red bumps. Despite our scientific efforts, I don’t believe we’ll ever duplicate our creator.
That philosophy stayed with me in the delivery room... pretty much. My birth plan was to abstain from drugs, if I could. I’m no hero, in fact, I’m pretty much a sissy. In baby class, we learned 90 percent of mothers get epidurals and that the medicine has relatively no effect on baby.
I’m no medical expert, but if my legs act like drunken sailors, something tells me my baby is somehow, at least a little, drugged too.
At 3 centimeters, my doctor told me to consider pain meds. Ok, you don’t hurt so bad now, she said, but you’ll be like this for AT LEAST eight more hours. And then, THEN, you have to push.
Good point, Doc.
An hour later, my legs felt like jello and so did my mind. I rested while the nurses looked at my charts, WHOA that’s a big contraction, she said. Great, I thought to myself. Wake me up when its time to push :)

The student nurse walked in: he’ll be OK, she said. The nurse walked in: He’ll be OK, she said. My husband walked in, his face as pale as Pampers, he’ll be OK, he said.

11:45 p.m.: The Big Show
Nurses made me push before my doctor arrived. Many women take two hours to get baby out. All that Hollywood delivery drama about one big push and it’s over... TOTALLY untrue.
Nerves were high about the first push. But it wasn’t the pushing that worried me as much as just becoming a parent in general gave me the shakes.
So, the nurse said. Are you ready?
I don’t know if it was the nerves or the pushing itself, but I puked.
That’s pretty gross and well, TMI, but it turns out, many women “puke their babies out” the nurse said. I only tell you that because had I known, I may not have been so embarrassed. As if puking should embarrass a gal wearing no pants in a room with almost every nursing student at Jamestown College.

Midnight: The Beat of Two Hearts
Still not out, baby’s heartbeat dropped as mine raced. The nurses flipped my drunken legs from one side to the other and I grasped the gurney bed bars like I was drowning. Nurses move the mothers whose babies' heartbeat drops because maybe she or the baby is putting pressure on the umbilical cord. Typically, that relives the pressure and baby’s heartbeat can return.
It wasn’t working.
For 20 minutes they rolled me back and forth, draping cold wash clothes on my head, turning on the fan, removing my socks and popping Tylenol as I’d sprung a fever. Sucking air through an oxygen mask, I breathed as hard as I could, hoping the purified air would purify whatever ailed my baby.
Get the paperwork ready for a c-section, one of the nurses said.
My husband turned white and sat down. Do whatever they tell you to, I told myself.
When baby’s heartbeat recovered, so did the pushing. I pushed for two hours, but it felt like with every inch I gained, I lost a foot waiting for the next contraction.

At 5 a.m., a woman with a stork carrying a teddy bear embroidered on her vest entered my hospital room. She didn’t turn on the lights, but she asked me to sign a lot of papers. I’m from the NICU in Bismarck, she said.

1:30: Baby’s blue
Doctor invoked the vacuum as I couldn’t push baby out fast enough. I didn’t want it, but I didn’t protest either. Vacuums bruise babies heads and risk more than that. But in my drugged state, I trusted her judgment.
With the vacuum on, doctor pulled baby at 1:41 a.m. Open your eyes, Katie, doctor said as I watched baby’s head, shoulders and back leave the womb and enter real life. She laid him on my chest, blue and gasping for air. I didn’t know that wasn’t normal.
Nurses gave him my oxygen mask and when that didn't work, wrapped him in a towel and left the room.
That’s not how it’s supposed to happen.
Moms are supposed to hold baby while grandmas take pictures and dads cut the umbilical cord. In a healthy birth, baby doesn’t hit the road.
The nurses and my husband took baby to the nursery where my in-laws were waiting. Watching through the windows, nurses drew the curtains and asked my husband to leave.
The doctor delivered my placenta, but baby wasn’t back. She told me I needed sutures, but wouldn’t finish until baby was OK.
Bleeding and half-dressed with legs unworking, I lay alone in the hospital room.
My husband returned with the doctor and a face that pleaded: don't panic. “He’ll be OK,” they collectively said between words like “collapsed lung” and “pneumothorax.”
My doctor called the aid of what sounded like every physician in Jamestown, at 2 a.m., and recommended we send baby to the neonatal intensive care unit. He’s stable, she said, but may need a tube in his chest. If he does, no one here is qualified to do it. In fact, I don’t even know if Jamestown has one that tiny, she said.
Since baby was stable, a team from Bismarck flew in a few hours later. The doctor told us to sleep, which of course, barely happened. Before the Bismarck team left, the medics stopped by my room so baby and I could say goodbye.
Don’t cry, I said to myself. And I didn’t. Not until three days later.
You behave for these nurses, I said to my son, whose face I couldn’t see but whose little hand I could touch. Most babies grasp any finger grazing theirs. Exhausted and stressed, mine didn’t.
Mommy will see you soon, I said.
My husband, his father and stepfather drove to Bismarck while I recovered. Unable to sleep, I took a bath, some pain medication and waited while the clocked ticked.
By 4 p.m., the doctor said I could leave. That was the second scariest delivery of my career, she said.
For five days, my husband and I along with family and friends, stayed in Bismarck, while baby received treatment at the hospital’s NICU. We counted the mornings and evenings and rejoiced as baby met various milestones like no more spaceman-like oxygen hood, latching on to breast feed despite cords and and an IV tower and the biggest relief of all, taking him home without doctors expecting anymore complications.
***
I can’t say I ever want an experience like this again, but despite its downfalls, breathtaking births have their benefits. The greatest of which is the gift of recognizing the small things... the first time he opened his eyes and how he almost never did; getting to hold him **finally** after two days of not; and most importantly, not taking for granted this new life in our lives.
Given the circumstances, we are very fortunate.
Adversity builds strength and forges bonds the way no other life experience can. I’m thankful for the opportunity to recognize the preciousness of someone who wakes me up at night just to poop on my pajamas. Too easily, the struggles of parenthood get in the way of its joys. I can’t say I’ve mastered the art of enjoying everything about motherhood, but for me and my family, we are grateful.

Special thanks to the medical professionals from Jamestown Hospital, MedCenter One in Jamestown and Bismarck and all the others of whom I may never know.