I Had A Baby!

Lennon's first night at home.

On Halloween, Lennon Joseph made his way into the world. It was the most bizarre and amazing day of my life.

I started to go into labor some time on Friday or Saturday. Early labor is pretty easy going. Lots of little contractions, not a lot of progress. By Saturday afternoon I was having regular contractions every 4-7 minutes with growing pain and tightness in my back. That went on for about three hours and we weren't really sure what to do. I wasn't in any pain, I was just contracting a lot. We called the nurse line and she recommended we come in and get checked out. We packed up the car without any real anticipation that we'd be coming back home with a baby. We figured we were jumping the gun and they'd send us home to continue with the contractions.

Turns out, we were right. Kind of. I got checked into a room, handed over various samples of my bodily fluids and got hooked up to a monitor. The world's sexiest obstetrician checked me out and told me that I wasn't dilated enough to be admitted. However, my blood pressure was totally jacked (like 150/100) and I had protein in my urine so I needed to be watched for preeclampsia. (Pregnancy-induced hypertension.) This involved me collecting all my urine in a bucket for 24 hours, storing it in my fridge, and returning it to the hospital the next day. Sweet. So, we took my pee collection kit and we left, hoping to return soon in actual labor. We got about five minutes away from the hospital when a less sexy OB called me and asked me to come back. They decided they weren't comfortable letting me go home with such high blood pressure and they'd go ahead and induce me that night since I was a day away from 40 weeks.

We went back and Dr. Sexy told me that they'd let me labor on my own for a while and see if I made any progress. It was now around 7:30pm. They checked me periodically but nothing was happening. Around 3:30am on Sunday they broke my water. Umm, wow. Gross is all I can say about that. I pray if I ever get pregnant again that my water does not break on it's own. Everyone is all, "Just wear a maxi pad around your due date." Right, I don't think an entire package of maxi pads would do any good in that situation. Long story short, I had baby poo in my amniotic fluid which meant Lennon was at risk to inhale it on his way out. Baby poo in the lungs = bad. (I learned that watching 16 and Pregnant.) A pediatrics team would be in the room when I delivered to check him out and make sure everything was okay.

Fast forward another four hours and my damn cervix hadn't budged. I was having some crazy back pain because Lennon was flipped around backwards so I was already cracking and looking for someone to hook me up with drugs. Then Dr. Sexy dropped by to tell me it was time to hit the pitocin to try and move things along. I now happily consented to an epidural. Best. Decision. Ever. I got that around 9:00, got the pitocin shortly afterwards, and was ready to push by 11:45. The epidural never completely took so I had most of my feeling in my left side. Feeling quickly started to return to my right side, so by the time baby was ready to make his exit, I could feel everything. GOOD GOD I FELT EVERYTHING. I felt myself pooping in front of a room full of strangers. I felt things that required stitches to fix. I felt my baby getting stuck on his way out. I couldn't get him out fast enough and he started to stress. His heart rate dropped and he took a big gulp of that poo fluid so the vacuum made it's appearance. The fastest way to get a stuck baby out of the birth canal is to suck it out. So that's what they did. But before the vacuum can come out with a baby attached to it, it needs to go in. Ya, not something I realized before that moment. I certainly felt that too. Most of the pushing phase is a big blur but I remember screaming like an animal some time around here.

The vacuum had his head out in about .5 seconds. His body slipped out with one more push. And there he was. Lennon. I got one brief look at him before he was taken by peds to be checked over. At this point, I have no idea what's happening. The nicest nurse in the world was hugging me and telling me I did great. Everyone else is assessing the damage and doing whatever it was they were there to do. Then someone came in and told me that about 10 minutes after delivery Lennon started struggling to breath on his own and he quickly started loosing color and movement. He was now on oxygen and in an incubator and needed to be taken to NICU immediately. I freaked the fuck out. All I could think was that I just brought him into the world and he was going to die before I could even hold him. I can't think about it without crying still. It was the most terrifying thing I've ever experienced.

An hour or so later, someone came and told me and my family that by the time they got him down to NICU he had already started breathing strongly and had really perked up. It was likely just a case of him being too tired from delivery and needing a little help getting going on his own. I finally got wheeled down to NICU and he was hooked up to a bunch of machines, wires and IVs all over the place. I didn't feel like he was my baby. I was just staring at some child, crying my eyes out, not knowing why. Someone finally pulled him out of his little incubator and let me hold him. I got to look at him, study him, kiss him. He looked a lot like me, which I couldn't believe. It was like, "Ok, ya. I guess this is my baby after all." It was such a relief.

The next couple of days are blurry. I didn't really sleep at all in the hospital. I just sat in my bed and watched hours and hours of TBS. Whenever I wanted to see Lennon, I had to walk down to the NICU. It sucked. I just wanted him with me, beside my bed where I could see him. Technically, he was fine and didn't need to be in NICU but since he was on an IV to prevent infection from breathing in the poo he had to stay down there. No infection ever developed so he got to come home with us when I was discharged. We were afraid he was going to have to stay an extra day but the kiddo checked out just fine at his 48 hour tests and was sent packing.

So, now we're parents. We're in love with our baby. And we're tired.



I'm sure there's a lot more to the story that I could share, but my brain is running at half speed right now. Taking care of a newborn is friggin exhausting. I'm sure I'll write little stories here and there that fill in more details. But for now, that's about as coherent as I can be. :)

Stress and My Reaction to it (i.e. alcohol)

I noticed a long time ago that I have two reactions to stress.

1. Eating (okay, drinking too)
2. I completely and utterly shut down

I have this terrible habit of doing absolutely nothing when I feel overwhelmed. Like, lay in bed with Bravo and a beer for hours on end. That sort of "nothing." It is just about the stupidest reaction in the world but it's my go-to coping mechanism. It usually lasts about a week and then the panic really sets in. At that point I end up making a list of all the things overwhelming me and start checking them off one by one as I clear them out of the way. You'd think it would make more sense to just skip the slacking and drinking and head straight to the list, wouldn't you?

As you can maybe imagine, the entire month of October has been a nightmare. Minus booze. So like, a complete and utter terror from which there is no waking. I got so far behind on my business, added on to that a crap load of baby stress and the stress of finishing up a million projects at my 8-5 job. I spent the first two weeks of the month gently rocking myself in a corner and the last two weeks busting my ass. Looking back on it, it's probably not a route I would take twice but I'm almost done digging my way out. I still have an entire wedding to edit before giving birth AT ANY MOMENT and a stack of stuff to mail out, then I'm dunzo. All that's left after that is birthing and caring for another human being for the next eighteen years. Piece of fucking cake.

38 Weeks

Okay, this shit is starting to get old. I really wish I could take the next two weeks off from everything and spend 14 days in bed, in Matt's pajamas. (Mine don't exactly fit anymore.) Aside from the unimaginable excitement to meet my baby, there is absolutely nothing fun about being a full-term pregnant woman.

It takes an 8 point maneuver to get out of bed to pee (3 times) in the middle of the night. I have to grab a hold of my pant leg at the ankle to hoist my leg up in order to put on my shoes. I then usually need Matt's help taking my shoes back off. My belly is so low now that I can't cross my legs or even put my knees together. Therefore, I waddle. Um what else... I sweat a lot. My skin is always dry. 60% of my day is spent in a Braxton Hicks contraction, which doesn't hurt by the way but does seriously test your bladder control. I won't tell you any of the gross stuff... I'll let you all experience that out for yourselves when that time comes.

But on a good note, I have yet to develop a single stretch mark and my boobs are ginormous and perky. Too bad they're not at all sexy right now. A great rack attached to a 9 months pregnant woman just doesn't pack the same punch anymore. It's a shame, really. Women pay good money for boobs the size of mine right now.

Matt came home today from a 10 day tour. I tried my hardest to be lazy while he was gone. I was afraid of nesting too hard and giving the baby some false sense of well-being in the outside world. I wanted him to continue thinking it was a disaster out here so he'd stay put until Matt was within a 20 minute range from me. And now that he's home I am a mad frenzy of babyness. I washed and sterilized bottles, pacifiers, anything that goes in a baby's mouth. I laundered all the cloth diapers. I put sheets on the crib. I lined the changing table with shelf paper. Oh god, how I love shelf paper. I want to cover my entire house in it.

We're pretty much ready to go! Well, except for not having a hospital bag packed and not having the car seat safely secured in the car. So obviously I don't mean "ready to go" in the literal sense. We are literally not ready to go to the hospital to have a baby. But we are more or less prepared in the event that that happens sometime prior to our given due date. What do I really need for the hospital anyway? Pajamas, a toothbrush and my iPad. Bamm, done packing the bag. And we can just chuck the car seat in the trunk and figure it out in the parking garage when they release us.

I am going to be such a great mom.

Is It a Sin to Put Diapers in a $3000 Bag?

I'm a little anti-diaperbag. No offense to diaper bags and the folks who carry them but I prefer something a little flashier, a little less practical. A little more, "Hey, look at me and my ridiculous bag!"

Here are a few giant satchels I found that I really love. They range in price from $2900 to $70.

Yes. That is correct.



The top left is a $2900 Nancy Somethingorother from Berdorf's and the top right is a $1400 Prada. They are gorgeous. But areyoufreakingkiddingme? Are they lined with hundred dollar bills? Besides, if I bought a Prada bag and carried it with a head-to-toe Target outfit people would assume it's fake. I might as well save myself $1350 and buy a $50 fake Prada on ebay if I'm going that route. (Major Sex and the City flashback right there.)

I'm leaning heavily toward the dotted one in the middle. It's completely insane looking but I really like it. Plus it's gigantic and I could probably fit everything I need into it, including my baby.

We're pretty much done getting all the actual baby stuff we need. Now I'm just buying fun stuff because I'm excited for this kid to get here already. And then once he's here I'll say to myself, "Why did I think I would ever leave the house again after giving birth? I should have saved that bag money for diapers and booze."

Progress, Folks!

I wanted to share a photo from a wedding I shot last weekend. The setup was the idea of the bride and her maid-of-honor and at first I thought, "Whoa, holy cheese city." But the photo turned out pretty damn cute. But most importantly, I took this photo in a bar bathroom, with no light, with a flash and it actually looks good! A year ago, there's no way I could have pulled that off!

Happy 2nd!

Today is our second anniversary. It kind of feels like two years, and it kind of doesn't. Our marriage has been pretty easy going so far. We don't fight over things that aren't worth fighting over and we honestly love each other more now than when we got married. I'm also completely smitten with the fact that we're creating a miniature version of ourselves mashed into one body. It's so bizarre and so sweet at the same time. :)

We're In the Single Digits!

Photo by Tim Tab - Taken at our Colorado workshop a few weeks ago

Sometimes when my stomach bubbles and lurches involuntarily, I forget that I'm pregnant and I think it's a raging case of intestinal distress. I think, "WTF did I eat for lunch?" and then remember that it's not something I ate, it's something I'm growing. Although if it were something I ate, it would probably be a lot easier to get out.

And that brings us to...

Less than eight weeks left until my due date, but probably more than eight weeks left until I actually give birth. I've been reading a lot lately, and it turns out that due dates are pretty unscientific. The most accurate dates are the ones guessed at within 6 to 7 weeks of conception. (So my actual due date might be closer to November 3rd.) The accuracy dwindles from there. Supposedly, labor is started by your baby when his lungs are done developing. He releases a hormone that initiates labor. Technically, this doesn't take 40 weeks. It can take anywhere from 37 to 42. So, when your doctor pinpoints your 40 week due date, you can go anywhere from three weeks early to two weeks late and still have a normal term pregnancy. Isn't that great news!

I swear that there should be some sort of post-high school health class for women. This pregnancy thing is such a damn mystery in our culture. We're all taught to believe that birth is on par with having your appendix removed. You make an appointment, go to the hospital, and the doctors fix you. Our active role in labor and delivery has been removed. We're taught to be patients and not women giving birth. It seems so wrong. Women should be given more respect than that. Whether you give birth without any drugs at all, or you have a c-section, there are still so many things you can do to advocate for yourself and your baby to have a great experience. It's okay for you to be in control. I wish women were told that at some point in their lives. Instead, we get movies and TV shows that portray women giving birth who are wild with terror and franticly rushing through hospital corridors, pleading for a doctor to dope them up, yelling at their partners for having penises, etc.

Give me a fucking break. We're better than that.