Ambergontrail – Trying to get through life without dying of dysentery

So many women have their birth plan all set in their heads, they expect and PLAN for their birth to go that way, and should something happen to change that plan they are depressed or feel like they failed.

Not me. From day one I knew I’d have a few things working against me: 1.) Asthma. It’s hard enough to take a breath during my normal every day life (I typically breathe about 65% of what non-asthmatics breathe, with medication), that we were positive I would need some sort of oxygen to aid in the labor process. 2.) Vasovagal syncope. That’s the technical term, the “Ambered” term is: fainting when I get hurt. Seriously. 3.) a very big baby for a very tiny pelvis. Hey, I wear a size 6 shoe (a little bigger now, post baby) and I’m five feet tall- I gots no room for my husband’s gigantic progeny.

Now, I knew what I wanted, but I was very flexible. I just knew she’d have to come out one way or another. I preferred a vaginal birth, but as our OB had brought up right after our last ultrasound, she was getting pretty big and it would be work to get her out. Well, okay, I’ll just read up on all I can since I couldn’t practice pushing without something disgusting coming out. The OB thought it was definitely possible to have her vaginally, and I was all cool with that. I also preferred to do it naturally, as I was really looking forward to Piper latching on right away, and I heard they do so much to you post-medicated birth that the chance isn’t often there. I also wanted to wait for her to come out on her own, as I was terrified of inducing, and had heard many the story from friends about their induced deliveries.

As it happened, I pretty much had none of those things happen. From the start, Paul and I went in during our 39 week appointment, my due date a mere three or so days later. I was huge. People gave me scared looks when I waddled into the waiting room, horrified that was their future before them. Our favorite nurse let out a gasp when she patted my belly, and the OB said, “Wow, you’re still here?” (since she had been on her own maternity leave up til then)  Still, I was a spry preggo, spending hours at a time on my feet, and still sleeping soundly through the night. I had no complaints and was more than willing to let her take her time out.

The OB had a different idea. “You’re pretty big, already, and we know it’s not from excess amniotic fluids. I think we need to talk about inducing if she’s not here by your due date.” I told her my concerns, namely hearing that inducing leads to c-sections, and possible complications and crap and she told me that it was really not that bad, and cited a bunch of stuff. All I heard was, “The baby will be here by the 24th.” OB then stripped my membranes (OW) to loosen the amniotic sac and that was that. We scheduled my induction for the day after my due date.

When I got to the hospital, everything went so fast, yet amazingly slow.  Instead of laboring quietly, I was given mighty doses of pitocin, which made labor intolerable for me. So, I then got the epidural. The epidural was more painful than the labor, because it was a different kind of pain. It was a sharp poke, that turned into a cold burning. They made Paul sit down, because many Dads end up passing out. Instead, I began to pass out. That damn vasovagal syncope struck again. I must say, I loved the epidural. I really did. The odd thing, though, was that because I couldn’t feel the real pain that went with labor that the birth of my daughter felt a bit like it was happening to someone else. It was a waiting game until I got to 10 centimeters, where I began to push. Even then, my body and mind was so exhausted from a full day of constant alertness (and getting the insides kicked out of me) that I was literally passing out and coming back to during the contractions which felt like pressure. Basically, my body gave up.

I couldn’t muster up enough energy to push, and I couldn’t sleep to get more energy. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. When my doctor hesitantly mentioned surgery, I was so quick to agree, I think I may have cut her off. I honestly couldn’t do it anymore, the pressure was so huge, so damaging that I still feel repercussions of the hours of pushing I went through.

So, despite wanting to do everything different from how it turned out, I am not upset about it. Sure, my c-section scar is ugly, and suuuure, my thigh and pelvic area is still numb (I’m asking about that tomorrow, I promise), and I will have to fight to try to get a vaginal birth next time, but I’m okay with that. In the end, Piper arrived healthy and whole. She wasn’t doped up from the epidural, and she didn’t have a cone head. She latched on immediately after and fed for 45 minutes, both of us falling asleep during the session. If you think about it, the only lasting effects from my labor and delivery (surgery and medication parts)  are: numb thigh and pelvic area, a scar, and my daughter.  My truly horrible lasting effect is in my butt.

Yep. My butt. Despite having an epidural, I was able to push, and feel the pushing. They had ceased “re-filling” it when they knew I was getting close. So, I felt it. I felt the pressure of the contractions and her head cramming down in my cervix. I pushed and pushed. I put my foot in Paul’s hand, and the other in the nurse’s hand,  and pushed until I saw stars. They put the oxygen mask on me, and told me to try to breathe during the breaks. Unfortunately, the breaks weren’t very long, and I was so very tired. Still, I pushed. I pushed until I pooped. Forever, I will know my husband looked down at my nether regions to watch his daughter be born, and instead witnessed his wife defecating on the table. At the time, I knew what was happening, and begged him to look away. Then, I fell asleep.

Despite not eating anything for over 24 hours, I still pooped on the table. Sigh. After all that, pooping and pressure strong enough to bring me to tears, I didn’t even push her out! She was lodged in there, that little monkey. Now I get to enjoy a constant sensitivity in my butt when I’ve been sitting for awhile, no matter how cushioned the area. I don’t poop normally anymore, and sometimes I hurt when I DO go. These are all things I’m going to ask tomorrow.

Funny, after being so afraid of having labor and delivery interventions, the lasting effect is from pushing- the only natural part of my labor.

It appears I’m a rare bird. At just 6 weeks post-partum I got my period. As of  yesterday, I was ovulating. What the hell. Good thing Paul and I haven’t decided to try the post-baby sex yet, as I can only imagine: it takes a year to get pregnant the first time, then two months after the baby I get pregnant again.

It’s strange, I’m not used to letting an ovulation go by without temping and peeing on sticks and crossing my fingers. Actually, I felt sad that another month went by without trying to conceive. Of course, then Piper stayed up all night and I told Paul to get his filthy man hands away from my lady bits, as I was.not.going.there.

Then I thought about it… I want to be pregnant again. No, I don’t want another baby right now. Yes, I want to be hugely pregnant with a vicious kicker who gives me carpal tunnel from all the swelling. I want to feel that slight nausea I had, knowing it was all for a good cause. I want to feel the butt pushing out from my belly, and press on it, knowing that’s our baby in there. I’ve never felt more beautiful than when I was pregnant. I glowed, if I have ever been good at anything in my life, it was being pregnant. The other night I flipped through my facebook album of belly pics, and got very sad as I realized the next time I get pregnant would be years from now.

My pregnancy seems so far away, it’s hard to believe that literally two months ago, I was in hospital, still feeling Piper inside me, just kicking away, oblivious to the pitocin that would make her very uncomfortable in a few hours. Now, I see updates on Facebook of other people’s bellies, and I get a little jealous that they get to experience the magic of pregnancy all brand-newy. I want to tell the ones complaining that I’d be happy to carry their babies for them, just let me know where the drop off point is.

The other day, I was giving Piper some “tummy time” on a blanket on the floor of my office. As it was raining like the world was ending (seriously, it HAILED!), I picked her up when she couldn’t stand being on her tummy any longer, and pulled her into my lap, the two of us gazing out at the rain. I sniffed her hair (a daily occurrence) and thought that this was the last time I’d have her in my lap, at that age, when the rain is new to her. I got a little melancholy when I thought about how fast these babies grow- almost as fast as my pregnancy went. The difference is, pregnancy is fleeting, and having children is never-ending.

Yes, I want to be pregnant again. I’ve just moved our date for the next baby up from 5 years from now to 3. Ask me again when Piper stays awake all night.

When I was pregnant, I had plans: we’re going to send a diaper home with Dad to give Woofie while we were in the hospital. Well, as we were in the hospital for longer than we expected due to the emergency c, things got overlooked a bit, and we forgot.

Then, it was going to be: introduce Woofie and Piper on neutral ground so Woofie doesn’t think she’s encroaching on his “territory”. Well, again, that blasted c-section snuck up and cut me, and I had a hard enough time getting into bed, much less get dressed to go outside for that neutral meeting.

Finally, it was treat Woofie really well when she cries so he knows it’s not a bad thing. Yeah, well, that went out the window, as her cries were like a knife in the heart, and I would scramble to soothe her.

So, we pretty much did nothing to warn Woofie that he was being usurped as our #1 child. Actually, and I’m ashamed to admit it, if it wasn’t for Paul Woofie would have been neglected. My arms were literally full, I couldn’t scrape together enough time/energy to cuddle my Woof-man. Instead, I was knee-deep in baby, and he was left to fend for himself on the couch.

By the time Paul went back to work (2 weeks after we checked into the hospital), I was able to do a little more, like put pants on. I tried to bring Woofie and the baby out for a walk together… yeah, after letting Woofie do his business, it was back in the house for him. Poor thing. Honestly, had he nipped Piper in resentment I wouldn’t have been surprised.

Luckily, despite not knowing who or what this new being in the house was, and WHY were her cries so piercing? Woofie has managed to come to terms with the new baby. Okay, so he DOES walk under her swing and bark, when she’s sleeping. AND he does sniff her a lot, but mostly it’s just avoidance. She’ll scream and he’ll give her the side-eye, like, “What the HELL is making that noise??”

Of course, we’ll see how he is when she’s able to grab things. We’re hoping they’ll be the best of friends, but you can never tell, really.

Dear Unfriender,

At first, I thought it was just me you unfriended on Facebook. Since I wasn’t too fond of you to begin with, as you left a hurtful comment on my own blog when I was lamenting my ability to get pregnant, I was okay with it- a little perplexed, sure. In fact, I may have blogged about it, it’s too far back to read. After you left that comment, you were affected by something awful. Miraculously, I got pregnant shortly after, announcing it when I was 9 weeks along. It was then you unfriended me on Facebook.

“Hmm”, I thought. “I haven’t seen a status update from Unfriender.” Since I randomly click onto your blog now and then, I saw what had happened to you, and felt terrible for you. I looked through my friend list, and lo and behold, you were gone. Since I was still terrified of something horrible happening to our baby, I avoided any status updates regarding my pregnancy for a long time, so I wondered why you would just drop me like that.

As the months progressed, I followed your blog a bit more (especially since you linked to mine at one point), wondering what made you hate me. Jealousy? Anger? Childishness? Pettiness? As I’ve mentioned many times before, when I wasn’t pregnant yet, I felt my own anger and jealousy and pettiness, yet I didn’t sink as low as to unfriend people who wished me nothing but the best. Perhaps it’s your age, that made you do something so ridiculous. I am not sure, but I’m not making excuses for you.

As more of our group have gotten pregnant, you unfriended some and kept others as friends. Interesting. I’m still not as annoyed as I was at first, now it’s just intriguing. Still, a word to the wise: be gracious. People genuinely cared for you, and had a vested interest in what happened in your life. Well, until you showed a childish side that was quite unpleasant.

When a person comes to you with their story, looking for commiseration, you ignore it. Apparently, since you were so vocal about what happened to you, you wanted only sympathy, you didn’t care to give it. It’s something I’d think people would grow out of. You could have been a shoulder to lean on, you could have given advice or help, or even just a virtual hug. Yet you chose to ignore this person, showing that not all adults are adult. Still, I let this go, because I wasn’t the person looking for some commiseration (even though she’s very close to me, and I just wanted to scream in your face about this treatment).

Then I found you unfriended many other people. Okay, now this is something else all together. Who do you think you are? Do you think that all of us didn’t worry about our pregnancies, didn’t cry every month something went wrong? Do you think you had it the hardest? Let me tell you something- you didn’t. Did you know that? No. Did you bother to ask? Did you return emails?

Yes, your unfriending is not my business anymore, since I really don’t want to be friends with someone who is so petty, but it hurts OTHER people. You’re not the only one who has suffered, and had you bothered to reach back to someone who has as well, you might notice you’re also not the only person in this world.

P.S.: you know how you hated those women who “paraded” their pregnancies, and hated their symptoms? How does it feel to be one of those, one who is doing the SAME THING to other women who had been in your position? All I can say is, I’m glad the people I know aren’t nearly as self-obsessed. Hypocrisy sure does sneak up on you.

While I  was pregnant I subscribed to all sorts of email notifications regarding the baby’s growth and what he/she was accomplishing while in utero. Now, I get to see the fruits of her effort in person.

When I’m feeding her, I look at her face, her hands, her feet. Wow, she really DID come out with eyebrows. Huh, how is it possible I helped to create these fingers, these minuscule (and yet deadly with their sharpness) fingernails?

The emails were right, she had done so much while baking, with a little help from Mama. I’m incredulous with just the enormity of it all- she’s a little person, completely formed (well, the teeth aren’t out yet, thank goodness) and growing more and more each day.

We take time to stop and gaze at our creation, her little “things’ that people who aren’t as familiar won’t notice- the way she raises her eyebrows when stretching, how she looks for us when out of her sight, the grunting noise she makes when pooping.

Piper is a wonder.

So, you know how people say, “It’ll get easier”? Well, they were right. At least, I think it goes, “Well, this phase will get easier.” See, you come home with a brand new baby, a new member to your family and you live your life for them. You eat when they sleep, you sleep when they sleep, you get up when they get up, you cry when they cry. It’s all about conditioning.

Then, when you’re facebooking from your phone (I know, “SURE, when the hell will I have time for that?? Well, if *I* can do it, so can you), and twittering about the lack of sleep and how you’re pretty sure you haven’t slept a solid two hours in a week, people will tell you it gets easier. Then, you’ll reply (in your head), “Kiss my ass. It’ll get easier. Psh. I want to punch you in the neck.” I did it, you’ll do it, our children will do it, their children will do it, and so on.

I’m here to say, IT DOES GET EASIER. I know, right?! Sure, certain things get easier and certain things get harder, but I think it does that so it all evens out. Just when you start getting frustrated because your baby just DOES NOT WANT TO BE PUT DOWN, she’ll sleep 5 hours in a row. And yes, those five hours will be in your arms, but at least you’ll be in YOUR bed, and sleeping as well. You’ll be bitching about her not sleeping in her bassinet, and all of a sudden, she sleeps three hours in there and two in your arms.

Babies do this for a reason. To make us reconsider having #2 and 3. No, really, I think it’s just God’s way of making sure we take nothing for granted. Piper had an extreme blowout- down her leg, up her back, and around the front. I was out of my mind with shock. Then, she smiled. She was covered in mustard yellow poop from ankle to neck. and she SMILED. I think we have something to learn from babies (other than that kickass pooping up the back trick). When life gives you mustard poop, smile.

When people tell you it’ll get easier, thank them, because it does. At least, until the next momentous occasion comes along (i.e. rolling or laughing) and the baby is up all night playing with their newfound talent. It all goes by so fast, and if we spend even 25% of the time grumbling about it we’ll miss it.

Like my pregnancy, my mothering is easy. No, not the lack of sleep, the spit up rivers, the fountain of poop (that was quite the experience), but just the unimaginable love that I have for Piper.

Sure, it’s frustrating to try to get her to sleep ONE night in her bassinet, and it’s even harder to stop having to pick her up to sleep with us. but she changes so much week by week. So when she wakes up for good at around 6am, after a long night of not sleeping, with a huge smile I can’t help but smile back. Yes, I have quite the luggage set under my eyes, and I rarely get into bed later than 9pm, but my god, she’s amazing.

Today, as I was nursing her at work, I had her hand in mine with its minuscule nails and invisible fingerprints. I changed her diaper, and as I blew raspberries on her tummy (I KNOW she’ll laugh at that someday, so I do it constantly waiting for the first one), I looked down at her- I made this, I think. Somehow, an invisible to the naked eye sized sperm and a slightly bigger egg came together to create a PERSON. How is this not more widely celebrated?! Two bits of people came together to create a WHOLE NEW PERSON from SCRATCH.

You know when you’re holding someone else’s child, and they get all fussy and squirmy, so you hand them back to the person the child wants- Mommy (or daddy, I know)? Well, apparently, I am that Mommy. Piper is relaxed with ME. Sometimes it’s slightly a burden, as I WOULD like to try to pee by myself without Paul knocking on the door with a screaming baby who wants nothing other than her mama, but it’s also a miracle. Piper knows her mama! I AM HER MAMA, and she KNOWS it.

Somewhere along the line, I became a mom. After the first week of her birth, when I was bogged down with feedings and lack of sleep, it became great. My milk supply is overwhelming, her latch is fantastic, and her face is magnificent. Everyone claims she looks exactly like both of us, which is funny. A friend said she’s never seen a baby who looks so much like both parents.

Piper does some funny things, she still wakes herself up with flailing arms, and will occasionally give me quite the headbutt when she gets tired of holding her own head up, but let me tell you- she has the tiniest, pinkest and softest tush you have ever seen. The three rolls on her legs are so squeezable and delightful, and her ears are like perfect little shells.

How did I ever get so lucky?

(please forgive me in regards to hours things happened, I honestly was so out of it- what you need to know: labor was 25 hours, pushed for 2, baby delivered in minutes, just before midnight)

After a full day of work for both of us, Paul and I dropped off our dog at 9pm and then went to the store to pick up snacks and water bottles (and magazines for Paul). I was feeling frustrated already since my mom had asked me to call her before we left, and I called twice with no answer. Then we headed over to Dad’s house- who wasn’t home. He was supposed to be there!! I had to call him and wait until he showed up- as per usual “I didn’t realize how late it was”. Then I was short with him and cut the meeting short because we were running late anyway. So then I got in the car feeling bad for that as well as dropping off Woofie.

Anyway, we get to the hospital early enough to be admitted and hooked up to my pitocin drip before 10:30pm (the IV went into my WRIST. Not the inside, not even really the OUTSIDE, but the SIDE of my wrist). Our room was a large corner room in which I would be delivering as well as recovering for two hours post delivery. We get settled, I put Seinfeld on (it’s the episode where Jerry and Elaine were chosen as godparents for a baby- first scene was in the hospital) and I wait. My internal shows I’m still at the same progress from two weeks ago- 2cm 80% effaced. Bummer!

Paul gets a few hours of sleep, since I figured I’d need him less in the early parts of the pitocin-induced labor. I had a ton of contractions I didn’t even feel! After a few hours, they upped my drip a few times, concerned the contractions weren’t getting stronger. Meanwhile, I was watching A Christmas Story on demand, the baby was kicking all around not affected one bit by the pitocin at all. After A Christmas Story, I watched Indiana Jones IV, when Paul woke up half-way through. We just kind of sat there watching the movie and not really doing much. Of course I was constantly checked on by nurses, and just never really had a chance to relax at all, what with the blood pressure cuff I was made to wear constantly inflating every half hour.

Before long, it’s 6:30am. I slept for an hour max, and the nurse said she was surprised I wasn’t awakened by the contractions I was having. Apparently, they were pretty bad! Then she mentioned the epi guy was about to go into surgery, and they were going to up my pitocin by a lot, so would I want to wait and power it out or get the epi? I requested the epi- got it at 7am. It creeped me out, to be honest. The pain wasn’t fun, but I’m no good with needles anyway.

The epi kicks in, and we pretty much just sit around for hours. My OB came in at about 9am to check my progression, and to break my water, as well as insert a catheter. After 11 hours of pitocin I was still only dilated 3cm, and it appeared she hadn’t moved down- she had moved UP. So, after breaking my water, the OB mentioned that we may have to consider non-vaginal means if my progression continued to stall, or progress slowly. She was going to check me four hours later and hopefully I’d make some progression. After the water breaking, the pitocin was upped and the contractions got stronger. When I was checked at 1pm, I had progressed to 4cm. They upped my pitocin yet again, and contractions got even stronger. So did the pain on my left side- at around 5pm, I started feeling aches when I’d get hit with a larger contraction. By now I was about 19 hours into labor and that epi was working well, but not well enough and the epi guy was sent to check out my line- the epi wasn’t dripping correctly.

At 8pm, the contractions got stronger and I was checked- I was 7cm dilated, but she was still pretty up there. They could feel a “lip” of cervix, and wanted me to progress a bit more. That’s when it started getting painful- I was in transition, and they wanted to be very conservative with my epi so I could push- seriously, my leg was dead, I couldn’t even move it (it’s still numb in the thigh now). So the pain got stronger, and the pressure started building with every contraction. When they say “pressure” what they mean is a feeling like a meatloaf sized brick is attempting to push itself out of your bowels- I have never in my LIFE felt such pressure. Thanks to the epi, I couldn’t feel pain, but the pressure was enough to make me want to bite my hand. It was 8pm when the OB came back- still a lip of cervix, so they were going to give me another hour to see if it goes away on it’s own. During that hour, I was massively uncomfortable. The epi was useless, as the pain wasn’t an issue- the pressure was literally stopping me from breathing. I’m not a religious person, but I was begging God for some help, asking my husband to say a prayer for me, as I just couldn’t do it anymore.

During the day I had a few naps, no big sleeps, and they were worried I’d be too tired to deliver- as evidenced by my nodding off constantly. Despite that, when 9pm (or so) came around, the pressure was unbearable and I needed to push. I pushed for two hours, each time I’d get close enough to have the head show (DH actually watched, as he had to hold my leg), then she’d be sucked back up where she came from, I’d fall asleep during contractions which was a little worrying. It was two hours of fruitless pushing and pooping (everyone was right, as the pressure got worse I couldn’t care less) when they had my OB come in. She was worried that I was very exhausted, and the baby’s head was starting to mold into my pelvis from being constantly wedged in there with each push- so she was not happy. At this point it was decided that I should have an emergency c- the pitocin had long been turned off and the pain from normal contractions was very unpleasant with the epi. They needed some time to prepare the OR, as I was the 7th c-section that day (a ton of emergency ones), so I had to spend the next 20 or so minutes in absolute agony from the unbearable pressure- I literally was holding my butt while laying on my side, my legs crossed like I had to pee. What a bummer, spent 24/25 hours fighting contractions and in agony only to need a c-sec after all.

Finally, I was given a reprieve and they collected me for surgery. Paul was beside me the whole time, and they really hustled getting her out, tugging very hard in some areas to free her. She was purple and slimy, but all ours. “She’s a big girl!” they said, as I loopily lay there crying. Paul got to cut her cord, and take pictures of everything. Because of all the meds I had in me, I was trying to say things but nothing came out correctly. I was slurring all over the place and falling asleep randomly. They showed her to me and I said, “Is it still a she?” They all laughed and said, yes, “It” is. I then said she looked like Paul, and fell asleep as they sewed me together. I was rolled into recovery where they helped me undo my gown and laid her on me. She latched on immediately and I got to feed her what I had been leaking for so long- she nursed for 40 minutes. Finally, they had to take her to the nursery to get measured and tested, but Paul was with her the whole time, taking pictures. I never got the chills or vomited, they took very good care of me. I was given percocet and sent to our room, where I met up with Paul. Since the night shift was light, we were able to have her stay in the nursery that night- although it was only three hours from the 2am when we got settled into our room to 5am, when she was brought in to get fed.

She is still a great breastfeeder, but the first day was rough because she split my nipples. We had a lac. consultant come in, but I was so tired I just keep nodding off. We were in the hospital from Monday night to Saturday morning. Paul never left my side, and we roomed with her the whole time which took some getting used to. Paul  changed almost 90% of the diapers those first few weeks, including her first meconium one, and he’s just in love with her. We both are. She looks like both of us! They removed my catheter on Thursday and it was nuts having to get up out of bed to pee. It was like I forgot how. My milk came in on Thursday, and boy was I engorged. I still am, really, I just have so much milk for her that she can never empty a breast.

The swelling went down, but was not gone for at least a week after I got home. She grunts like a football player when she poops, it is the funniest thing ever. The nurse remarked that she had never had a baby that did that, so we’re kind of proud.

Now, a few pics from the experience:

I'm in the background, you just can't see me

In our hospital room. God I hated that bed.

I am SO sorry I haven’t posted pics! Up to now I had been posting quickie blogs off my blackberry,  so everything was taking twice as long to write- couple that with usually having a baby in  my arms for 90% if the time and well, it makes for a huge lack of pictures.

Anyway, I am now back at work. Luckily, someone came with me! Yep, Piper has a little corner of my office here, her pack n play is set up, her travel swing sits beside it and we are now on day 2 of working together. It takes a little getting used to, especially changing her diaper in the back room in full view of a few of my co-workers. I feel a little bad for Piper’s lack of privacy, it’s sad to know more people than Paul and I have seen her “private area”. Don’t get me wrong, I try to change her when no one else is in, but sometimes it’s URGENT that poopy diaper gets removed from the situation!

I’m very lucky I get to bring my daughter to work with me every day. Not only does it enable me to be with her 24/7 (which CAN be overload, though), but it also makes breastfeeding easier, too. I just give her a boob when I’m alone in office, or sneak away to the back room for a bit to feed her.

Piper is six weeks now, and she changes every day. One day she’ll stare blankly at the wall, and the next she’s focusing on toys as they pass through her line of sight. For the first six weeks she slept exclusively on me. Seriously, ON ME. My sleep was so light for fear of tipping her over or smothering her, so I was a wreck. Not to jinx anything, but for the third night in a row she has slept in her bassinet for at least five hours! Of course, that’s not five hours in a row, but I’ll take it! In fact, last night she even lost a feeding- waking only at 2am then going back down for another 3 hours! Holy crap!

She didn’t really nap all that much at work yesterday and was majorly fussy when I got home. I was afraid she’d be so tired she couldn’t sleep, and I was steeling myself for the idea that she’d be up all night. Of course, it would be the day we ran out of her Johnson’s bedtime bathtime washcloths (with a special fragrance to soothe her), so Paul had to run to CVS to get more, and OF COURSE, they were out. So her bath was late, and with a new addition: the Johnson’s bedtime bath WASH. Finally, after 9pm (more than a full hour past her usual bath time) we got her in the bath and bundled up in a soft sleeper, and she ate for a good hour (sounds like a long time, but it was drifting in and out of sleep too). I put her down in her bassinet and she fussed for a time, more making noises than actually crying. Eventually, she was so tired she just fell asleep, and stayed asleep until 2:30am! Holy lord! In fact, I woke at 2am with the major sneezes, unable to go back to sleep, but afraid to get up and get tissues for fear of waking her.

So, cross your fingers that this is a trend!

Anyway, thanks to our good friend Tina (her FABULOUS photo blog is here ), we have pictures of the baby!

Here are some from Christmas Eve:

Piper and I, she's modeling her Dodgers Onesie!

Her and Daddy!

He's such a good dad

I love this shot

All the things I love in life

A funny one with her tongue

This is the typical shot of her

Finally, Piper with a friend of ours, he seems ready to be a Dad, too. Ha ha, I bet somewhere he just got the chills randomly.

Jeremy and Piper

So that’s our update! I still owe you that birth story, I know!