It's a Journey...

We've now officially left happy Newbornland and have entered the slums of Betsville.

You know happy Newbornland! Your baby is so cute, so smushy, and even though you haven't slept since you were pregnant, you don't care. Cause you're happy you're not pregnant anymore, and you're so happy to see you new lil munchkin, and he sleeps for 22 hours a day in your arms, in the car, at a restaurant. Hell he'd probably sleep through a Lady Gaga concert. And people send you things, and bring you dinner, and visit and help and all is right with the world. I mean, did you see my last post? I was blabbering about freakin' flowers blooming and fuzzy ducklings!

And then its four weeks later. No one cooks dinners for you anymore. Everyone goes back to their own lives. And you're left with your child. Yet, it's not the same child, it seems. This one is a dandruffy, pimply-faced mutant with weird hair. He's decided not to sleep anymore. Ever again. And if you try to make him he will cry in your face with his newly discovered windpipes. Oh, and you better watch out cause he will pee and poop on you too, just to prove his point.

Ah, yes. The slums of Betsville. This is where the laundry sits mildewing in the washer for days, having been long forgotten until the last spit-up-free onsie is desperately needed but can't be had because it has grown mold. This is where crusty dishes pile up night after night. Half eaten bowls of cereal sit curdling on the table because you were interrupted mid-bite and never would return. Come on! This is my cereal time - is nothing sacred?! A cup of coffee spilt as you tried to constrain the flailing limbs of your baby congeals under the side table, never having seen a paper towel. Used bottles and baby-care books (useless, btw) and dirty diapers lay strewn about. And you smell and look like a homeless person. Spit-up spots your t-shirt and crusts in your hair. Your teeth have film. Your fingernails are ragged, your legs unshaven, and your underwear unchanged for who knows how long. And yet, having existed on only 3 broken hours of sleep a day for the past four weeks, you are so disoriented you don't give a shit!

This gets funner, right?

You are counting down the days until your child will start to sleep through the night. Your husband is counting down the days until he can "be intimate" with you. He's imagining role play. Ok. Let's role play. You tell him to imagine himself as a woman with torn privates, a handful of itchy stitches holding together said privates, and a plethora of screaming hemorrhoids who exists on 3 broken hours of sleep a night. Wanna do it?

Things will get better. I'm sure of it. I mean, I've got friends with kids who actually smile once in awhile. Can't wait.

Ahh, Spring Is In the Air

Springtime. It's a great time for babies, don't you think? I was driving through my neighborhood rejoicing in all the greenery that has finally sprouted, and passed by the pond near our house. The geese have made fuzzy little goslings, and a whole family was hanging out near the water. It was one of those moments that just makes you smile, and I wanted to roll down the window and shout to them, "I have one of those too!!"

Babies are such a miracle. My miracle happened on Easter Sunday, when Noah came out of my body (finally!) and into the world. Noah Dean Bets was born at 2:12 pm on April 24th, 2011 at 7 lbs 14 ounces.

I gave birth to Noah at home, with the assistance of my very experienced midwives Kate and Jill and my awesome husband. I'll get into why I chose homebirth in a future post, but I will tell you that it was the most intense experience I will probably ever have in my life.

My labor started around 2:30 am when my water broke, which woke me up from a strange dream where I was flying through space admiring the constellations. No word yet on what that all means, but in any event I was startled and thought I had lost control of my bladder. Again. (Please see previous posts on this unfortunate circumstance of pregnancy.) I called my midwife and she told me that I probably did lose my water, and my contractions should start getting more intense. Try to sleep, she said. Sure! I replied, rolling my eyes.

Mat and I got up and tried to watch a movie and sure enough, contractions got stronger. Kate arrived at the house around 9:30 am, and when she checked me an hour later I was 7 cm dilated and ready to get the show on the road.

Did I already say that this was the most intense experience of my life? I loved that I could walk around my own home, lay in my own bed, choose whatever position I wanted to be in that felt, well, less uncomfortable than the other positions. But natural childbirth is...intense. There's that word again! My contractions were so strong and exhausting that as I worked through the transition stage into pushing, I was literally falling asleep between each one. Mat tried to joke with me, but I was in such a zone I just ignored him and concentrated. I've never felt so primal, so animalistic, so feminine, and like such a wild woman as I did while I gave birth to my son in my bedroom while Mat held me up. My screams echoed through the neighborhood, and I'm sure someone thought I was being murdered in there.

But I did it. Noah came out with his hand up by his head - not awesome for me but it seems to be his natural tendency. He was perfect in every way, and as I held the newly born him, my body still coursing with adrenaline and drenched in sweat, I lay back on my bed and sighed. Yes, I did it.