This is the Girl Who Wouldn't Sleep At Night

Not to be a tattle-tale, but you know the night she didn't sleep from 3-5AM? Well she slept A LOT the next day - here she is, barely able to keep her eyes open. She sure played us!

We're In For It

As new parents, Ian and I are always trying to figure things out, like Ruthie's schedule, what her cries mean, what she may want, when the best time is for us to eat that would make it most likely we could both eat at the same time and so on. We worry that she's sleeping too much or not enough. And each day, at some point or the other, we inevitably say, "Tonight, we might be in for it."

The truth is, Ruthie is really good at night. She nurses and goes right back to sleep and we don't do any bouncing, pacing, rocking or anything at night. Of course, we know this is not how it is for everyone and so we feel really lucky. So lucky, in fact, that we're sure that any night now, we're really going to have a hard go. So each day, we think that night might be the one. For example, if she has a really fussy day, we'll look at each other and say, "Well, we might be in for it tonight." But then the next day, she'll sleep a lot. And of course, we worry that she slept so much during the day that we'll be "in for it" that night.

But each night of her previous 5 1/2 weeks, she has been a perfect angel. Nursing and then going right back to bed.

Until last night.

She did great at her 10PM feeding - nursed and went right to sleep. Then, she slept until 3AM, which was great. When she cried at 3, I got up and nursed her and while I was nursing her, I noticed she seemed a little more alert than usual. But I carried on, finished nursing her and put her into bed. She went to sleep, so I thought we were once again off the hook for the you-know-what hitting the fan.

I crawled back into bed around 3:20, as Ian rolled over and said, "Did you nurse her already?" I made a joking comment about "Where have you been?" and tried to fall back asleep. About 10 minutes later, she cried out. We are trying this new thing where we let her cry a little before we go get her (novel, I know). Ian mumbles out a very profound, "Did you already nurse her?" to which I don't respond, since he's clearly not following the night's events. Anyway, she cried for about two minutes and then fell back asleep. Saved again!

But then ten minutes later, she did the same thing. For the next hour, she cried every ten minutes for about 2 minutes. Finally, I got up and went into her room. She had spit up all over her bed and nightgown (at which point I'm of course feeling like a terrible mother for letting her lay cold and wet in spit up for an hour). So of course, I change her bed and change her. Now, she is wide awake from all the activity. So I set to rocking her. And then I nurse her. And then I sing to her. And then I rock her some more.

At 5, she is still wide awake. I finally give her the pacifier and put her in bed, wide awake. I slump back to our room, get back in bed (to a sleepy Ian who thoughtfully offers to "take the next shift" even though he has to get up for work in an hour) and promptly fall asleep myself. Thankfully, she didn't stir.

At 6:30AM, I hear her call out again. I say to Ian (who is up for work now), "Is that her?" Though I'm exhausted and she hasn't been asleep that long, it's been three and a half hours since her last good nursing, so I swing back the covers and I'm half way out the bedroom door when Ian's words finally get my attention - "That wasn't her. She didn't cry." Slightly distressed at the fact that I'm now imagining crying but mostly just thankful I can go back to bed, I quickly get under the covers. Ian makes me promise I will take a nap today, kisses me goodbye and I go back to sleep. And hurray! She sleeps until 8:30 (and so do I).

Was that the worst it could possible be? Certainly not. But it was the hardest night we've had with her in a long time. We'll see what today holds. Maybe tonight we'll be in for it.

I leave you with this photo, since a post about Ruthie with no Ruthie photos is terrible.

I Can See Why My Dad Chose the Dishes

Not too long ago, my mom told me a story from my childhood. A harrowing story, really, as you'll see soon.

She said that when I was born, she told my dad, "Now that there are five, I'm going to need your help. You can either do bath time, help with bedtime or do the dishes." That means, that for all the years previously, she was cooking the dinner, cleaning it up, doing bath time for four kids and putting four kids to bed. Now, I love my dad and he is a great father, but seriously, men back then just did not pull the weight fathers today do! I cannot believe my mother did all of that!

Anyway, back to the story. So what did he choose?

The dishes.

I'll admit, when I first heard that, I was a little put out, thinking, "Why didn't he choose to spend time with us?"

Then yesterday, Ruthie basically screamed from 5:30 until 6:30, when Ian got home. And that was WITH the pacifier AND me holding her. So after dinner, even though I had cooked it and usually Ian does the clean up, I happily did the dishes while he carried her around and tried to sooth her for another hour or so.

Here she is, after I've feed her. Mind you, by this point she's been up for about 4 hours without a nap, which for a newborn, is a very long time!
Now this doesn't look like the face of a girl who is just about to fall asleep, does it? Nope. It looks like the face of a girl saying, "Suckers!" to her parents.
Ah, well, what can you do? Thank goodness I have Ian to help me. Because truth be told, some days, you're happy to do the dishes.

It's Come to This

Ian came home from work the other day to this:

He looked at the zip lock bag, drying on our paper towel holder, and said to me, "It's come to this, huh?"

Yes, my love, it's come to this. I have taken a vow of frugality and it has infiltrated every area of our lives.* I have stooped to drying zip lock bags so we can reuse them. Bless my poor husband's soul, he didn't do more than shrug his shoulders. He seems to be accepting my new frugal trend as best as can be expected.

When I start air drying the paper towels and reusing those, then I think some intervention is necessary. Until then, I am actually enjoying finding lots of little ways to save money and live within our one salary means.

Any advice out there for me in other ways to save?

*Well, maybe not every area. I was talking the other day about how I need some new brown boots. No, truly, I need them. I think my feet stretched a tiny bit in pregnancy because my current brown boots are uncomfortable now. See? I'm justified. =)

Life With Ruthie

For all the posts I write about Ruthie, of which I'm sure there will be many, I've decided to call them "Life with Ruthie." So here is our first official "Life With Ruthie" post.

Last Saturday, Ruth Nellie went to her first birthday party. Sarah and Eric's second son, Noah, celebrated his 7th birthday with pancakes, sports at the park, presents and ice cream. It was the first time since Ruthie's birth that the whole family was together (sans my parents, who were traveling around the tip of South America on a two week cruise). Naturally, we got a picture of all the grandkids together. Here they are, all 13! What riches. I think I've mentioned before that Mary and Mike are expecting number 3, so we won't be 13 for long. Number 14 should be joining us in late March or early April.
We have been weighing Ruthie each week - yesterday she topped off at 10 pounds. 1o pounds! Isn't that amazing? She's doing so great, and is clearly gaining lots of weight. (Hey, that rhymes.) Here she is on her changing table, showing how big she is.

On Tuesday, Ian went back to work. Ruthie and I actually had a really good week on our own. I was afraid there would be lots of tears Tuesday morning, but we managed quite well. However, we were very excited for Daddy to come home on Tuesday (and each day since). So before he was due home, I changed her into an outfit befitting the occasion and took some photos. They all turned out so cute, but this one below is her best old man impersonation.

And here she is, getting some kisses from Daddy. Ian misses her a lot when he's at work, but he has made up for it this weekend, holding her, bathing her, changing her, reading to her and singing to her. What a good Daddy! And she loves her pokey kisses. Both of Ian's girls do. =)

Today in church as I was worshipping next to Ian (who was holding Ruthie in the Moby), I felt a wave of gratitude sweep over me. What a good gift Ruthie is and we are so thankful for her. Please, Lord, let me never forget what an answer to prayer she is and what a demonstration of your abundant goodness she is in our lives.

Three Year Anniversary

The big 0-3. On January 10th, Ian and I celebrated our 3rd anniversary. And considering we had a three week old, we had a very special time!

I had a Downtown Gift Card from work, a rather generous one my boss gave me before I left for all the interviewing and work I did on hiring my replacement (thought that was part of my job, so I was pretty excited about the gift card!), so Ian and I decided to blow the whole thing on our anniversary. We got a night at the Hotel Maya, a waterfront hotel next to the Queen Mary in Downtown Long Beach. I used one of my work contacts to get a really good deal on the room, so we had plenty left on the card to go out for appetizers in the afternoon, dinner that night and room service for breakfast!

We arrived at 3 - of course, since that's when check in was. We sat out on the patio overlooking the water and had appetizers and cocktails (well, Ian had a cocktail, I had a coke). It was great.

Then later that night, Mary came down to our hotel room so Ian and I could go to dinner at the restaurant at the hotel. It was GLORIOUS to have an hour and a half to ourselves, to not worry about the noise she might be making or if she was about to wake up. And Ruthie did great with Aunt Mary!

Here we are at dinner. Yes, I had a little wine. We save a cork from each of our anniversaries as part of our tradition. Some day, we'll have a whole huge vase full of corks, each labeled with a year.
When we got back to the room, Mary took a photo of us on the balcony. You can sort of see Downtown in the background. We so appreciated her willingness to come to our hotel so we could go out.

And here is the whole family, enjoying the hotel. Well, sort of. Ruthie is screaming. But Ian and I enjoyed the hotel. We love hotels. =)

As per our traditions, we read our ceremony and vows, answered our anniversary questions, looked through our wedding photos and prayed together. We also exchanged gifts - the traditional gift for year three is leather. I got Ian a belt and he got me a journal. We were pretty proud of ourselves that we actually had gifts wrapped and ready to go.

Of course, I cried all through our re-reading of the ceremony. It is so special - I can totally hear my dad's voice as we read through it, and I'm continually thankful for the man Ian is and the marriage we have.

Anyway, I could go on and on but I'll spare you mushy details. Happy Anniversary to us!

The Great Meltdown of 2012

I suppose it's a little early to declare what happened last night as "The Great Meltdown of 2012" because it's only January - I suppose much worse is probably coming in the 11 months that remain. But let me tell you, there was lots and lots of crying last night.

It all started when I was trying to put Ruthie down. She was fighting sleep and wouldn't be soothed, so I "gave in" and gave her the pacify. I really battle with the pacifier concept On the one hand, it's so nice that it comforts here. But on the other hand, I feel like sometimes we give it to her just to make our lives easier - but then, is that a bad thing? Anyway, back to the point. I was discouraged last night that I couldn't sooth her and that I had to give her a pacifier. In the meantime, I began to sense what felt like my third, count it, THIRD plugged duct in a week and a half. So by the time I got done with Ruthie and walked into our family room, I had worked myself into an emotional frenzy. As soon as I saw Ian, I burst into tears.

And I would say I stayed in those tears for about twenty minutes. Of course, Ian was trying to comfort me and figure out what he could say to make me feel better. After we'd been talking for a while, he asked me to name three things I was worried about, and then two things I was very excited about. Questions like that are always good because they force me to vocalize what I'm feeling and why I'm crying.

I said I was worried about the pacifier and if we were doing the right thing by giving it to Ruthie. Heather, my sister in law, says that one of the hardest things about being a new parent is all the hundreds of decisions you are now making for this new little person. And it's so true. Should we swaddle her? Does she need to be changed? Should I feed her now? Do you think she's cold? Are we giving her the pacifier too much?

Which brings us back to the topic at hand.

So that was the first thing. Then, of course, I said I was worried about losing the weight. It's funny - you go out in public, like to church or Disneyland, and people ask you how old your baby is. Whatever answer you give, they then look you up and down, and you can just feel them assessing whether they think you look good or not for the time frame you gave. And normally, weight stuff doesn't bother me, but in this case, I have such few things that fit and I don't want to wear the same five things for three months. (It's tough to be so vain, I know.) Plus, as I wept to Ian last night, I like to eat and I'm hungry at lot of the time now, so I battle in my mind about wanting to eat and wanting to lose weight.

Okay, enough of that. The third thing I said I was worried about was my plugged ducts. It would seem I'm prone to plugged ducts and they are very painful and consuming. We had planned on going to Disneyland again today (we ended up being blocked out) and I didn't want to give that up to spend all day trying to clear the duct. And I don't want to spend the next year living in terror that one might be coming.

As I moaned all of this out to Ian, I also felt guilty. Sometimes I feel bad complaining because Ruthie is such a good baby, but the truth is, I have bad days too, even with an easy baby. I have so many hormones raging and even though she's good, I'm still under slept and it's still a HUGE transition becoming a parent. I should like I'm justifying, don't I?

But on to the bright side. In response to what I'm looking forward to, I said staying home with Ruthie. I am so excited and feel so blessed that we are able to make it work for me to stay home with this precious girl. I love taking care of her and am so honored that I get to do that with my time now.

I also said I was looking forward to my parents coming home. They've been on a cruise for about three weeks now and I miss them. There is something about becoming a mom myself that has made me want to spend more time with my own mom. I look forward to them coming home in a few days, so I can call her about my plugged duct or how Ruthie's fighting her nap or about the amazingly cute thing she did. My mom is a great audience for things like that - even though she has 13 grandchildren, she thinks each one is the most incredible. So you can see why I want to spend time with her. I hope some day Ruthie feels about me how I feel about my mom.

So that is the conclusion to the great meltdown. I love this blog; it's a good place for me to process and share and be real. And the real truth is, sometimes, I lay on the couch and blubber to my husband. Poor man; he probably thought that was ending with pregnancy. Boy, did he have another thing coming. We'll just have to see what other meltdowns lie ahead. Brace yourselves, people.

Ruthie's Birth Story

Let me caution you right now. This is a LONG post. It is not for the faint of heart, so if you don't have the time/interest in reading it all, my feelings are not hurt (nor will I even know about it - one of the pitfalls and advantages of the internet). I wrote this over the course of several days, when I had such an overwhelming desire to capture everything I was feeling and thinking. So feel free to skim, skip or read in portions. Or not at all. But in case you want all the details, and I do mean all, then read on.

Ruth Nellie McCurry is here. It only took one year of trying, 9 months of pregnancy, 11 days of being overdue and 35 hours of labor. But she was worth every minute.

Just after midnight, at 12:22AM on Sunday, December 18th, I had a semi-large contraction and my water broke. I pulled the sheets back and called out to Ian to turn on the light. Since I was afraid of moving and making a mess, I asked him to check and see if my water had broken. He looked (very dubiously) and declared there was nothing to be seen. I was sure something had happened, so I stood up, and sure enough, the water works began. How excited we were! After 11 days of being post due, we were thrilled to have started labor. And with no inducement! I was very excited.

Because of the GroupB Strep I was a carrier for with this pregnancy, we were instructed to come to the hospital as soon as my water broke. We started gathering our things. Ian went to the kitchen to grab my Gatorade and the cookies I had made for the nurses. While he was in there, he noticed a rushing water sound. He went outside and found that our water heater was spraying a steady stream of hot water all over our back patio. Seems that me and the water heater where on a similar timeline. Knowing we needed to get on our way to the hospital, we just turned the water off and figured we would deal with it later.

So at 12:45AM, after a quick post on my blog, we loaded our overnight bags in the car, and headed off to Memorial Hospital, a mere five minutes away. Since my contractions were only coming about every 20 minutes and were very light, we parked together and walked to the main entrance together. We were greeted by the night guard with a “Baby day today, huh?” and directed toward the labor and delivery check in. On the second floor, we checked and were told to be seated, someone would be with us shortly. (Would they still do that if I was screaming in pain? I think the front desk lady doubted we were in labor.) After about 7 or so minutes (6 minutes too long for Ian), a nurse came to get us and took us to triage, where they test to make sure you’re really in labor. They hooked up an external fetal monitor and took a sample of my fluids, to see if my water really had broken. At that time, the nurse told us that Dr. Runic, the doctor from our group practice who was on call, wanted to start Pitocin to get labor going. Shocked that we were already being offered intervention and drugs (we had our birth plan, you see), we politely declined and said we would like to have nature take its course.

After that, they let us know they would be admitting us and would ready a room. About one and half hours later (again, I sincerely hope it wouldn’t take that long to get a room ready if I was experiencing intense contractions) we were taken to our labor and delivery room. Little did we know how long we would be in that room. But Karen, a very cheerful night nurse, acclimated us to the room and showed us how everything worked. The room was great and we were so thankful to be out of the triage bed.

Since everything was moving so slowly, we decided not to call the rest of the members of our birth team. We thought it best to let Mom and Mary sleep through the night. So from about 2:30AM until 6AM, Ian and I quietly labored on our own. We mostly did laps around the hospital floor, up and down every hall way. My contractions came about every 8 to 10 minutes and lasted about a minute long, and peaked at about a five on the scale. They were pretty minor and very manageable. Since I was so comfortable, I had the sneaking suspicion these contractions weren’t really doing anything too much, but we were patient and happy.

Around 7AM, we called Mom and told her we were at the hospital, but that things were moving very slowly. She was very excited to hear the news, but since there was no emergency, decided to shower before getting on her way. We gave her Ian’s breakfast order and then continued on in our room. At about 7:30, Dr. Runic came in for a visit. She asked if she could check me for dilatation and after a quick inspection, said I was at a 1. We weren’t too discouraged, considering I had been a .5 the last time I was checked at the doctor’s office a few weeks prior. She looked at our chart and saw that the contractions were still coming, so she didn’t try to push the Pitocin. She did say I could have breakfast, since, as she said, “I’ll be frank with you – this is going to be a long day.” I was very glad to hear about the breakfast and not too worried about the long day, since we had prepared ourselves for that.

Mom arrived with breakfast and a smiling face a little bit after that and we all ate (I had hospital food and then later a bagel from the cafeteria) in our room. Everyone was relaxed and happy.
At around 8:45AM or so, we decided to call Mary. I told her our news but encouraged her to go on to church, since everything was happening so slowly. She decided to come to the hospital first to say hello and then went on her way to church. Mom ran back to our house quickly to get a few things we wanted, like the exercise ball and Scrabble. By this time, a very nice nurse named Su was taking care of us. As it neared lunchtime, I was hungry again and asked if I was cleared to eat lunch. She updated Dr. Runic of my status, who agreed that I was still far enough away from actually delivering that I could have lunch. So on her way back, Mom brought Ian In and Out and I ate from the hospital. There was still no real pick up in my contractions, but we were patient and content.

After church, Sarah came over and the three ladies chatted and chatted, while Ian enjoyed a little break from conversation. Around 4PM, Su came in and said that Dr. Runic had been in touch and that if things didn’t pick up, by 6PM she would like to start the Pitocin. At this point, Ian and I both felt like that wouldn’t be too terrible of a thing, since we were beginning to see that no progress was being made. Mom and Mary both talked to us about starting the Pitocin a little earlier, since it sort of seemed inevitable. Their reasoning was that we were going to have to do it anyway, why not get a two hour jump on it and have the baby that much sooner. We talked it over and decided to go ahead with it. At 4:45PM, after a little over 16 hours of labor, we started the Pitocin. While we waited for it to really get going, Mom, Sarah, Mary and I played a game of Scrabble – Mary won. By the end of the Scrabble game, I was starting to really feel those contractions. I got up for yet another walk around the hospital wing and right before I left, a contraction hit that actually brought me to tears. It was a little scary and a little overwhelming. I remember whispering to Ian, “That one really hurt.” My mom saw my tears and that time, she followed us around the floor on our little walk. I was so blessed to have Mom in the room with me – but I can now imagine how hard it must have been for her to see me in so much pain. But she says it is always better to be with the child in pain than away, wondering how they are doing.

By the time we got back from the walk, I was experiencing pretty heavy contractions. Pretty soon, they were full force and I was not interested in walking around or Scrabble anymore. Ian and I did the relaxation breathing and positions we learned about in our Bradley book and I practiced the low groaning and breathing that David and Gina recommended. Sarah and Mary would take turns pushing on my back, where a lot of the pain was, Mom would help me count out my breathing and Ian would hold my hand and keep his face very close to mine. How anyone labors alone I will never know. It truly took a team to keep me going.

While we’re on that subject, I have to say that Ian was truly amazing. He was so diligent and focused for the whole 35 hours. I was so loved by his constant and gentle attention. What a man!
So we labored on like this, with pretty heavy and very frequent contractions, until about 10:30PM, 22 hours since starting labor. At that point, Danielle (the night shift nurse who was truly amazing) asked if she could check my dilation for progress. We agreed and waited with anticipation for what our 22 hours would have accomplished.

And I will never forget Danielle’s words. As gently and graciously as possible, she delivered crushing news. She said, “There’s been no change.” I will always be grateful she didn’t say, “You’re still a 1,” which was true and what she could have said. But she tried to let me down easy. However, when I heard those words, I burst into tears. I think everyone in the room did – even Danielle told us later she was sure I was further along than that.

I almost don’t have words to describe how hearing that report felt. It was if my heart was breaking. I was so crushed and defeated. How could I be no further along, after all this pain and all this time and all those contractions? As Ian held my hand, I cried and cried. Pretty soon after that, Mom came over and very firmly began talking about getting an epidural. She said I would end up in a C section if I tried to go on like that. As we were approaching our second night of labor, meaning our second night with no sleep, she felt sure I would not have the endurance when the pushing finally came. Mary also came over to my bedside and told me how both she and Sarah progressed faster once they were on the epidural, because they were able to relax. She said that in looking at my chart, she could see that I wasn’t relaxing in between each contraction, as my valleys were never getting all the way back down to flat.

Of course, I wanted to know what Ian thought. This was against our “birth plan,” with our hopes for an unmedicated labor. The book tells you that just when you feel like you can’t make it, that’s when you’re really close. But those liars weren’t a 1 after 22 hours of labor. Ian agreed, as gently as he could, that the epidural would be best. It would allow us to sleep that night and be ready for a baby the next day.

So, I agreed to the epidural. And man, oh man, as soon as we decided I was getting it, I could not wait for that man to arrive and get it started. I didn’t want to feel one more contraction. Thankfully, he came fairly quickly and got it started. Literally within 5 minutes of getting it, I couldn’t feel a single contraction. It was HEAVEN. Part of my not wanting to get an epidural was my (mistaken) belief that it would make me completely dead from the waist down, that my legs would be like cement logs and that I wouldn’t feel anything. Well, I don’t know if my anesthesiologist was some incredible genius (pretty sure he was) but I could feel my legs, move them around, push myself up, wiggle my toes – all that, but no pain. INCREDIBLE. And as soon as all that was done with, Mom, Sarah and Mary all left. Ian pulled the sleeper bed next to my hospital bed and we both went to sleep. I slept for three glorious hours, until Danielle came to check me again. And this time, I was a 3. Not amazing, but PROGRESS. And such good news for me and Ian. We both went back to sleep for a little bit, but people were always coming in and out, so it was hard to get too much. Still, it was something and we were thankful.

At around 6AM, we were both alert and ready to focus again on the labor. Around that time, Danielle was a bit worried about the baby’s heartbeat, as it kept falling off. At that time, she also had a delivery in the room next door. (Did I already mention that two people came and went in that room next door before we had our Ruthie? I wish they had put me in magic room #10 instead of 11.) That being said, another nurse came in, who we didn’t know. We trusted Danielle and liked her so much that it was stressful for me to have this brand new nurse there right when things were looking serious. I had Ian get on the phone and call Mom, to see if she could come and be assuring. He only left a message (she had forgotten her phone and was actually already on the way) but, thankfully, the scare passed and Ruthie settled down. Sadly though, the shift changed, yet again, and now we were back with another new nurse.

This nurse was actually training a new nurse, so we had two – Jenny and Natalie. Natalie was amazing – so calm, so assuring. Jenny was…much better after we talked to Natalie. So around 8AM, Natalie checked me again and promptly announced I was an 8, and 90% effaced. An 8! It felt like I had won a gold medal. Way to go body! Getting all the way to an 8 while I wasn’t even feeling it. Amazing. Also around this time, my contractions began to come back, mostly in my back and pretty substantially. Mary was also back in the room by now and she recommended calling the anesthesiologist back to give another small dose. She said she had experienced that in her labor with Sam and it was best to just try to get it fixed before it got worse. Already convinced of the merits of the epidural, I was more than willing to have that magic man return and help a sister out. He gave me a small dose, to help with the back pain, and at 10:30 or so, they checked me again. This time, I was fully dilated and completely effaced. Natalie said I should wait until I felt the urge to push, because it would make everything easier. I can’t say that I exactly had the urge to push, but I was mentally very ready for it. I was ready to see that baby and be done with labor. So at 10:45AM, we started pushing.

The pushing was amazing. I loved it. For the first time, I felt in control of my labor. Because the epidural dosage had been small, I was actually able to feel each contraction and everything I was doing. With each push, I could feel her come a little further down. Mary and Ian held my legs and I would take a deep breath, then push three times, each time for about 8 seconds. And everyone would give great encouragement – Mom, Ian, Mary, Natalie and Jenny. They were all amazing at affirming each push and I was feeling great.

Pretty soon, they said they could see the head. Natalie invited Ian down to come see more of the action and to my surprise, he did. And he was truly amazed at what he was seeing. Natalie, a mom herself of two boys, encouraged me to reach my hand down and feel the top of the baby’s head, which I did. It was incredible. After about 25 or 30 minutes of that, Natalie thought we were far enough along to call the doctor in to check me. When the doctor came in to inspect if I was far enough along in my pushing, we all waited with baited breath, especially the nurses (they didn’t want to have cried wolf). After one or two big pushes, the doctor announced it was time for the stirrups and we all cheered silently that we had “passed.” Because Ruthie was 11 days late, she had already pooped in me and they were worried about her breathing in the meconium. So they assembled the NICU team, a group of specialized baby doctors and nurses who would be there in the room and work on her right after birth, in order to make sure she was okay.

By this time, there were 11 people in the delivery room, waiting to witness our miracle. Ian was getting very excited about finding out what we were having; I was getting very excited to be done. I remember now that when I was pregnant, I thought I would be so excited during the pursing, knowing we were just minutes away from finding out if it was a son or a daughter. But in the moment, all I could think was that soon it would all be over.

When the doctor was all set up and ready, he explained a few things (such as the ring of fire) and how I was to push to get her head out and then not push after that, so she didn’t come out too fast. Well, easier said than done on that front. But he was ready. It is a funny thing, because I didn’t know with the next push that she was coming out, but our bodies are amazing.
By this time, Mom and Mary had both positioned themselves at the foot of the bed, so they could really see when the baby came. Everyone was so excited and with one final push, she was there. The doctor caught her, but it was Ian who leaned over to me and through his tears whispered, “It’s a girl.” He was crying, Mom and Mary were crying and our little baby was crying. As the team took her and began to work on her, I kept calling out to her, “It’s okay, baby girl, Mommy loves you, sweet girl.” Over and over, I called out to her as she cried. Then Ian asked if it was okay for him to tell Mom and Mary her name. We had previously agreed that he would tell everyone at the same time – Dad and Sarah were in the waiting room, and Peter and Sheila were close to arriving. But in the moment, he wanted to tell Mom since her name was an honor to the woman who had just labored with us. So again, through his tears, he told Mom that her name was Ruth Nellie. I was able to tell that we named her Ruth because God had compassion on us and gave her to us, and of course, the Nellie part was self explanatory.

Once her name was public, I used it to call out to her, calling her Ruthie and telling her that Mommy was there. Finally (really, it was probably only 7 or 8 minutes), the doctor was done working on me and they NICU team reported that Ruthie was just fine, perfectly healthy. So they brought her over to me. I will never forget the feeling as they laid her on my chest. I was so excited to see what she looked like. And oh, was so beautiful. In that first moment, she looked very much like Ian to me and I was smitten from the first look. Soon, I moved her near my breast and she latched on for just a few short minutes.

It was a perfect moment, that time and space where I first met my daughter. I loved her in the womb, certainly, but I fell in love with her on the delivery table, in that room with so many strangers and three of the people in the world that know me best and love me most. It was incredible. My heart was almost bursting with affection for this little one who is now a permanent part of my life. She is imprinted on my soul and I am so grateful to our God, our compassionate God, for entrusting me and Ian with such a gift.

What Do We Do At Home These Days?

Truth be told, not too much. Basically, we sit around and stare at Ruthie. And quite frequently, we take a picture of whatever amazing thing she's doing. If you scroll through these photos, I'm sure you'll agree that she is the cutest little bug-a-boo that ever lived! (By the way, sorry for the cleavage in this first one - it's hard to avoid these days.) I really think blue is her color!

This is a hand-me-down play mat from David and Gina's family, which I think they got from another family. Don't you love reusing stuff? And clearly, Ruthie is fascinated. We call these black, red and white toys her "friends" and she goes to see them every day. Too bad her visits are only about 2 minutes long. But it's a start!

And here is Mommy and Ruthie. She definitely has my hair color (at least for now) but she is VERY fair skinned. My mom calls her Snow White.

Ahhh, my family. Notice Ruthie's grumpy face. I ask you - how could you be unhappy when you are were a pink polka dot outfit and that handsome man is holding you?

And we do a lot of this - laying around, looking at Ruthie. She's just so interesting. =) I guess you could say we have a classic case of the new parents syndrome. But that seems to be just the way God intended it to be.

That's all we have for now. The little lady sleeps, so I must do the same.

Our Little Garden is Still Growing

See those pretty salads? I made those the other day to go with our lunch (left over soup brought to us by our dear friend Roe). And guess where I got the lettuce? Yep, our garden.

In keeping with my total lack of agriculture and farming, urban though it may be, I had no idea when and how to harvest lettuce. Thanks to Google though, I now know that those leaves we were seeing on the top of the soil are the actual lettuce leaves. For some reason, I thought the head of lettuce grew under ground. Clearly, the green thumb in our family is not on these hands. Anyway, Google said that as soon as you could see the leaves, you could eat them. So I went to our 3 or 4 lettuce plants and picked enough leaves for two lovely salads.

And, though very dirty and a bit small, the lettuce was delicious! Thanks to Heather for planting the lettuce, Ian for watering it and the sun (and God) for making it grow!

I Have My First Plugged Duct

Wow. That's all I have to say.

What Is That?

So Ian and I are laying in bed the other night and he moves to put his arm around me, as we're facing each other. I feel him rub my side a little and then ask, "What is that?"

"That, my love, is my rib."

Apparently, it's been such a long time since my ribs made an appearance at anything that Ian had forgotten what they felt like. Sigh.

I'll admit it though - I feel anxious about losing the baby weight. When we first got home from the hospital, I weighed myself out of morbid curiosity. I was down 25 pounds. I was shocked! Who would have thought 25 pounds could come off like that! Just goes to show how much water weight I was carrying around.

(In full disclosure, since we're already talking pretty frankly about my weight, I will admit to the total weight gain - 37 pounds. More than I wanted, for sure, but not horrendous. In my defence, I was 11 days late (will she ever not mention being 11 days late?!) and 4 of those pounds came in those last two weeks. Now, I'm sure it was all water, but there you have it nonetheless.)

Back to my anxiety about losing the weight. I started this pregnancy heavier than I would have preferred, so not only do I have the baby weight to lose (about 12 more pounds, according to my home scale) but then I've got the rest I'd like to lose to get down to a size where I feel more myself. And frankly, it's a daunting task.

I know, I know, they say you shouldn't start worrying about the weight until you're 6 weeks postpartum and in my mind I'm trying to do that. And truthfully, if this blog had a camera, you would see that I have a bowl of corn nuts next to me as I type. Is that the snack of a person who is really concerned about her weight? Ah well. I guess my choices and my goals will line up eventually and I'll get back down to a manageable weight.

In the meantime, let's see what other bones return that Ian forgot existed...

Happy New Year!

I've always felt that New Year's Eve is a strange holiday. I'm pretty sure I blogged about it last year, reflecting on how, unfortunately, sometimes New Year's Eve brings out the worst in humanity. Last year, I cleaned up vomit off our copier at work, sprayed there by a band member who had clearly had way more than he could handle. Happy New Year to me.

This year, in pretty much the most opposite way possible, Ian and I celebrated New Year's Eve in the quietness of our house. We actually didn't even make it to midnight. We ate snacks, watched the Bourne movie that was on TV, and at 11, crawled into bed, exhausted and sure that Ruthie would be waking us up in an hour for her next feeding. And still, it was wonderful. But what made it wonderful was its ordinariness. Do you know what I mean? Aside from gorging ourselves on snacks (we try to limit that at least a little), it wasn't that much unlike most of our other evenings. Since I've had to work the previous two years on this night, I wasn't sure what this year would look like. Through into that mix a 12 day old baby and we really didn't know what to expect. Turns out, it wasn't much different from the 30th. But the ordinariness of it was what made it great.

I hope you all also had a good New Year's. And now we're in 2012 - a whole new year to discover what is next. I am very excited. I think 2012 is going to be great.

Happy New Year!