Dear Gracie: Part 2

Little lady, you are pure drama. From when I was 6 weeks pregnant and afraid I was miscarrying, to the 50+ hours I was in very painful "early labor" with you before you were born to this very day. You are the epitome of a drama queen.

You were born on a Monday morning by scheduled csection, but I had regular contractions for several hours starting the Saturday morning before. I was excited by the prospect that you might be making your entrance into the world all on your own. Grandma and Grandpa drove all the way from Syracuse only for the contractions to all but stop.

I tried not to be too disappointed, but the contractions picked back up early Sunday morning with a vengeance. This was the pain I imagined labor would be like. The contraction started at the top of my belly and spread down like a wild fire. Like hands wrapping around me from back to front. Sitting here now, I find it hard to describe the pain, although I know it was acute. I think I've already blocked it out. I found that standing and bracing myself on a piece of furniture made them more bearable, so every 5-10 minutes I was hopping out of bed, breathing deeply and feeling like we would be meeting you in a few hours.

Around 3:30 that morning I took a shower which felt amazing, then around 5 I decided to call the on call doctor. She told me since I was so overdue (8 days at that point) that you needed to come out, so I thought for sure this would be your birthday. We called a neighbor to come stay with Mia and drove through the quiet early morning streets to the hospital. I told the woman at the front desk I wasn't leaving without a baby (which makes me cringe in hindsight), but when the doctor checked me a few minutes later and told me I was only half centimeter dilated, I nearly had a nervous breakdown. You can be in this much pain and not progressing? They kept me there for an hour, hoping I would progress, but I knew I wouldn't. The thought of having to endure those contractions for the next 24 hours until my csection made me weep. Because I had had a csection with Mia no one thought it would be a good idea to induce me. There was no one available to perform a csection that day since it wasn't emergent. So my options were to get admitted, get something for the pain and sleep for a while hoping I either progressed on my own or that someone might be able to perform a csection later, or leave with a prescription for Percocet to take the edge off the pain. I hadn't slept in nearly 2 days. I almost let them admit me, but I imagined that I ultimately wanted a drug free birth, women get to 10 centimeters without medical intervention, and I can't make it past .5! I felt like such a wimp.

I left with the prescription, went home and slept. I felt like I was on a boat in the ocean, riding the waves of contractions, but too tired and out of it to care.

At my last doctor's appointment at 41 weeks I had discussed my options with my doctor and we'd decided that since it didn't look like I would go in to labor on my own, a repeat csection was the best option. I left confident that you'd be born the 21st, and I felt satisfied that I'd waited as long as I was comfortable waiting. I'd given my body the chance to expel you on its own.

And then my last weekend with Mia as an only child was hosed by this "early labor." I was mad. I went to bed at 7 Sunday night, weeping because I was too tired to put Mia to bed, but happy we had spoiled her so in the weeks before.

I woke up around 4:30 Monday morning and got up to watch TV in the living room. Your dad came out to check on me at around 5 at which point I ran to the bathroom to throw up what was left in my empty stomach. I laid in bed until my parents came to watch Mia, too sick and exhausted to even take one last pregnant picture before going to the hospital, but glad I'd shaved my legs the day before. The thought of walking all the way to the maternity ward from the car exhausted me, but somehow we made it. I was given a bed in triage and something to help with my nausea. Our nurse tried to make me laugh, but every time I had a contraction I got increasingly angry like "come on, baby! We're trying to get you out of there, can't you just give me a break!" There was a hold up with the OR and we waited what felt like an eternity.

Finally they brought me in. I remembered how nervous I had been going into surgery with Mia, this time I was giddy with excitement that it was almost over, that I wouldn't feel the pain of contractions anymore. It took forever for the resident to get the spinal tap in. Everyone asked what your name would be. The anesthesiologist also had a daughter named Grace. Once I was numb they asked if I wanted them to wait to start until your dad got there and I told them to start cutting, so your poor dad had to walk in to the sight of my innards. I just laid there holding your dad's hand, so excited to finally see you, to finally move into the next phase of our lives. I felt the doctor bear her whole weight on my rib cage, and just like that you were being held up in front of us, and I was telling your dad to take a picture and trying to memorize your face and saying "She doesn't look like Mia!" You didn't cry, just let out a little mew. You had a full head of dark hair and your forehead and nose were squished from being so low in the birth canal. I kept asking how much you weighed, sure you'd be a big fat baby from all that extra gestation, but you weighed the same amount as your sister at birth. You did however, have over an inch on her. You also had long fingernails. I joke that you were growing hair and fingernails in there for the last 9 days.

We were wheeled into a recovery area where your sister and grandparents came to meet you for the first time.

The first few days in the hospital were actually quite lovely. Nothing like the stress and fear I felt with Mia. You and I were alone a lot while your dad was with Mia. We studied each other. You would  (and still do) just look up at me and stare as if thinking, "so that's who you are!" and I looked at you the same way. You nursed well right away, slept for long stretches, and fussed all day. We can't have it all, I suppose. But you seemed to expect the least from me in terms of bouncing and rocking as if you knew I was recovering. The recovery was so much easier this time. I took you for walks around the maternity unit several times a day.

Now here we are 2 months later, and I couldn't really care less at this point how you came into the world. You are beautiful and alert and healthy and I feel like you've always been here.

You are still a little drama queen. Your emotions vacillate wildly without any warning. One moment you are cooing and smiling at me, the next you are shrieking in discontent with no rhyme or reason. We labeled you as colicky when you were a few days old, but really I think you're just dramatic. Luckily the fussiness seems to get marginally better every day.

You require exhausting levels of bouncing, walking and butt-patting when you are fussy or over-tired.   To get you back to sleep in the middle of the night I am up doing deep-knee bends and smacking your bottom so hard your dad can hear me in the next room over the white noise. I cannot wait until you are old enough to sleep train, because here's what I do not want to be doing at 2am: cardio. As I've been writing this, I've got you strapped to my chest, sleeping, and I've had to stand up and bounce you half a dozen times as you rouse and fuss.

You've been a decent sleeper from the get-go. Even in the hospital you were sleeping long stretches. You wake up once or twice a night. The only problem is, there has been no improvement. You're sleeping the same now as you were the day you were born, so I'm convinced I'll be waking once or twice a night FOR. EVER. And, it's not SO bad, but really, I'd love just the glimmer of hope that one day I might not have to leave my bed for 8 hours at a time.

As much as you fuss, you are also a very smiley baby. You giggle while you're falling asleep. You smiling wildly at curtain rods and the underside of the shelves over your changing table and occasionally at your mom and dad. You give me your best smiles at 2am, and it is hard for me to turn out the light and try to put you back to sleep when that is often the only alone time I have with you all day. You love the changing table. You love being naked and taking baths. You love white noise and really like to stare at anything red. You love staring at the shower curtain and the zebra toy that hangs from your bouncy seat.

You hate the carseat and riding in the car. If I put you in the stroller I had better be ready to keep you moving at all times. You do not like to stand still.

You are already stretching your 3 month sleepers. You still seem so tiny, but you are so much bigger than you were.

I hold you up on my shoulder and you lay your little head down and I inhale your little baby scent which is every bit as good as everyone raves about and I am intoxicated by you. I cannot wait to see how your personality develops. You are more alert and interactive every day. I forgot how fast the milestones happen at this age, and it makes every day so exciting.