Right of Passage

Grandmothers and mothers alike everywhere have been doing it since the technology has allowed. You and I both have been bored beyond reason looking, mindlessly, as these women do this with glee. And all the while, I swore to never fall into this category. I like to call it the photo-op. At the flash a "How's your baby?" or "What's new?" these women are whipping out their wallet inserts, phones, or any other device carrying pictures of their children. "Yes," I've found myself agreeing for the sake of speeding up the moment, "They ARE the cutest in the world."

Just yesterday, I've realized that this moment of picture sharing is a right of passage. After not seeing classmates since my son was born, they asked the precursor questions. "How is he? How big was he when he was born?" And without thought or hesitation, the words simply slipped through my lips, "I HAVE PICTURES!!" And there I was showing off my little boy, proclaiming his beauty to anyone willing (or close enough to be trapped). 

A Softer Side

At 2 months old, Jaden has already offered me new perspective on not only my life, but those surrounding me. Holding a baby, strangers present a softness that otherwise goes unnoticed. People are more likely to exchange a smile, share a story, and relate to personal experiences. Just the other day, while leaving a doctor's office in the city, I found myself unprepared, carrying my son through the city streets into a rainstorm. A perfect stranger handed me her umbrella explaining that my son and I needed it more than she did. That very same day, a tattooed metal-head-of-a-man stuck somewhere between 1985 and 1992 offered a sympathetic smile as my baby began to cry. He also offered his thoughts on how lucky I was to be holding such a beautiful baby. Babies soften even the toughest and strongest of characters as they offer an innocence that sometimes seems lost. 

 

Welcome Jaden Reese Klausner

Flashback - June 17, 2009:

At my 36 week check-up, my OB said I was hardly even a half of a centimeter dilated. As I was asking my many questions about labor and delivery, she assured me that I had plenty of time. No worries, I had a month to plan and organize my life and house in preparation for a life-altering event. 

Fast forward six hours later....

My husband had been working his butt off doing labored yard work for three straight days, only after working twenty-five hours of overtime. Feeling bad that my husband was literally hauling stone, I decided to make a nice dinner. Dinner was ready, so we sat down to eat. Leaning forward to take that first bite, it happened. I peed myself!! (Or, so I thought.) Here I was, eight months pregnant, taking pride in the fact that I had not lost my bladder control even once and it happened. Between a few good laughs from my husband, I made my way to the bathroom and cleaned myself off. But in the process, it happened again...and again. Two pairs of underware later, I realized that this was not what it seemed. Could it be? My water broke! Now over the past several months, I've encountered numerous people offering warranted and unwarranted advice. One piece of information stuck in my head. Once you get to the hospital, they don't let you eat or drink, so make sure you stuff yourself silly once labor begins, that way you will be prepared for the 24 hour marathon that lays ahead. So there I was, leaking amniotic fluid, stuffing my face, giggling in oblivion. In all of the advice given, everyone failed to mention that water-breakage does not constitute a binge (or any other labor practices for that matter). Two hours later, only after setting up animal daycare, we were en route to the hospital. There I was sitting atop a garbage bag with two towels shoved between my legs, nibbling away on whatever I could get my hands on; a banana, granola bar, pretzels, and about three full water bottles. I was prepared for my marathon. And right next to me, was my shocked, sleep-deprived husband. 

As we arrived at the hospital, I managed to completely let loose my remaining water in front of a family of six, only before my husband decided to crash my wheelchair into a door. Only two minutes later, he let go of my wheelchair in motion, sending me into a wall. Not knowing where we were going, we went to the wrong wing. Off to a great start! And once we finally arrived to labor and delivery, my sleep deprived husband passed out cold right next to me in a twin-sized bed. To add to that, while I was up from the bed for a bathroom break, the nurses decided to play a trick on my passed out husband. They decided to transfer the bed to a private delivery room while he was still in the bed (only after asking if my police officer husband would shoot them upon waking up). Apparently I was just feeling way too well for anything to be taken seriously. This stuff cannot be made up!

After several hours, I was still not yet dilated. The pitocin was ordered, and the epidural was demanded. (They go hand in hand in my mind - yah drugs!) Sixteen hours later, drugs were administered, but still there was no dilation. So, I sent the family to go to eat lunch. I figured at least some of us should be allowed to listen to our growling stomachs. Of course, Murphy's Law always comes into affect in the most important moments. I was alone, so of course things started to roll. Only a half hour after being dilated 3 centimeters, I quickly rose to 7. Luckily my husband strolled in prior to an organized manhunt. 

(For those of you that had a difficult labor, future reading may lead you to anger.) 

My initial reaction to the epidural was much less than pleasant, but six hours, 5 vomits, and several hotflashes later, the kinks were worked out and I was pain free. As a matter of fact, the epidural was so incredible, that I had to ask when I was having contractions. The most intense ones were more of a pester that I blew away rather than a painful lamaze workout. My doctor opted for a natural decent, allowing the baby to enter the birth canal on his own so the process was slow, steady, and relaxing. Ten centimeters dilated, it was time to push. Ten minutes later, Little Baby Jaden was crying for the world to hear. I saw my angle, smiled at my husband, and said, "That wasn't so bad. I could do that again!"

 

Jaden Reese Klausner was born June 18, 2009 at 5:11 p.m. 

At four weeks early, he already weighed 6 pounds 1 ounce and was 19 1/2 inches long.  My little man is steadily growing, having gained almost three pounds since birth. I guess all of my concerns about the size of the little monster inside of me were right. In fact, at my four week postpartum appointment, my OB said, "If he was full term, he would have torn you to pieces!" Heartwarming to hear, isn't it? I guess the moral of the story is - trust your instincts (and your loins). 

After a brief period in the NICU (giving us quite a scare!!), he is now home with us and we are more than in love with his every little move and every little whim. I'm amazed at myself how easily I fell into the mommy groove. And I am amazed at my husband for his constant need to clean and make things perfect for his little guy. I am even amazed at how quickly the dog took to the baby. Jaden is our perfect little guy in every single way. So perfect, in fact, that my husband is already talking about number two!!! 

Nesting = ADD + OCD

Measurement to date (35 weeks):

Mom up 20 pounds

Baby Boy Klausner 5 pounds 11 ounces

Baby Boy Klausner's head size measuring in at 36 weeks and 2 days

Dad surprisingly slimming down after trying to keep up with Mom

As the measurements were tallied off, the sonogram technician made a point to let me know that this is a nice sized baby. As a matter of fact, he's within the 42nd percentile. Then I had to stop and think, "But am I?" (Not even close!)

This far into the pregnancy, I am still feeling surprisingly well. I keep waiting to wet my pants when I sneeze, or walk with my legs spread wide, or watch  my ankles become cankles. Luckily, these treasures seem to be leaving me alone. However, when asked if I have any food cravings, the only thing I could think of was TUMS! Pop 'em in the morning, pop 'em in the night, keep 'em bedside, and I'll feel all right. 

In addition to my Tums addiction, I'm finding a new meaning to nesting. I never knew that people were so incredibly nice when diagnosing nesting. Nesting should be relabeled Pregnant Insanity. How else do you describe waking at four in the morning begging the sun to come up just so it would be acceptable to start dusting? The true meaning of nesting this far along in pregnancy combines the ideas of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder with Attention Deficit Disorder. Having so many thoughts go through my mind is somewhat of a joke as I walk back and forth from room to room having no idea what I was just thinking. Even my dog, who has been known to follow me room to room, now plops down in the center of the hall just waiting for my final destination point. Placenta Brain has taken over my nesting. Just yesterday, I observed three incomplete projects meshed into an area. There sat the paint can, the bare bed with a pile of clean sheets sitting atop it, and half-cleaned hand-me-down baby toys. All tasks were from the day before. Even this morning as I awoke, I made a mental list of at least five things that I'd like done today. Right now I can remember two. 

So as my baby boy continues to grow, it's obvious that he needs more blood and nutrients. Perhaps Placenta Brain occurs as your body pulls the blood from your brain and pools it towards your belly. And, the bigger the baby is, the higher the occurrence of Placenta Brain. So come on 8 pounder - my forgetfulness is finally excusable!! 

Sleepytime Events

It's 4:30 a.m.  I went to sleep less than 5 hours ago. My mind says sleep. But, my body says get up, sweep the floor, and eat a plum. My first arousal from sleep was my normal 2 a.m. bathroom stop followed by a quick cuddle from the dog. Being 35 weeks along, my bladder has taken control of my life. Whether sleeping or driving, I'm never more than an hour away from a pit-stop. Luckily, while sleeping, my body will bribe itself for one extra hour.  That adds up to a two hour break from the restroom. Then, back to sleep.

Two-and-a-half hours later, it's 4:30 a.m. Time for another bathroom break. This time as I settle back into bed, my mind starts to wander off. Little Baby Klausner is kicking away, promoting the idea that going back to sleep will be no easy task. And then the mind wonders... Have I cleaned the floors? Is there  a plum left in the fridge? Have I called my brother this week? Do I think the plum is ripe? Is it too soon to have the baby furniture delivered? MUST EAT PLUM NOW!! After twenty minutes of fighting, here I am, plum in one hand, busily typing away with the other. 

Headed Downtown

Good news! At our 33 week sonogram, Little Boy Klausner has turned around. He's now headed downtown which assures a vaginal delivery.

REWRITE:

Bad news! At our 33 week sonogram, Little Boy Klausner has turned around. He's now headed downtown which assures a vaginal delivery. 

Having gone through several major surgeries in my past, adding yet another under my belt seems of little concern. I've gone through the healing and recovery process. And yes, I am even aware that it is totally different when there is a baby depending on you. Still, I just can't seem to get passed the idea of how naturally UNnatural it is to pass something that large from between your legs. Yes, women continue to do it time and again which should make me at ease. But, as pretty much every man out there will agree with me, women are crazy! I mean certifiable, push-yourself-to-the-brink-of-no-return crazy.

I guess this panic stricken thought pattern means only one thing. Reality has finally started to settle in. For the last eight months I've been carrying myself, and a little person within me, all around without processing the idea that after nine months, life continues and expands beyond basic comprehension. So I must congratulate myself for although it may have taken a while, I think with reality comes the "I'm ready" part.

Sonogram Resemblance

As unlucky as I am to have a tricky medical history, my past has allowed me to have numerous sonograms. As I watch the little guy on the screen I can't help but try to look for similarities in features. This is nearly impossible, unless you are open to my vivid imagination. I've tried to match his profile and his nose, but I think I'd be going out on a limb if I actually said the picture was clear enough and my son looked more human than he actually does via sonogram. 

Still, there are certain points of entertainment in each one of these viewings. Just yesterday, the technician pointed out that Little Boy Klausner already has hair on his head. Once zoomed in, you could actually see fuzzies atop his head. I had an immediate flashback of my baby picture. At birth, I already had a full head of black, spiky hair. One resemblance point for Mom!

Next up, the technician said, "Well, it's certainly a boy!" And there he was, posed for the room to see all of his man parts in all of their glory. One point for Dad. 

At the end of the sonogram, the weight came in as four pounds and five ounces. I quickly calculated in my head. They say at this point in pregnancy, on average, the baby gains approximately a half of a pound a week. Add eight weeks at a half pound each, and we're talking about another four pounds. This baby can easily be an eight-and-a-half-pounder. Another point for Dad. But more importantly, I think this deducts all of Mom's points. After all, the bigger he is, the more I stress about my small frame. And just as these thoughts are bellowing in my head, the doctor says, "Now just remember, as a first time pregnancy, don't think that this kid is going to slide ride out. I just want you to be prepared and realistic." So what she's saying is that television isn't a good factor in determining what labor is like? Oh crap!