A Not-So-Well Child Checkup

Drake and I had to make a {slightly} premature visit to the pediatrician on Friday. He was due for his 15 month well-child check this Thursday, but he hasn't been very "well" lately. It's nothing new to us - just a few bad battles with his anal stenosis. It was the fact that it seemed, both to Justin and I, to be getting worse over all instead of better, that finally prompted me to call the pediatrician and ask for the next available appointment. I just can't stand watching him cramp up and grunt and cry all the time anymore. I can't explain it any other way to you except to say that I feel like I coach my son through labor nearly every day. That is seriously the only other place I have heard sounds like the ones that come out of my son when he is trying to go to the bathroom. It's awful. So to the pediatrician we went.
Our original pediatrician in Helena is the one who made the anal stenosis diagnosis. He said there was a constriction about half an inch up in there. He told us to avoid certain foods like bananas and white rice to avoid him getting constipated on top of it, and that the act of pushing his stools out would, over time, help him to stretch and eventually grow out of the condition. When we first saw Drake's new pediatrician and filled him in on Drake's history, he seemed... skeptical. But Drake was not having trouble with it at that particular time so it wasn't much of a conversation. But now, with it seeming to suddenly get worse, he was forced to tell me what he thought. Basically, he told me it was a diagnosis he very rarely - if ever - makes and that he thought that Drake was, for whatever reason, just a child prone to constipation. He said all of this without ever having done a physical exam himself. So now it was my turn to be the skeptic. How can you tell me that my son is just constipated when I've done everything to avoid that? He gets all the right foods. Prunes, pineapples, whole grains... and nothing that can clog him up. It's honestly so disheartening to me. I'm a firm believer that food is healthcare and hesitate to medicate unless absolutely necessary. That being said, the pediatrician did go on to say that sometimes constipation can become a vicious cycle, getting big and hard on the inside and stretching out the rectum, and creating a pocket for future stools to get bigger and harder and stretch out... you get the idea. He said we needed to break the cycle. He recommended Miralax and assured me that it was a safe drug that never absorbs through the intestine wall into the bloodstream, but sits in the intestine, drawing in excess water to soften the stool. So that's what we're doing. Because he was certainly right about one thing: we have to break this cycle for my son. But I have my eye on you, doc. You better not act like I'm crazy if we encounter more problems in the future.
Drake still hasn't been able to go to the bathroom (it's now Sunday evening) though he tries every half hour or so. I'm praying the Miralax kicks in soon and we can put this all behind us. And you won't have to read the words "stool" and "rectum" so often. Sorry about that.
Other than that, Drake is doing very well. Developing normally (though he makes me abnormally proud). He's in the 50th percentile for height and weight but the 87th percentile for head circumference. Poor kid - he's got a big head just like his Momma's side of the family. I still maintain it's room for all those brains. He got caught up on his shots - two in each leg, which seemed awfully unfair to me - but he was a stud about it.
Afterward, we had to stop by the store to get the Miralax and a couple things for dinner. In the checkout line, a man in his fifties and dressed in a dirty, over sized coat started talking to Drake and I. He told us that he had four kids and NINETEEN grand kids. He was there to buy a toy for one of them. He was pretty taken with Drake, talking and smiling at him. Then he showed Drake something off the impulse-buy shelves: a blue rubber duck. Drake lit up. The man offered to buy it for him. Random kindness like that is so rare, I hardly know how to react to it. To be honest, I'm used to men that look like he did being slightly on the creepy side, leaning more towards inappropriate flirtation than anything else. I tried to politely decline, mentioning that we had some at home (we only have one). But when I tried to take the duck from Drake so that we could leave, he almost lost it. I didn't have the heart to just yank it from him after the day/week he had had. As I was trying to gently pry it from his hands and convince him that his lovie was enough, the man offered a second time. This time I smiled and said thank you. I think it made Drake's day. And the pleasant surprise was good for me, too. 

15 Month Stats:
Height: 31"
Weight: 22 lbs 11 oz
Head: 19"

Drake's Birth Story, Part 1: The Beginning

(More than ten months later... what I've been promising...)

 I’ll never forget the sunrise on the morning you were born. Truthfully, I haven’t seen that many sunrises, relatively speaking, because I’ve just never been a morning person. But that particular morning, I was up hours before the sun. It’s funny; I had been really worried that I wouldn’t know when I was in labor. I had heard stories of women going to the hospital as many as five times, thinking they were in labor, before they ever got to walk out with their baby in their arms. We had to drive an hour and a half to the birth center we were planning on using - in December, in Montana – so, needless to say, that seemed like a less than ideal scenario. I had asked my wonderful midwife to give me more clues. What should I look for? How will I know? She told me we would just have to stay in communication and take it as it came. And, this I very specifically remember, she told me, “Don’t expect it to be like in the movies when the wife pops up out of bed in the middle of the night and says, “Honey, it’s time!”” That’s why, when I went to bed on the evening of December 6^th, 2011 – after I had finally finished putting together my overnight bag and cleaning the house -  and said to your Dad, “Maybe I’ll just have this baby tonight,” I thought I was kidding. Up to that point, I hadn’t had so much as a single Braxton Hicks contraction.  Turns out, my teasing remark had been right, and my midwife’s very reasonable and wise warning had not.

I sat up in bed at 4 am with what felt like the usual aches and pains of my third trimester. I hadn’t slept through a night in nearly two months because of heartburn and lower back pain. I’d get up, stretch, maybe eat a piece of cheese and a cracker or two, pee, and go back to bed. But on that morning, when I sat up to stretch my sore back, I suddenly felt the sheets beneath me dampen. I shook your Dad. “Honey! I think my water just broke!” Yep. Exactly like a movie. But your Dad’s response… not so much… “Shouldn’t you get off the bed?” You’d think maybe I would have been offended, but the first thought I had was, “It is a $3,500 Tempurpedic,” and hopped off. Bad choice. I was soaked. I quickly sat back down and tried to snap your Dad to attention. “Honey! How about a towel?” And with that, we were both officially aware of what had just begun: your birthday.

We got on the phone to our midwife, who recommended trying to get some more sleep. She said that, since I hadn’t had a single contraction yet, she wasn’t worried about me progressing too quickly, and that I would need my rest for the day. She assured me that my body would wake me back up when it was ready.

After speaking to her, we debated about calling family and friends. There were so many people who were anxious to be there the moment you arrived; I didn’t want them to feel that I had kept them in the dark. But it was only about 4:30 in the morning still, so we opted for a text message to let them all know what was happening without jarring them awake.

Once that was done, we just kind of stared at each other for a few moments. I was sitting on the toilet (I know, really cute image, but my water had just broken!) and your Dad was leaning against the wall with his phone in his hand. We both had this look in our eyes … how to describe without being rude…  I’m just gonna say it: an excited, Holy Shit! kinda look. I think it was your Dad who finally said we ought to try to go to bed. So we laid down a few towels and crawled in.

I really did try to relax and go back to sleep but my contractions were just beginning and the excitement and adrenaline that was coursing through me was overwhelming. I laid there for about 45 minutes before I gave up and got into the shower. By then, texts and phone calls were rolling in and your Nana was up and on her way to me (stopping only to pick up some champagne – the Alton family will take any excuse to celebrate!).

Daddy packed up extra towels and blankets and I trudged out into the snow to snap some pictures of that gorgeous sunrise before we loaded into the car and began our last car trip pre-parenthood. There couldn’t have been a more beautiful or exciting way to start your birthday.

Upset, but motivated

It’s 7:04 in the morning and I’ve been awake for a long time now. I laid awake for a good portion of the night last night, and for the periods when I did sleep, I dreamt dreams much more disturbing than the thoughts that were keeping me up in the first place.

I watched the film Pregnant in America last night. It was the second documentary of its kind that I had seen in the past few months – the first was The Business of Being Born.

I have always known that I wanted to have my kids at home but couldn’t have given you much of a reason if you had asked me six months ago. Mom had all three of us at home, and I think of her as somewhat of a mothering superhero, so that’s definitely where the desire started. Beyond that, I might have been able to tell you that it just seemed like it would be more comfortable to be at home. That was all the thought I had really put into the why of it all.

Now that this period in my life has finally arrived – now that there is this tiny little life growing inside of me that I am responsible for – I am simultaneously finding that option being removed from me and discovering the many reasons why I truly believe it is the better choice.

I feel so stuck.

There are no midwives in my town who will deliver at home. There are no birthing centers. Up to this point in my pregnancy, I have been seeing a Certified Nurse Midwife who delivers in hospital. Before moving on, let me be clear that I think she is wonderful, she attended all three of my nieces’ births, and she is not a source of concern for me. She does a pretty good job of advocating for a more natural experience (we have already established that if I am keeping down liquids myself, I do not need to be automatically stuck with an I.V. as my sister was).I only wish she had decided to attend at home births. Because it’s the hospital she works within that I’m worried about. It’s the nurses who push you to take the epidural. It’s the bright fluorescent lights. It’s the higher risk of c-section. It’s the nurses who whisk your baby away to weigh, measure, test, poke, and prod when you should be holding them, sharing your first moments, basking in a hormone rush, bonding and falling in love with the new little life. (I won’t preach at you here with all the evidence that leaded me to believe strongly in the value of at home births, but I highly recommend looking into it for yourself. These two documentaries are a good place to start.)

I want to experience the miracle of the birth of my first child in all its fullness. I want it so badly it aches inside me the way the desire to be a mother ached within me just months ago.

I do not want to be robbed.

And I am terrified that I will be.

There are two midwives within two hours of here, both of whom are willing to travel to attend births. At first, I dismissed the idea as unreasonable in the middle of December in Montana. But now I’m not sure which option is the truly ill-advised one. I’ve decided to at least meet with them and discuss our options.

There have been these moments since I found out I was pregnant that I feel more like a little kid than I have since I moved out of my parents’ house seven years ago. I feel so awe-struck and giddy by the whole thing that I feel childish. And, being my first pregnancy, I look to the women around me who have already triumphed through their pregnancies. And I value their advice, truly I do. But all of this advice taking, with no ill intention on either side, can make you feel small, make you feel inadequate, can make you believe you lack the maturity to make these decisions alone. But now, more than any other time in my life, I have to step up. I do not get the luxury of being the child anymore. Nor do I want it. And if I allow my family to get swept along in a system I feel uncomfortable with – without doing everything in my power to fight for what I believe to be the better option – what sort of start is that for our life? What sort of example does that set?