Readers, I haven’t updated this blog since the month before Scarlett was born. I’ve been busy being a bodily fluid cleaner-upper for the past 19 months. I mean parent. But now it’s time to tell the unadulterated story of Scarlett’s birth. OK, maybe some of the bodily fluids talk will be, well, adulterated. From now on.

As many of you know, if from no other source that my brilliant blog post “Hotelspital,” on June 17 Anne was overwhelmed with laziness and decided that she wanted to stay off her feet in the hospital until the birth happened. Something like that. I don’t remember all the details. 

We were told that at week 34, the risk of infection outweighs any benefit of additional gestation. That set our induction date at July 19th. You know, Burmese Martyrs’ Day. We drew a calendar on the whiteboard in Anne’s hospital room and indicated July l9 as our target day to reach, with milestones on each Tuesday until then. (Tuesday is our official week mark for our pregnancy.)

In the wee hours of July 13th, Anne’s sleep was disturbed by contractions. Around 11 in the morning, the perinatologist stopped by Anne’s room to discuss when the “rescue dose” of betamethazone was going to be delivered that week, given that our induction was planned for the following week. During the conversation, Anne was having relatively strong contractions. The perinatologist told her not to worry, however, telling her that she was “contracting, not laboring.” He ordered her a dose of nifedipine, a drug that helps prevent premature labor.

Anne and I had spoken on the phone that morning before I left for work. She said she had been having contractions and was a little worried. Given the frequency, the short duration, and the relative lack of intensity that early in the morning, I was relatively convinced that they were Braxton-Hicks, in my expert medical opinion. We agreed that I wouldn’t drive to work that day, and I took the train to work.

Oops.

Anne called me at about 12:30 and sounded upset. Despite the slug of nipedipine, her contractions had intensified. As I said, she had been told that she was not in labor about an hour before, but she was getting scared. She asked me to come as soon as possible. I left to get to the next train.

I then realized that there was no way that I could make the 12:41 train. Because of years of  huge budget deficits, Caltrain had cut midday trains, so the next train I would take would have to be at 1:41 – and it would have to be a local, which itself takes an hour to get to San Francisco. I’d then need 10-15 minutes to walk home and then about 20-30 minutes to drive to the hospital.

I got to the train station and called Anne again. Her contractions were definitely intensifying, and she had a feeling that something serious was happening. Her mom had called me earlier, having just spoken to Anne, and was unsure whether she should come or not. I checked with Anne again and she said that she wanted both of us there. That would speed up my trip to San Francisco, though I would have to wait for Bea to leave work and pick me up. While waiting for her to show up, I called Anne again to keep her company. She said she had just had a pelvic exam and was 4 cm dilated, 100% effaced. This was happening. My excitement (and panic level) started to rise. 4 cm already.

Bea picked me up at the Palo Alto train station and we sped to the city, dropping me off at our apartment. I hadn’t packed a labor bag yet. That was my plan for the weekend! I sprinted inside and frantically grabbed a a bunch of stuff: an iPod, iPod speakers, massage oil, my bathing suit, some rock candy, coconut water, a camera…I was prepared for multiple labor positions and hours and hours of labor.

I jumped into my own car and started speeding across the city. After about 10 minutes I stopped at a light and (illegally) sent a text message to Anne:

Within a minute I received a text back:

I was starting to panic; this was going way too fast. 4 more centimeters in just an hour? When the light turned green I was suddenly THAT guy – speeding dangerously, violently swerving around people. I hit a midday traffic snarl at Franklin. I took an alternate route. I was doing 60 on Geary. 

I did a rapid circle around the hospital’s block for parking, already sweating. Nothing. I sped back to Parker, about a block from the hospital, and took the first space I saw. (Yes, I circled the block for parking. Believe it or not, this was a calculated decision. The hospital parking lot didn’t guarantee spaces either, and it was cramped and slow going. It was faster to find parking on the street – trust me.) I jumped out of the car, grabbed everything, and started running to the hospital. I was carrying a lot of weight, and the run to the hospital took it out of me. Hyperventilating, I powerwalked down the second floor hallway of CPMC, trying to prevent my heart from exploding. 

Anne was already in transition labor and in between contractions. I came in and saw a nurse (it just happened to be a nurse that Anne hadn’t had in the past month) as well as our friend Sarah Cipriano. I blinked; what was Sarah doing here? 

Turns out that Sarah, who was two weeks behind Anne in her pregnancy (due mid-September 2011), had a pregnancy-related appointment across the street and just had a funny feeling that something was going on with Anne. She called and got no answer. She tried again a few minutes later and Anne picked up, letting her know that she was in labor. Sarah came to her room immediately.

Such a great friend! It was great fortune. Anne had a friend with her (not just the nurse) until I arrived. Also, thanks to Sarah, we got great pictures in the labor and delivery room.

Anne resting between contractions.
Galen’s hand repairing between contractions.

So let’s get back to the real story. Anne’s contractions were frequent and intense. One of her hands held mine while the other held her mother’s. One tip I picked up at our childbirthing class that I remembered on the second transition-stage contraction for which I was present: do not give a laboring mother your whole hand during a contraction. Give her two fingers to squeeze. I re-learned that lesson quickly. It was like having someone perform the bonecrusher on you for 45 seconds. While moaning.

Anne’s contractions were painful. 10 minutes or so after I arrived, she mentioned to the nurse that she felt like pushing but the nurse said that she had just been checked a few minutes ago and that it wasn’t quite time yet. The nurse left the room to go check on something, Anne had a contraction, and then she told me that she felt like the baby was there and that she had to push. I ran into the hallway and told the nurse that Anne felt like the baby was coming. The nurse had our OB paged.

20 minutes of pushing was all it took. At 3:25 pm Scarlett Sierra was born. Anne did it naturally like a champ. Scarlett was a face presentation (face up) so her nose was pretty squished and she was pretty bruised. This is actually pretty dangerous – the OB must have decided that the speed of the labor and delivery precluded a C-section. The neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) team was on hand and immediately examined her and intubated her because her airway was not sufficiently open due to the swelling. We did hear one cry from her prior to that. She was presented to us in the isolette and then whisked to the NICU.

She thrived in the NICU. She wasn’t sick at all – just small! She was born at 3 lbs 15 oz, at 33 weeks and 1 day into the pregnancy. She was extubated less than 24 hours after her birth and needed no assistance breathing when that happened. Her IV came out a few days later. She’s had an NG (nasogastric) tube for a couple weeks, which is pretty standard given the difficulty that many preemies have feeding from the breast or bottle. Once her suck/swallow reflex developed, she nursed beautifully, even in spite her preemie status.

I want to make an aside here. Scarlett was born on the 13th and I had my wisdom teeth out on the 8th. That said, I was actually NOT on vicodin the day that Anne delivered. I was actually extremely lucky with my extraction and really had minimal pain afterwards. So I didn’t even use all of my pain medication. Anne was prescribed some Norco following the birth but never used it. We were awash in drugs. But our happiness was all the drugs we needed.

Regular readers will recall my first post, where I talked about how hiccups drive me crazy. Well, dear friends and family, we have had a hiccup in our pregnancy. 

Before I continue, in violation of good storytelling principles, I’m going to skip to the climax and let you know that mom and baby are PERFECTLY FINE.

On Friday the 17th of June, Anne awoke in the middle of the night to discover that she was leaking fluid. We immediately traveled to our hospital, and after a quick test it was determined that yes, this was indeed amniotic fluid. Anne’s bag of waters had prematurely ruptured at 29 weeks.

As one of the salty old nurses was sinking her IV, she said, “You know that you’re going to be here until you deliver, right?” Not the best way to break us the news, I must say. Anne was admitted to the hospital at about 4 am for PPROM (preterm premature rupture of membranes).

They immediately put her on IV antibiotics. Baby is totally safe in the womb as long as the membrane surrounding her is intact, but with it punctured, there now exists a persistent risk of intrauterine infection. She was also put on betamethasone, a steroid used to stimulate fetal lung development. If the peanut needed to be sectioned sooner rather than later, it would be particularly important for her to breathe on her own. (There are some complications associated with mechanical breathing assistance for premature babies.)

Friday night was not fun. We were exhausted, having barely slept at all the night before. We were upset from the whole situation. The fetal heart monitor was extremely scratchy and difficult to keep in place. What’s more, throughout the night the peanut’s heart rate dropped to the 70s six times. The on-call doctor entered in the middle of the night to warn us that if her heart rate didn’t stabilize we’d need to do a C-section. Anne and I were afraid. 

Anne realized that she was feeling minor contractions. She received a marker that allowed her to indicate on the fetal heart monitor when she felt them, and it turned out that her contractions corresponded to the drops in fetal heart rate. She was administered a drug to suppress the contractions and the peanut’s heart rate stabilized. Things started to settle down a bit. We slept a bit better on Saturday night, although we did get woken at 12, 3, and 6 to get IV medications changed. 

Unfortunately, betamethasone increases blood sugar, so Anne was put on a stupid gestational diabetes diet – low sugar/carb. She was told that she would have to be on that until the betamethsone treatments finished on Sunday morning, but it turns out that they’ve kept her on it “just to be safe.” It’s kind of a dispute between the perinatalogist and our OB about what’s appropriate – the deal that was cut that Anne wouldn’t have to get stuck with the blood sugar test three times a day if she just stuck to the low sugar diet. Blarg.

You might be wondering about the amniotic fluid. Well, the breach was probably high on her uterus (not low, towards the cervix), since Anne has not lost much fluid. Apparently a normal AFI level (Amniotic Fluid Index) is at around 10 or above. When Anne was measured on that first Friday afternoon they told her that she was 6.8. They said they wouldn’t be concerned unless it was under 1. Amniotic fluid replenishes itself pretty readily, apparently. Almost a week or so ago she got a 9.5. So we’re not worried about fluid loss. 

What this means is that Anne will likely have labor induced once she reaches 34 weeks. At that point, the risk of infection outweighs the benefits of additional gestation in the womb. When does she reach 34 weeks? July 19. Apparently induction is performed in the evening such as to encourage births during business hours. If that’s the case, and Anne is induced on July 19, it’s possible that she’ll have the same birthday as Grandma Pam (July 20)! How cool would that be?

The long and short of it is that we’ll get to meet the Spicy Peanut 6 weeks early. She’ll have to spend some time in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU), but we’re at CPMC, which has the finest NICU in the Bay Area. We’re optimistic she’ll come out strong and healthy. 

One day at a time. Baby steps. Our first goal was to get to Sunday at 5 am – the 48 hour mark after the first dose of betamethasone, when the medication takes effect. Our next goal was Tuesday, the 30 week mark. We just met our 31 week goal. 

Next stop: the baby shower on Monday! All of you should have gotten an update that indicated that it was being moved to the hospital patio. If not, please do let me know and I can fill you in on the details.

Much love to all. Sorry for the lack of images. And humor.

Diarrhea.

It’s been a while since I posted. Sorry y’all. Life got in the way. That and some extra work I took on the side to bring in a few extra bucks (copyediting). Also, we’re still kind of finishing moving in. (Though we’re really just about done as of now.) 

So all of our baby furniture arrived on Friday. It looks great. We coordinated the arrival of the crib, dresser, hutch, and changing table with the rocker-glider, so the baby’s room has got its basics. The wood looks beautiful and we’ve got lots of great space to fill up with baby things. Now we just need to hang our farm chic paintings. We’re preparing our apartment for our future roommate. Of course, this little freeloader ain’t paying rent. 

Changing table, dresser, and crib.

This is how excited I was just after I finished putting the stroller together. Yes, I was in comfy pants.

Grandpa Davis (that is, Grandpa Davis to the Spicy Peanut) also got us the travel system (carseat plus stroller), so we’re feeling great! I suppose you only have a few options when it comes to the Chicco Cortina, but we chose the stylish green/brown/grey combination. It was surprisingly easy to put together, given how not handy I am. (If you can’t be handy, then at least be handsome.)

I also now have the Diaper Dude. Is it weird to say that I can’t wait to start carrying diapers around? This thing is badass.

A colleague also donated two large bags of girl baby clothes to us. Like two huge bags. She said that she had already given away the gender neutral clothes to our other colleagues (who are all having boys), so the see-through bags were, shall we say, rather pink. So we had the pleasure of washing and folding the pieces we kept and putting them into our drawers. 

Add some antennae onto Filbert and this plus baby makes a dangerously cute combination.

One of the best finds (IMHO) – a little ladybug costume with tiny wings. Note to self: pair the peanut in this costume along with Filbert wearing antennas and red spots on his black body. It will be a swirling black hole of cuteness. No one will survive. 

We took our diapering class on Saturday. (We’re using a cloth diaper service.) It still kind of blows my mind that we can put a bag of dirty diapers outside our door and they get magically whisked away and replaced with a bag full of clean ones. Would they know the difference if I crapped on a dish towel and put it in the bag? I’m not sure, but I am sure that it’s 100% worth finding out.

80 diapers a week. That’s what you get with the service. The number kind of makes the reality sink in. Let’s see. That means a diaper for every 2.1 hours. Soon enough I will be debating with fellow parents the finer points of diaper usage, such as what level of fecal contamination necessitates a new diaper. 

I am fearing that my blog posts are getting too scatological. 

On Monday we had a doctor’s appointment that happened to be at the place we’re going to deliver, and we got into the elevator with a couple who was clearly just leaving the hospital with a newborn boy in a carseat. Anne kept it together just until we stepped outside the hospital when she burst into happy tears. We can’t wait!

Our lovely rocker-glider. Thanks Bea and Patrick! Look how beautiful and happy Anne is!

If there is anyone we can label as a ‘regular reader’ of the blog, you may have noticed a conspicuous absence of posts recently. This was due to our move, which required (and continues to require) an enormous amount of time, energy, and money. And money. 

We didn’t move far, which was kind of a blessing and a curse. Only one of the three digits in our street address changed, meaning that we stayed within the same condo complex. The new place is great and everything is brand new: the carpets, the floors, the appliances, the paint, the shutters – you name it. We love it so far, though we’ll be living out of boxes for the foreseeable future. 

Cats can often be a bellwether of how your life is going. If that’s true, then it’s important to note that he barfed on the carpet, hides under the bed a lot, bats around the twist ties that are lying around, and slips and slides around all over the bamboo floor. I’m not sure how to metaphor-ize that into some sort of commentary on our lives. The bottom line is that he’s settling in, and so are we. 

The sum of the parts is greater than the whole. That means don’t eat it in one bite.

But perhaps the most important update with respect to the Spicy Peanut is that I felt her kick a week and a half ago! It was an amazing – if subtle – sensation, almost like Anne had a small muscle spasm under my hand. I felt a connection with my daughter.

I felt the baby just after Anne’s first baby shower, where she had had a decent amount of sugar. Her mom made her a delightful carrot cake, and her friend Monica made her sushi rolls made of rice crisps, swedish fish, and wrapped with a strip of fruit roll-up. Brilliant.

We got a lot of great gifts from the baby showers, and many folks will be receiving well-deserved thank you cards. Among many other things, Be a got us the snotsucker. (Yes, there is a tube in between your mouth and the baby’s nose.) This is one of those great gifts to claim on the registry. Like the rectal thermometer. Note: this too has already been claimed. And tested. (Just wanted to make sure it worked.) (It does.)

A list on the inside of the bag reminds you not to forget baby.

One of the few items I’ve put on our registry myself is the Diaper Dude – a hip-looking messenger/diaper bag. I will be so cool with this thing. People will see me and my look will be all, “Yeah, I’m carrying feces in my bag, what about it? I’m just too hip to care. How do you know? Because of black diaper man-purse, motherfucker. It’s got orange as the accent color.” Then they will swoon, regardless of gender.

(We are registered at Amazon.com and Giggle. You can search for us on their sites and find us. Embrace capitalism. It’s for the Peanut, until she grows up to be a Marxist. With a shiv.)

And it’s time to mark your calendars, people, for the (2nd annual) Spicy Peanut Baby Shower. It will be on 

JULY 4 2011

On Friday 4/8 we had our long ultrasound appointment that involved counting fingers and toes, checking organs, etc. It went great, and we got some great photos. Unfortunately, no video this time around.

She’s looking great!

One of my favorite shots was this one:

I suppose it could be either hilarious or terrifying depending on how you look at it. An open mouth silently screaming from a maw of blackness, or rehearsal for a prenatal opera?

I don’t even know what’s going on here. Nose/lips? To me it looks like a pop rock suspended between two gummi bears.

No gang signs yet. We can stave off the east coast/west coast rivalry for probably a few more weeks.

An obligatory shot of the foot since I showed the hand. It looks good.

We did get a few more 3D shots. She certainly was dancing around like crazy. Check out this series of 3D images taken one after each other.

Anne uses an iPhone app called baby bump, and she emails me the updates. Looks like this week at week 20 babies are around 6.5 inches and are the size of small cantaloupe. The app also informs us, “Your baby is also starting to produce meconium, the result of digestion, which will accumulate in his bowels and eventually pass during delivery or in his first diaper.” Yay! The Spicy Peanut is generating poo! Yay! Wait, does she feel like she has to go number 2 for the next 4 months? Man that sucks.

And yay for scatological humor! It’s always funny! Diarrhea! Didn’t just reading that word  make you laugh so hard that you diarrhea’d in your pants just a little?! I did writing it! Woohoo! Using a scatological noun as a verb! Yeah! It’s funny!

Sorry, I suppose we have to start getting comfortable with dealing with – and talking about – poo. When you’re trying to conceive, you tell everyone about your sex life. I anticipate that when we have a new baby, we’ll give everyone baby fecal updates on a regular basis. And we’ll inevitably have to use every euphemism possible, e.g. doody, poopie, number 2, present, load, Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. We may have to get creative.

But yes, we’ll have to be serious about it. After all, you can’t spell scatological without logical.

To be clear, we did also get the sex of the Spicy Peanut confirmed. It is for certain a girl, as evidenced by the double exclamation mark notation in this shot:

Not sure how I feel about the “bad touch” notation that it’s a girl. But this is the Spicy Peanut from the underside with her legs apart. Sometimes the babies cross their legs and it’s damn near impossible to be sure. Luckily she was cooperative. So it is for sure a girl! Phew! (Those ballet lessons aren’t refundable.)

Last time, when we were first told with 80-90% certainty that it was a girl, I asked if it was easier to tell if it was a boy. The technician actually finished by question aloud, saying that was an extremely common question, and said that it was equally difficult to determine gender. This time around, she assured us that it was a girl by asking, “You see that area right there where it looks like a hamburger between two columns?” Did she just do some subconscious advertising work for White Castle? 

Anyway, the bottom line is that the baby is great. Anne is definitely showing. (Sorry I haven’t posted a picture of her recently – it’s hard enough to carve out time to write the blog!) She feels great and we’re trying to eat healthy. Life is good. We’re moving in two weeks. 

That is all.

Diarrhea.

Apparently there’s no link between playing music, reading literature, etc. to the baby in utero and the child’s success or appreciation of those things. 

But my lesson plan! I had a strict curriculum set up, starting with the philosophy of ontological empiricism, viola lessons, and AP French. And I was going to transmit these lessons through a bullhorn directed at Anne’s belly, a couple hours a night. All that effort for nothing. 

No matter. We still have time to sink all of our desperate hopes and failed dreams into the child and make her feel guilty as an adolescent that she didn’t live up to our unspoken expectations. A well-put together regimen of controlled neglect, helicopter parenting, and emotional vacuousness will generate that piano-playing astronaut we’ve always wanted! I mean, that’s why we became parents – we need to explore the solar system, people.

Upcoming OB and ultrasound appointments on Friday April 8. We’ll be counting fingers and toes. Hopefully there will be the best number of them. We’re looking forward to another great photo shoot of the Spicy Peanut. Stay tuned.

In a previous post I mentioned that forgetfulness is part of the pregnancy. I just learned a(nother) horrifying risk of pregnancy: Couvade Syndrome. Also known as “sympathetic” or “phantom” pregnancy, is when the father experiences pregnancy-like symptoms, including breast tenderness, nausea, weight gain, and even labor pains.

I didn’t know pregnancy was contagious. Why didn’t they warn me about this in health class? This would have prepared me just as much for the real world as teaching me CPR and showing me horrible photographs of STD-infested genitals.

Apparently the word “couvade” comes from the French verb “couver,” which means to brood or to hatch. While it could refer to something like “hatching a plan,” there’s an idiom faire la couvade, which means “to sit doing nothing.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KuMZBcJRAXQ

Some of these symptoms could in part be due to elevated estrogen levels that have been measured in expectant fathers. Hopefully it’s not enough for me to go up a cup size.

Though I would like to keep our blog an unending stream of good news, I’d like it to cover our lives more broadly. So it’s inevitable that there will be some bad news, though to be immediately clear it’s not about our baby or the pregnancy. 

On Monday March 21, our beloved Seal Point Siamese cat Milo passed away. We awoke to find him laying in the litter box, ill and barely responsive. Upon taking him to the vet, we were told there was nothing we could do for him. The doctor administered the injection and he died peacefully as Anne held and caressed him. He was 15.

Mischievous and playful, Milo was a cat of many names. “Soccer kitty” sprinted around the house batting balls of tin foil – though he sometimes eventually tried to eat them. He was also a skilled player at the Q-Tip toss, hooking it with his claw and throwing it in the air repeatedly. Marshmallow was another moniker because of the beautiful toasted marshmallow color of his fur. He was also known as “skateboard kitty” because he was known to run up two walls close together to chase a toy (like a skateboard ramp). The shape of his face also earned him the title Muffinhead. 

“Dude. Your ass is all up on me.”

Milo was also a loving – if initially reluctant – adoptive older brother to Filbert. Rescued as an abandoned kitten from the woods of Marin, Filbert was initially terrified of people. When Anne got him, she had to acknowledge Filbert’s “piling” instinct (in writing, actually): his need to lay basically on top of another cat. Milo tolerated this with distinction – though Filbert got his share of swats and playful chases around the house. We would often encourage Milo to “get him,” which, of course, often had the opposite effect. (Milo preferred to do things on his own terms.)

Pets make an indelible marks on you by the uniqueness of their personality. Milo had so many quirks that made him a unique member of our family. He had a tiny kink at the end of his tail. He preferred to drink water straight from a bathtub or sink faucet so that he would soak his head. The only still water he liked to drink out of was a fishbowl – but he knew better than to go to after the fish. If you rubbed the bridge of his nose in the right way he would yawn. In his later years he loved to lay along Anne’s legs, whether they were up on the couch on stretched onto an Ottoman. He could also sleep in very bizarre positions, often with Filbert draped over him in a near-complete smother.

Milo is actually asleep here.

Milo also wasn’t afraid to show his distaste for someone, or that he didn’t like a particular situation. He was known to target a particular person for a poop job out of a long lineup of shoes. He even pooped in the sleeping bag of someone who he didn’t like – an unpleasant surprise for that guy on his camping trip. He was a cat through and through – he never wanted you to see him do something clumsy. After a slip-up he would look around to see if anyone had seen him, and continue about his business as if nothing happened. 

In his later years, Milo’s activity slowed, but he still enjoyed getting his food, getting petted, and having the best spot to sleep in. His energetic skittishness evolved into mellowness, and he became much more approachable, tolerating being picked up and having his belly rubbed.

As many of you know, pets become essential parts of your life, and sometimes they become such a familiar part of your home that they become  part of the scenery. For the sake of Anne, the Spicy Peanut, and me, please give your pet an additional hug tonight – from us – and cherish the love they provide and inspire. 

And so, dear Milo, thank you for the time we spent together. You were a part of our family and you are missed. We wish that you could have met our little one, who would have inevitably enjoyed your soft fur and relaxed demeanor. Our house feels a little emptier these days without you. We love you.