The Arrival

Turns out, if you wait long enough, the baby actually DOES come out.

Today is the three-week anniversary of my baby boy's birth, so there is a lot of catching up to do. Surely, I could have posted sooner, but I have been trying to take everyone's age-old advice of "when the baby sleeps, you sleep" so my days are pretty much feed the baby, clean poop, sleep. and when I am awake and functioning, I have tried to either leave the house (me and the baby have had two solo trips so far!), read work emails, or just chill with the baby in his few waking hours.

So what follows is basically how the little man came into our world. Be warned, in true PP form, it's pretty much as raw as it gets - I've never really been one to hold back, so why start now?

The action, I guess, started the day after the last post - Friday. That morning, after some concern, my doctor thought my water broke, so I was sent the hospital. Excited with bags packed, my husband and I set off, thinking this was out last day as non-parents.

Not so much - turns out the water in my jeans was likely due to poor bladder control - though I begged to differ, as I am accused of a lot of things, but pants-peeing is not one of them (at least not since the second grade).

Home we went.

Fast forward to Monday night - after a quick late afternoon nap, I woke to get ready for my doctor's appointment, which was at 6pm. As I put my leggings on, something splashed to the ground - was it my water? Sure looked like it, but after four times of being told I was in some form of labor and no baby actually came, I didn't want to get my hopes up. Moreover, the splash was neither the large "gush" or the constant trickle.

We got to the doctor's office, told them went happened, and the three tests they do to confirm water breakage were...inconclusive. Doctor did an ultrasound and determined that my amniotic fluid was again really low - down 4 cm in a week - so that was enough for her to order an inducement - even if my water didn't break, they would induce me because my fluid was too low at that point.

Off we went again to the hospital, where they subsequently confirmed my water DID break and my contractions were every 2-3 minutes (and obviously not painful by that point because I didn't know they were happening - but that would change).

Calls were made, and enter the excited family....

The rest went down like this:


They put me on meds to speed up contractions at 1030pm. Holy pain. Once they kicked in, I tried to beat it for as long as possible before asking for the pain meds at 230am. But to be fair, I also asked for the pain meds because they said they couldn't check my dilation until I has the epi. Epi in 230am, and that was last time I felt any sort of pain. AT ALL.

I actually slept for a few hours. The next thing I knew, the doctor came in at 7am, told me I was 8 cm dilated, and again at 8am, and told me I was fully dilated, and ready to start pushing. I was like, "Baby coming! Baby coming!"

Not so fast.

I proceeded to push for 3 1/2 hours. Yeah, you read that correctly. THREE AND A HALF HOURS. To put that in perspective, my sister's friend has a baby a few days ago and pushed for 14 minutes. Granted, pushing times vary dramatically, but 3 1/2 hours is tough. It doesn't hurt, but it is exhausting - so much so that by the end, I was taking quick naps between contractions (about 90 seconds in between each push session).

After that marathon stretch, it was determined that the baby was facing up - after they shifted him to face down, it was determined that my pelvis was too small to get him through. Our options? C-section or forceps.

This is where it got emotional - not in the "why me? my body failed me!" type way, but rather in the "we got so far, and still couldn't get him out" kind of way. It was here that I started to sob, with no one able to console me.

No way was I having my child yanked out using salad tongs, so C-section it was. Within minutes I was in the OR, which was so cold I was convulsing with shivers and sobbing while they set up, numbed me and cut me open. I felt nothing but my body being kind of yanked around (not painful, more like I could tell I was being tugged). The room was so cold my hands wouldn't stay still, and my sobbing made me a complete mess. And then, about 30 minutes after it all started, at 130pm on 12.13.2011, the doctor proclaimed:

"It's a BOY!"


My son, 7 pounds, 8 ounces, and 20 inches long.

Footprints

First family photo



So let me pause here and talk about this moment.

The proclamation was followed immediately by a large wailing cry from MY SON. I heard my husband - who sat to my left- gasp and cry, "It's a boy!" I felt an almost indescribable mix of relief (that it was over), shock (that it was a boy, because I spent 10 months convinced it was a girl), disbelief (ohmygosh I have a kid), and exhaustion. And cold. I was just so cold. I know it probably sounds weird that "joy" wasn't an immediate reaction, but in that moment, given everything that happened - and the fact that I didn't even see my child for several minutes, and didn't hold him for the first five-ish hours, it's not that unusual that there were some initial attachment issues.

Now,that's not to say I didn't feel any positive feelings - I did, but in a kind of what-just-happened-on-my-gosh-I-have-a-son kind of way. The real "love" switch got flipped some time later up in my room, when it was just me and him hanging out, and I felt this wave of emotion - joy, love - consume me. It's kind of weird to acknoweldge this out loud, especially since I always read about people fall in love immediately with their kid and all that - and for the last few weeks I wondered if something was wrong with me. But in hindsight, I know that there was just so much going on in those hours that, between the physical and emotional exhaustion of it all, I was just out of it, depleted to the point that it was hard to really take anything in.

The family meets Baby Boy D for the first time:

Aunt Devin

Check out my enormous face - I was swelled up like a blowfish, in part due to my hour-long sobbing fest and constant IV. I was swollen for about two weeks after this to unreal proportions. Anyway - this picture was taken while I was numb from rib cage down, more exhausted than I could imagine ever being, and convulsing with cold shivers (still) and unable to hold my child. I was able to use my hands to touch my belly, which was also stunningly swollen. My mouth was so dry I could barely talk (no fluids since about 8am). Here in the recovery room, they covered me with a space blanket type thing that they pumped hot air into so that I would warm up while also allowing me to eat ice chips, which seemed to, at least briefly, counteract the heat blanket. I was a mess. Took me about an hour to regulate. I couldn't even think straight.


Aunt Ellen, breaking Baby Boy D in with a Red Vine (she didn't really feed him this, just in case someone tries to contact the authorities).
Grandma
Literally hours old at this point.

Look how long he is!
One of the ultrasound photos we have is of the baby - at about 15 weeks - in this exact pose. We call it "the touchdown baby" pose. He loves being in this pose when he sleeps.

In his Christmas pjs - threatending Santa with a knuckle sandwich is he didn't get his presents on time.





So here I am, three weeks post-baby, and it's been quite a ride so far. Both me and my husband are on work leave (he goes back in two weeks, me at the end of January) so we've had a lot of "quality" time together. Some observations about these early stages of parenthood:

1. Your belly doesn't automatically disappear once the baby is out. Imagine my shock when I woke up the next morning and still looked 6 months pregnant. Not.Happy. This took about two weeks to go away, though I still have a jiggle belly, thanks to my almost-exclusive Oreo-and-RedVine-diet in that last month of pregnancy (and cake-for-breakfast holiday diet). Turns out my thighs still rub together as well. Su-weet.

2. It IS possible to projectile doody. Just ask my son. And his other favortie trick? The "fire hose." Yeah, it is what it sounds like. I think it's the sensation of the wet wipe that triggers a golden shower. Last night, during his birth announcement photo session, he was actually skilled enough to pee in his own face (and eyes). My kid's gifted. Trust it.

3. Breastfeeding? It's not natural OR easy. If I've had any issues, it's been this. And when your trying to breast feed, and your kid is struggling, it's REALLY emotional. I mean, you are soley responsbile for feeding your child so he survives, and when you can't do it, and it's 3am, and he won't latch, and your nipples are cracked and bleeding - well, let's just say epic meltdowns are bound to happen. And let's be honest, shall we? I'm not the most patient person in the world, and am also a bit of a obsessive perfectionist (understatement), so when I can't do something, I get a little nuts. The funny thing is is that - despite my own expectations and sense of failure - I must have been doing something right from the beginning, because he gained back both his birth weight and an extra pound in the first two weeks, which is really good. Knowing this, it's helped me to calm the eff down. Three weeks in and we are in a much better place. My kid's belly chub is evidence of this.

4. Speaking of BF - holy boobs. People weren't kidding when they said they would double in size when my milk comes in. Pregnancy blew them up, but BF has turned them into a completely different beast all together. That's all I have to say about that without giving my blog it's own warning label for explicit material.

5. Boob size ineviatbley leads me to think about returning to running, and how on earth I am going to start logging miles with these jugs bouncing around. I have no idea yet, and haven't gotten clearence anyways (given my C-section incision that still healing) but since I will continue to breast feed and thus the mild will be plentiful, I have to figure this out. Plus, BF makes you really tired, so getting back to the gym hasn't happened as I had hoped. I am aiming for sometime in the next few days, as we continue to get our schedule nailed down.

6. I'd say I have about 20 pounds of fat to get rid of at this point. Although I didn't get weighed at the last doctor's appointment (because I was in labor), best estimate for total pregnancy weight gain is about 45 pounds. Yeah, I know. Its about 10-15 more than the books say you should gain, but I was on and off bedrest for the last three months and pretty much stuck on the couch, so I guess I was bound to gain a bit more. And like I mentioned earlier, damn Oreos were the end of me. I swore I wouldn't be that girl, but here I am - 20 pounds of non-baby fat to run off. Superb.

So that should catch us up to speed on the last three weeks. I am hesitant to comment on the fact that our child is about as chill as they come, and for all intents and purposes, has been really...easy. We keep waiting for the other shoe to drop - for colic to set it, for brying jags that last all night to hit - but so far we have been really lucky. And I stress lucky, because I certainly have nothing to do with it - what with my lunatic temprement and all.

I am sure I will have some more Tales of Parenthood as we go on, and I'll squeeze them in between dodging poo rockets and being milked like a cow.

Later!

Kansas 70.3

It's race report time.

As per usual, I will try to keep this brief, and loaded with pics.

So on June 6, I did the Kansas 70.3 . For those non-triathletes among us, it's a half-Ironman that consists of a 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, and 13.1 mile run.

I picked Kansas because Cheese's family is out there and I figured - hey, kill two birds with one stone, right?

Also along for the ride was Spie, who most of you might know from past events such as MC200, and my recent trysts up to Wisconsin for my long rides on the weekends.

We left at about 5am Friday morning, drove for 10 hours (awesome), and finally arrived to 92 degree heat (98 with the stifling humidity). Guess who didn't exactly train for THOSE conditions?

That's right - THIS GIRL.

So almost as quick as we said hello to my in-laws, Spie and I threw on our running clothes and headed out the door. The goals? Shake out the 10-hour ride from our legs, get in a last workout before the race, and try to acclimate to the heat.

Lemme tell you - it was about as close to running inside the seventh ring of hell as I can imagine. My nipples literally melted off my tits. True story.

After 40-ish grueling minutes, Spie and I arrived back home, completely dehydrated, foaming around the mouth, and me covered in my own salt (as usual). Since I have taken to running in shorts and a sports bra (hell, dudes can get naked, a sports bra ain't nothin'), I was a little taken aback when I entered the in-laws home to find a room full of people.

Just staring.

At me.

And my sweaty half-nakiddnes.

Quick like a cat, I dried off, and the hug-hello-how-ya-doings commenced, followed by a BBQ of epic proportions.

Me and Spie, post run, full of grime.


As the evening came to a close, and me with a belly full of baked beans and homemade ice cream, we said our good nights and headed to bed.

Me and my man.

And although there are no pics to document the following day - which consisted of another round of melt-your-face-off-your-face heat - Spie and I spent most of it together, getting lost thanks to Tom-Tom (Dum-Dum), driving around rural back road Kansas, and finally checking into the race, where we found out the water temperature was 81 degrees.

HALLELUJAH!!!!!

My hate for the wetsuit knows no bounds, and with this news, I felt like, "Yeah, things are going to be juuuuust fine....."

And then?

Then we drove the bike course.

Panic ensued, possibly a few tears, lots of nervous laughter, and then - after much hydrating with lots of water - a brief lapse of incontinence (me) in the parking lot when both Spie and I realized we didn't pack out tire repair kits until about midnight.

Which brings us to.....Race Morning.

My Curb Crew. Does the shirt look familiar?

Wait - what? Who's this? It looks just like.....it is!!! Chrissie Wellington!!! Right her in the Land of OZ!!!!!!!


Wowza.

So, Chrissie was well on her way to setting a new Kansas record and breaking her own from last year by the time my sopping wet ass emerged from my swim.

I swam without the wetsuit, but in hindsight I should have just laid it out and floated on it like a dead man on a raft and would probably have posted a better time.

But I got out of the water, mostly unfazed, but yet totally stunned to look down at my watch as see: 47:45.

No seriously.

What the fuck?

I wasn't even tired or disoriented like usual. I just popped up, saw my time, and then noticed, "Yeah, I am pretty sure I am the only white cap in my group to be out here." To say I felt shame doesn't even cover it.

But let me pause here and relay the most glaring lesson I learned this race - In triathlon, you will always get the race you train for. There are no miracles, and there's no one to call in favors from come race morning. You either train, or you don't, and the race doesn't lie.

For me, I regularly chose the bike or a run over the pool, and here - in the form of a 47-minute swim - was the undeniable consequence of those choices. I didn't train well for the swim, so I wasn't going to do well. No complaining, no excuses. It is what it is. I am the only one to blame.

But I was ashamed nonetheless. It always sucks being towards the end of your swim heat.

In fact, the shame was so bad, it took about 10 miles into the bike for me to pull my head out of my ass and get right.

And the getting got right as soon as I saw my first bike split.

Shame erased. Game on.

(Side note: T1 was an astounding 2:32, which is UNHEARD of for me. In 2006, it was 6:56, for crying out loud, and in 2009 it was 4:38 - THANK GAWD someone finally told me that T1 didn't stand for "Time Out to Nap" Who knew?)

(Also note the lack of bike photos - it was impossible for spectators to be on the course so no pictures)

Pictures aside - this was BY FAR the toughest bike course I ever rode. Unrelenting hills, up and down the whole way - but having drove it the day before set me up well. I knew what to expect and when. No matter - it was still balls-ass hard.

So imagine my shock to finally pull back into the State Park, look down and see:

3:02.

And wait! What's this? I jump off my bike and can actually run it to the rack? Hold up! Is this a joke? Who is this Super Girl? It's ME!!!

PR on the hilliest bike course I've ever tackled!!

Eat shit, bad swim!

Now, I don't know about you, but by the time the bike is over, I am usually just relieved to have made it through without a crash or flat.

But yet here I was, relieved AND energetic!

Bring on the run!

(T2: 2:26 - again, this is crazy talk for me)

This was just before (or after) Mile 3.

Mile 5 - still running, refusing to stop, bladder filling, but smile on my face.

This picture is hella ugly, but at this exact moment, I was running past Cheese just about Mile 7 and saying, "I'm gonna break 6 hours!" (my previous PR was 6:32 in 2006). Those exact words - look, you can even see me forming the word "I'm" here.

Between Mile 7 and 9, some random dude caught up to me and starting chatting me up. I think he was trying to pace with me, and rust me - for the first time in my entire life or racing, I noticed that I wasn't the one trying to keep up. Hellz no, I was the one setting the pace! Runner Dude was on Mile 2, and we chatted a while. At this point, I pointed out Cheese and his family, waved, and marveled at how I hadn't yet stopped running.

Chattin' away...

Smiles, but in just a few short miles, they are going to start to fade.....Mile 11 to be exact.....

(Side note: In case you are gawking at my sweet boobs and wondering "Why do they look crinkly?" you're not alone. I ask that every morning myself. But here, it appears that I had a half-pack of Clif Bloks shoved down my shirt from the bike - easy acccess - and I clearly forgot about them.)

By Mile 11, I was struggling. I started making deals with myself. You know, things like, "Okay, run to the far light post and if you want to stop, then you can. But go at least to the far lamp post." This worked well and kept me going until right before Mile 12, when I walked for the first time - for about 60 seconds.

I picked it back up again, noticed my hip was super tight, but also noted that I had just over ten minutes to get through the last mile. I knew it would be tough because I was already slowing down, but I reminded myself of a research study I recently read about how exhaustion is only in the mind - that if needed, my mind could overcome the slowness of my legs, and I could pick it up.

So I did.

I came slow around bend, but then it felt as if my legs just took off.







Oh yeah.

Run time: 2:03.

Official time?

5:58.

And though it may only be two minutes - its still a SUB-6!!!!!

Oh, and uh...30 minutes off my previous PR.

No biggie.

*wink*

But wait- what's this?

Oh yeah - it's me. And my pal Chrissie. Just chillin' at the finish.

I mean, sure, some people call it stalking, but I know true friendship when I see it. And no, there is nothing weird about the fact that I stood five feet away from her for several minutes just watching her...watching...before I made my move...creeped up...nothing weird at all....


I don't know if you know this about me but...uh...I'm kind of a big deal

*shrugs*

So I don't know if I've even mentioned this but, Cheese's mom is a lip-kisser. Like, she goes in for the hug, then pulls back to look at me, and then without fail always goes in for the lip-kiss.

I learned this the hard way - she got me good the night of the engagement party, when I was drunkenly trying to change out of my dress into my pjs and she wandered into the room and gave me my 150th hug of the night and caught me straight pucker.

AW-KWARD.

And most of you know - I'm not even a hugging person, so a lip-kiss is far beyond anything that I consider remotely acceptable.

(side note: my own mom does this with Cheese - and she's even gone in for the lip-kiss on me. What's that about? Is this a generation thing? Have ladies over 50 been conditioned to lip-kiss, no matter how awkward?)

Anyhoo, I put this in because this is photo evidence of his mom pulling away from the intial hug and going in for the smacker, and you can see me do my now-infamous head-turn.

Me and Spie, post-hashing.

Me: "So everytime I tried to farmer blow, it just went clear across my cheek and I couldn't wipe it off."

Spie: "Yeah, you kinda got some right there - right by your lip. And frankly, it's freaking me out."

Me: "Where? Oh, right here (twisting tongue) Oh yeah, that's it. I think I got it."

The finishers!

Not to be deterred from my aformentioned head-turn-spurred-lip-kiss, here's the next family Christmas card, complete with Cheese's mom checking out my hot rack.

And let's be honest, shall we? Can you blame her?

Me and my man. A long hot day and good sunburn later, he graciously drove us home.

So my final thoughts are this:

While I am all-to-sure of why the swim sucked, I am not all that sure why everything else was spot-on. I have definately come into other races feeling far more prepared and stronger, but for some reason, it all clicked in this particular race.

Did I train differently? Better? Stronger? And if so, what specific workout helped most? I have so many questions like this because I clearly - finally - did something right, and I want to know what, so I can keep improving it.

I know I joked a lot about it, but it is so rare for me that I come out on the other end of one of these smiling and proud - more often than not, I feel humbled, sometimes ashamed, often frustrated - and that's WITH training. So this new feeling of pride is different - it's kinda nice.

And who knows - maybe the next race will blow monkey sacks. But right now, I am just going to allow myself to enjoy the experience of things clicking. It's been a while since I felt so happy and proud - time to enjoy it.

The end.

Creep and Pee - Weird, That's Also The Name of My 80s Hair Band

Survivor

Watched "Survivor" with the hubs tonight.

(I know -I too was shocked that this show is still on. Guess it must be watched by the same people who watch American Idol – yes, that includes you, Nolan).

I never watched beyond the first season, so I forgot how crazy all the alliance stuff is.

But the biggest observation I walked away with?

If you are a grown ass man with hair long enough to put in a slimy pony tail, you are creepy.

Don’t pass Go. Don’t collect $200. You are just creepy, and must go to Creepy Jail.

You are sentenced to bunk with Creepy Dude Who Wears Long Gold Chains and Creepy Dude That Winks at Inappropriate Moments. Don't drop the soap.

After making this observation to Cheese, however, he rewarded my keen sense of character with this:

“But they make for such passionate lovers.”

Like peas in a pod, we are.

A vomit-filled, scratch-your-skin-off-your-body-type pod.


Turtle Vindication
Got in my second to last long brick before the big Kansas 70.3 debut.

Oh, by the way - Have I mentioned that Cheese’s entire family (and some friends) will be spectating this beauty?

Seemed I forgot this might be a side-effect of doing a race in his home state.

No pressure, no pressure at all. Hopefully he can educate them about the acronym DFL while I’m out of the bike.

(Dead Fucking Last, for those outside the sports world)

Anyslowass, I had the weirdest experience.

I was so totally physically into it – felt great, felt strong, felt like I could turn around and do all four hours again.

But mentally, I was a sick, hot mess.

I mean, talk about Bad Attitude Sally.

In full disclosure, I believe PMS (yes men, it exists, its bad, so shut the eff up before I club you with my Super Absorbency Tampon) was part of this mood.

But then, it would sour even more every time (6) my effing water bottles hopped right out of the water cages onto the ground. And that doesn't even include the amount of time I spent reaching back mid-ride to make sure they were pushed down - so as NOT to jump the cages.

But EVERY.SINGLE.BUMP, I tell you.

Somewhere in the residential section of Highland Park, I was screaming at my bottle in the middle of the street, and then turning my verbal vengeance towards the cages themselves.

Like the true period-pending lunatic I am.

But the icing on the cake (no post is complete without a cake frosting mention) was when I finally found a bathroom after holding “it” for 30ish miles.

I damn near threw my bike down as I rushed into the park outhouse, yanked down my sweaty shorts and commenced “the hover.”

Mid-hover, however, I had the bright idea to also blow my endlessly runny nose – you know, to expedite time. Nose-blowing being oh-so-time-consuming that I couldn't be bothered with an extra two seconds to do it post-pee.

Oh, I didn’t mention that I was apparently time-trialing? Against myself? And the wind?

Turns out that when you hover, you have a little less “stream control.”

So all it took was one hard blow and Good Ol’ Meggy was riding home in urine-soaked pantaloons.

And socks.

I mean, why the hell did I bother to stop in the first place? I could have just kept pace and taken care of business on somewhere along Sheridan Road.

There’s really no moral of the story here. I would say, “lesson learned,” but I know myself, and there will surely be a next time.

My money’s on Kansas 70.3.

‘Cause I’m a crowd pleaser.