Fourth Trimester

number of weeks Grandma spent at our place: 4
number of weeks spent at Grandma's: 2
number of weeks in the fourth trimester: 12

number of outfits removed with scissors to avoid unnecessary fashion-induced crying: 1
number of outfits purchased: 0 (Thanks for the gifts and second-hand treasures!)

number of baths: 4 (We spot clean.)

number of times we have successfully employed the nasal aspirator: 3-ish

number of poopy diapers on a plane: 1
number of flights taken: 4

number of times infant nail clippers have been used: 0
number of infant nail clippers purchased in trepidation of "razor" infant nails: 2

number of baby slings purchased: 5
baby slings actually used so far: 2

number of cribs delivered: 3
cribs still in box: 1

number of rocking chairs delivered: 2
number of rocking chairs returned due to funky mold situation upon delivery: 1

number of flights to our apartment: 3

amount of tip for UPS delivery guy: 0 (How much? When? Is he allowed to take it?)

number of nursing bras purchased: 8
number that actually fit: 4

number of bebe au lait/hooter-hiders purchased: 2

number of newborn size diapers left over because she outgrew them: 80 (Where can I donate these?)

amount of merchandise ordered from Target.com: $$$ (They own me.)

number of strollers purchased: 0

number of times I have shaved my legs: 1
(number of times in 2008: 2)

number of blankets in our collection: approx. 23
number of blankets that we can't live without: 5

amount of caffeine consumed: 0 (Well, I do drink jasmine tea)
amount of alcohol: 1 tiny port wine and 1/4 glass white wine (I see a rich, red wine in my future.)

number of haircuts: 1 (The hairstylist came to my house because I couldn't figure out how to get to a salon with a baby.)

number of mommy-and-me yoga classes: 3

number of movies watched: 3

number of original songs composed while soothing the baby: endless
favorite song lyrics: Iza biza Bella mia, me oh my oh me oh mya. Iza biza Bella mia, me oh my oh me oh mya. Iza biza Bella mia, me oh my oh me oh mya. Iza biza Bella mia, me oh my oh me oh mya. Iza biza Bella mia, me oh my oh me oh mya. Iza biza Bella mia, me oh my oh me oh mya. Iza biza Bella mia, me oh my oh me oh mya. Iza biza Bella mia, me oh my oh me oh mya.

Wild Geese

It turns out that one can read poetry while breast-feeding. I came across this one the other day and for some reason it keeps speaking to me. Can you guess which lines resonate with me?

It feels incredibly human to read poetry again. Iza will be ten-weeks-old tomorrow. Lucky girl, every Friday is her birthday. Soon I will have to give in and start counting by months. But for now, she is still small enough that each week she is a new baby with new challenges (for me) and new abilities (for her).

And here is the poem:


Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Giving Birth to a Better Brain

I first posted this article when it appeared in the Boston Globe in 2005. Now that I have my own little one, I thought I would revisit it and republish it.

Giving birth to a better brain: Do babies sharpen parents' minds?
By Erica Noonan, Globe Staff, October 31, 2005

Women with small children have long been saddled with an unflattering stereotype -- incompetent, dull-witted, frazzled, and preoccupied with domestic affairs. The derogatory cliches vary, from ''maternal amnesia" in medical circles, to the colloquial ''placenta brain" in the United States and ''porridge brain" in Great Britain. But a new body of research -- so far still mostly in animals -- is fueling the idea that motherhood may actually rewire the brain, making mothers (and involved fathers) more perceptive, competitive, efficient, and even socially aware. And sociological studies suggest that most of the symptoms of ''mommy brain" may be due as much to exhaustion and stress as biology.

Comparing the brain of a non-mother to that of a mother is ''like comparing a tree in the winter to one in full bloom in the spring, when it is much fuller and richer," said University of Richmond neuroscientist Craig Kinsley, a leading researcher in the field.

The transforming experiences of pregnancy, labor, and caring for small children ''enables the brain to process information much differently than it did before," he said.

Kinsley and other researchers have found that beginning a few weeks after giving birth, a female rat's cognitive abilities -- particularly smell and visual perception -- start to expand. Rats nursing a litter of pups discover and catch prey three times as quickly as virgin rats, he said.

Kinsley's analysis of brain tissue from rats in late pregnancy showed that neural pathways in the hippocampus, the center of learning and memory, were essentially ''remapped."

The changes, Kinsley and others said, probably come partly from the experience of pregnancy and labor, when elevated levels of estrogen, cortisol, and other hormones literally bathe the brain. The presence of pups and the demands of caring for them also contributes to brain changes in mother rats -- even caretaker rats who have never been pregnant. In repeated studies, mother rats with pups have proven to be bolder and quicker at finding hidden food.

''We believe the pups are having an effect on the mother, enhancing her efficiency," Kinsley said.

''The pups have a paw in their own survival. The mom isn't a passive caregiver. Rather, absorbing sensory information from the pups has an influence on her brain."

The phenomenon hasn't yet been studied in women, but the rodent studies have important implications for humans, said Kelly Lambert, chair of the psychology department at Randolph Macon College in Virginia.

''Rodents have all the same brain parts we have," she said. ''Human brains are thicker and more complex, but as a model it's a very reasonable place to start."

Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Katherine Ellison made worldwide headlines earlier this year with her new book, ''The Mommy Brain: How Motherhood Makes Us Smarter," which looks at the experience of mothers in the context of new advances in brain research.

Ellison delayed motherhood until age 37 for fear it would doom her intellectual life. But two babies later, she actually felt more efficient and ''smarter" than ever.

''Although I'd had newspaper deadlines before, never had I been responsible for deadlines involving other people's lives and I found that duty made me more alert and focused," she wrote. ''I had many more reasons to worry, yet to my surprise, I felt calmer. And I kept running into other mothers who felt the same way."

But the news hasn't reached many pregnant and post-partum women, who often too-willingly buy into the ''Jello-brain" stereotype. In effect, this creates a self-fulfilling prophecy, said Ohio University neuropsychologist Julie Suhr.

Women in their third trimester, who were told they were being tested to see how the pregnancy had affected their memory and performance, scored significantly lower than equally pregnant women who were given the tasks without explanation. The pregnant women were clearly affected by the negative stereotypes about their brains, Suhr's students found.

``In essence, it shows that we can talk ourselves in and out of things," Suhr said. ''They performed badly if they thought they would."

Lack of sleep, the absence of adult companionship, and a shortage of time for exercise and relaxation can also make all parents -- men and women -- feel duller than they really are, Suhr said.

New fathers escape the brunt of maternal prejudices. But research in mice suggests they may still enjoy some of the same brain boosts of parenthood, as well as some of the biochemical changes exhibited by females.

Kinsley and Lambert found that father mice and marmosets performed better than non-parents at tests of foraging and remembering the location of hidden Froot Loops. And like mother rats, father rats experience growth in brain cells after fathering pups, albeit much smaller growth.
In the past five years, research into ''Daddy brains" has revealed expectant fathers experience the similar, smaller spikes in prolactin and estrogen levels well-documented in pregnant women.
Maternal brain research in animals has so far focused largely on cognitive tasks directly related to mothering, like foraging for food and seeking out shelter.

But some researchers say it isn't unreasonable to think that increased learning, performance, and efficiency could extend to other aspects of human life, including the workplace.
In a study of women and leadership, Sumru Erkut, associate director of the Wellesley Centers for Women at Wellesley College, found that in a survey of 60 high-achieving women, many said they used their more limited time at the office to get more done, and employ their newfound ''Emotional IQ" and management skills to increase office output, she said. They cited their use of traditional mothering techniques -- such as empathy and understanding -- to manage employees.

None of the women in the Wellesley study cited motherhood as a detriment to their work, Erkut said, although many women in the contemporary workplace regularly downplay their roles at home.

''Historically men have credited military and sports backgrounds as giving them tools to be leaders," said Erkut. ''It's not out of the question that women would someday list motherhood on a resume with pride, instead of trying to cover up the fact she's stayed home for a time."

Erica Noonan can be reached at enoonan@globe.com.

Latch Please

The lactation consultant and the nurse stood at the foot of my hospital bed. They exchanged a glance. That glance was eloquent: it said that they had no idea why my baby girl was not breast-feeding. We had tried all the tricks and positions. At each feeding I would put her hot little tummy next to mine and guide her to my breast. She would frantically root around for a few seconds and then eventually purse her lips before erupting in a hungry cry. Or she would simply refuse to wake up at all. I'm not sure which was worse. We pumped and fed her with with a finger feeder. We moved on to using a bottle. Each nurse who came on duty had a different trick and I eagerly tried each one. That worried glance exchanged at the foot of my bed taught me my first lesson of parenting: even the experts don't have all the answers.

Right. Okay. So babies don't come with instruction manuals. I knew that. But I didn't realize how much I depended on instructions manuals. Though I may have my nonconformist streak, I have always deeply trusted the authority of experts. I may not be a rule follower, but I am a people-truster. With my new baby in my arms I finally learned that I was now supposed to be the expert regarding my new baby. I would have panicked if I had an extra ounce of energy to fire up the appropriate hormones. As it was, our failure to enter into that lactation love zone had me in a raw emotional state that threatened a composure implosion.

After our beautiful natural birth (see previous entry), I was ready to take my place in the creaky rocker for the 3 am feeding with my baby at my breast. We would gently rock and gaze into each other's faces, no matter how bleary my sleep-deprived eyes might be. Instead, there I was at 3 am with two suction cups attached to my breasts, the persistent whir-whir of the breast pump providing the lullaby for my baby if I was lucky. Often she would just wail while I tried to pump enough (2 - 4 ounces / about 10 minutes) for the next feeding.

Here was our routine:
1) arrange a vast and complicated array of pillows, (cycle through blaming the chair, the nursing pillow, the disarray of pillows)

2) place baby next to my breast, (baby whose face is scrunched up in hunger, but whose lips are pursed)

3) watch her attempt to latch and fail and usually wail with hunger, (become convinced that she has a fever and send Grandma and Tata on a frantic search for the thermometer)

4) feed her my breast milk with a bottle, (notice that the loving sweet words I whispered while she tried to breast-feed were absent and attempt to be loving even as my heart breaks)

5) burp/rock/soothe to sleep, (Grandma or Tata took over this part as I pumped)

6) pump for ten minutes, (ten long minutes feeling like a cow)

7) store milk, (worry that I am not properly handling the milk storage paraphernalia and that spoiled milk will sicken her)

8) obsessively write down time of feeding, amount given in bottle, as well as her wet and poopy diapers,

9) somewhere in there change her diaper and get her dressed,

10) every several hours wash the pump parts with hot soapy water and

Start over at two to three hours from the beginning of feed.

Day and night became irrelevant. Time was marked by daytime talk shows--Ellen, The View, and Oprah became milestones. (We don't have cable or decent reception. Still I had to have something on to keep me alert.) It was bleak.

There were moments of joy--friends dropping by, muffins, a lobster dinner, and a surprise baby shower. Washing her hair. Oh how she loves to have her hair washed! She has "electric hair" that stands up straight no matter what we do. I love to smooth it down and watch it spring back in rebellion.

All the books say that the baby will naturally root to the breast and begin to feed if placed on the breast immediately following birth. Sounds natural. We are mammals and we are born to suckle our mamas. Why didn't/wouldn't Iza?

I think there were many factors. In part it was due to a mechanical problem with her mouth and tongue because she had a slight to moderate tongue-tie (which we had clipped in the hospital)-- although some experts say that the tongue-tie doesn't interfere with breast feeding. I think that my nervous nature compounded by postpartum hormones and emotions didn't help. Tense. You haven't seen tense. My obsessive nature inhibited our efforts, yes, but it also meant that I refused to give up. Six weeks is an eternity.

I have heard that some women keep up a similar pumping regime for months or even a year. I am not made of that mettle. We barely left the house and I hardly left our bedroom. Iza became this little entity defined by the fact that she would not feed instead of my sweet, hot, little newborn.

In the effort to make it work, we stayed an extra day in the hospital, saw five lactation consultants, a speech and feeding specialist (who told us at four weeks that her compression suck was not conducive to breast feeding and that if we wanted permission to quit, she would give it), and returned to the pediatric surgeon who clipped her tongue tie for a reevaluation. Some of these experts gave me diametrically opposed evaluations. More than one person told me to "trust my instincts." But I had no instincts! Or rather my instinct was to consult the "experts" for help.

It turns out that no one seems to truly understand the science and art of breast-feeding. For Iza and me it was a simple matter of time--she needed to learn how to organize her tongue and grow in strength. As I look back I can see that she was making progress over the weeks. I didn't see the progress, however, because I didn't know what the final result would look and feel like.

We returned to the pediatric surgeon on a Monday. I had called him in tears the previous Friday. He examined her and concluded that her mouth and tongue should not be impediments to her feeding. This was good news--there was nothing wrong with her. Yet is was frustrating to find out that there was no one problem to be solved. He was wonderful--he sat in his office with me and discussed his wife's struggles. She pumped for a year as their son wavered between the breast and the bottle. By the end of the meeting, I was crying, of course. He gave me a hug. Iza screamed all the way home. We sat down amidst our pillows and she latched on for thirty minutes, falling into the textbook milk-drunken state of sleep I had only imagined. The next day she went to the breast for most of the day. The rest of the week I breast fed and supplemented with the bottle because I was afraid that she wasn't getting enough sustenance. A regular pooper, she didn't poop for two days and I was frantic. (The only way to know a breast fed baby is getting enough is to measure what comes out the other end.)

At my six-week appointment with my midwife that Friday we made the transition. After Iza performed brilliantly at the breast, my midwife suggested that we were ready to stop using the pump and the bottles. Lactation Liberation.

We have been feeding only from the breast since then!

We drove home from the midwife and immediately I reorganized our rooms, putting all the pumping gear out of sight and mind. I cleaned and prepared the way for a new phase in our parenting lives. Tata was was pretty shocked at my sudden and complete resolution to start fresh--pleasantly shocked of course. And it has been a huge change. We have a little girl.

Key to our success: Grandma. My mom came and stayed for three weeks and then returned for another week! She spent countless hours in the rocker with Iza while I pumped and generally freaked out about being a new mom. And of course Tata was essential as he took over the daunting tasks of keeping me fed, hydrated, and sane. It was a three-person job to get Iza to the breast, with a supporting cast of at least ten. But we did it.

Also key to our success was Susan Davies, a lactation consultant who came to our home on two occasions and checked in by phone several times. She gave us good tips about the hows of feeding and also was relentlessly optimistic and supportive. (I need to write an paean to the women in our communities who work to support breast-feeding. Truly they have a treasure of knowledge gained from years of hands-on experience.)

Another key in making the transition from a bottle-fed baby to a breast-feeding baby--a struggle that took six full weeks of around-the-clock attention--is the fact that I am not working outside the home right now. If I had to go to work, I am sure that the struggle would have been too costly. Breast-feeding seems to have become an option for those who can afford to pursue it. It is cheaper than formula in terms of dollars paid out, but extremely costly in terms of time invested both in the initial establishment of the relationship and the normal feeding schedule. I became a mother at a point in my life where I can afford to breast-feed, meaning I can stay home and allow my daughter's feeding needs to set our daily rhythm.

At about week five I started to come to terms with the fact that we might have to go to formula. I can't explain why breast feeding had become so important to me. I suppose it had something to do with the fact that it felt like I wasn't able to make a choice about how my baby would eat. Instead we were being robbed of an opportunity. I knew breast milk was the best thing for my baby and I had an aversion to using anything artificial with her. But when it become a reality that she might not go to the breast, I had to imagine myself as a mother who bottle feeds. This involved much grief. In the end, however, I can say that I changed my perspective on formula. I can say now that I am grateful that formula exists. What if Iza couldn't have gone to the breast? Formula would have been her only option. And I am sure she would have thrived as bottle fed babies do. But feeding her from my breast sustains us both in ways that cannot be fully articulated, at least by me. At least not yet.

By week 7 plus several days, yes, I am starting to feel like the authority on Iza. Not an expert. Not yet. But certainly I know her better and better each day.

Birth Narrative

Iza's Birth Narrative: Draft 1

Here is my first draft of the story of Izabella's birth. I am sure other details will come to mind. But here is my first attempt to record Iza's entry into the world. Most bodily fluids have been omitted. Natural Childbirth is beautiful, but not exactly pretty.

***********************************************************************************

I had just returned to bed after making a bathroom run and so I knew it was my water breaking when a gentle gush of liquid barely saturated my pajamas. I made sure the waters were clear and without odor, both signs that the baby might be in distress. I returned to bed to wait and see what my body would do. Within fifteen minutes I was up again with what I would soon recognize as contractions. It was 1 am. It looked like I was in for a night labor, which can be exhausting. Usually you are asked to come into the hospital when your water breaks because there is an increased risk of infections. I knew that I wanted to labor as long as possible at home. Instead of calling the midwife or my doula, it seemed natural to tell my my husband I couldn't sleep and creep out of the room. It would be me and my baby for the first seven hours of labor.

There was work to be done. First, I took the piles of onesies, booties, diapers, etc. off the floor in the baby's room and arranged them on the shelves that my husband had just that night installed. I put a few more items in my hospital bag. Then I moved downstairs, settled on the couch with a good book, and waited. Soon I knew that it was indeed labor and I began to conserve my energy by trying to sleep between each rush. I knew it was imperative that I rest as much as possible and stay hydrated. After a while I figured out that the best way to do this was to sit on the couch and rest my head between contractions. If I laid down, I had to sit up for each rush and it woke me up too much. It was much easier to semi-recline and rest when I could.

Around 4 am I decided I needed to move a bit and passed the time by returning upstairs to burn two birthing soundtracks--one filled withe Enya, George Winston, and Gershwin, the other with more upbeat numbers. (Later I would prefer the Winston tunes). I made two sets--one I packed in my hospital bag and the other I took back downstairs and played while I continued to labor.

At 6:30 am I called my doula and alerted her that the baby was on the way. I made myself some toast with elderberry-orange jam and a cup of jasmine tea. L. slept late by his normal standards and came downstairs at eight. I told him that the baby was on the way. He was calm and soon enough believed me as he saw me ride a contraction. He put the car seat in the car--we would figure out how to install it after the birth-- and cleared the car of snow and ice. He also had to pack his bag. The baby was coming at 38 weeks and 1 day, which is considered full term yet still a few weeks earlier than we expected.

At that point the plan was to go to the midwife at the clinic just to confirm that is was indeed active labor, but it became clear to me that we needed to get to the hospital. The car ride was brutal. By that time the contractions were about 5 minutes apart. It took about 4 contractions to get there. Being trapped in the car, halted at red lights with strangers eye-to-eye with my intense contortions, was not pleasant. For once I kept telling L. to driver faster, faster! There was one more contraction on the sidewalk in front of the hospital.

My doula was waiting for me as we arrived about 10 am and she helped me to the the elevator while L. parked the car. The maternity ward is located on the fifth floor. We loaded up in the elevator and believe it or not fellow passengers pushed the buttons for floors 2, 3, and 4. I was deep inside my contractions but this didn't stop an internal monologue. People, please. (I know, maybe the person who pressed floor 2 had a heart condition or was going to see a terminally ill parent. But still. I was in labor. Note to self: next time I get into an elevator with a woman in labor, take her express to the maternity floor!) The elevator car bounced and retracted on each floor.

In the hospital I was first evaluated by the midwife on duty, who I had not yet met. I remember that she came into the room while I was in the middle of a contraction. I was standing and bent over the bed, resting my head and chest on the mattress. I barely said hello. It turns out that I am a moaner. I was moaning long and deep when she introduced herself. Without checking my dilation, she moved us to the labor and delivery room. It was a long, long walk down that hall. Handrails had been thoughtfully installed. I was able to sway and move my hips as we walked to encourage my baby to move down.

The contractions were concentrations. I had expected to feel the contractions on the top of my belly. I had always heard that you have to push down and so I assumed that the muscles on the top of my belly would be involved. Instead the contractions were deep inside of me, located in the same spot where menstrual cramps originate. They were a force unleashed in my belly that concentrated my entire body in the center. I kept telling myself: "I am more" and envisioning a full daisy, which I had read somewhere measures 10 centimeters. Each time my body took over and concentrated itself, I moaned and tried to open and relax my mouth and throat.

I was concentration. I was completely unaware of time, but later I would learn that I labored for a few hours before moving into the bathtub as my labor became more intense. They offered me something to drink and I chose ginger ale from the list of options. I drank a lot of ginger ale during those hours and afterward in the hospital. I mention this because I have never really liked ginger ale, but it was so sweet tasting during labor. The bubbles were light and smooth in my dry mouth. I tried to eat some saltine crackers, but barely had the energy to get them past my dry lips.

The bathtub was marvelous. I can't imagine laboring without it. In fact, I would have been happy to deliver my baby in the water. The tub, however, was too small and not designed for water births. I was able to totally relax my body between contractions, feeling weightless and comforted by the warm water. Soon I began to push. The midwife did not tell me "push!" like doctors do on the big screen. Instead, it felt like I needed to shit. (Not pretty, but true.) And so I pushed. As I moved through the contractions, the midwife let me lead the way. She would moan along with me, cueing my own moans by moaning low and deep in the throat. Or if my breathing became too rapid, she would take deep breathes to cue me to do the same. Without saying a word, she communicated what I needed to do. I knew to mimic her and instantly my pain was more manageable.

My midwife never left my side. Newton-Wellesley's policy is to assign one nurse to each woman in labor. I had my midwife, my nurse, my doula, and L. with me the entire time. Well, L. did step out for lunch. When my midwife checked my dilation for the first time, I was dilated "10 +" or so she said. It was time to move out of the tub and into the bed. It was at this point that the nurse realized that L. was gone. She had him paged. He didn't respond. They called him on his cell. He didn't respond. I was only dimly aware of these events. Just as I stood from the waters, dripping and pushing, L. returned. It was good timing.

As they guided me toward the bed, they asked me how I wanted to deliver. All throughout the labor I couldn't stand to be on my side or on my back. I leaned on the bed, I sat on the birthing ball, I was on all fours, I sat on the toilet. I moved. I knew that I needed to deliver on all fours. I managed to get up into the bed and arrange myself with my knees on the bed and my upper body supported by leaning on the elevated back of the bed. L. stood behind the bed, facing me and holding my hands. My doula was on my right. Instead of looking out toward my midwife and the room, I was able to totally go inside of myself and concentrate on each push. In between pushing, I would lower myself in the yoga pose called the child's pose. The pushing was intensely painful and I made grunting sounds like I didn't know I could. It hurt. It hurt a lot more than contractions. But I was glad for the pain. It meant that she was moving. She was on her way and there was an end in sight! While I had labored, there was no sense of how long it would continue. Even though pushing was more painful, it was more bearable because it was clear that we were making progress.

After about 30 minutes of pushing, she emerged screaming at 1:38 pm, Feb. 8, 2008. As she began her passage into the world I felt tremendous sensations of stinging and tearing. (As it turns out, I didn't actually seriously tear.) The midwife had me stop pushing momentarily to allow the baby to help me stretch out. And then, she was here. Screaming and flailing. The midwife passed her up between my legs and into my arms. The first words out of my mouth: Thank you, thank you, thank you. (As in thank you all you wonderful people who helped me birth Iza NOT thank you for witnessing my stellar performance.) I know what my first words were because we have a video of it. (If Paris Hilton and her cohorts can post sex tapes on the internet, can I post my baby's birth on YouTube? The video is only about 2 minutes long. What would Iza say?)

My husband cut the cord and with a firm snip we were two. We then watched as the placenta was delivered. (Tata took a magnificent picture of the bloody placenta.) I had requested a mirror during the delivery, but didn't use it because I was facing backward. They put it in place to allow me to watch the placenta pass. It was amazing to see it balloon out of me. The midwife showed us how our baby had fit inside while she grew.

We stayed in the delivery room for a couple of hours with our new baby. She was placed immediately on my chest and made her first attempts at breast feeding. After a while they took her across the room to be weighed. When asked if I wanted her to be bathed, I requested that they wait until the next morning so that her skin would soak up all the vernix--the white filmy substance that covers a baby in the womb and keeps their skin soft.

She was born with so much dark hair! I was shocked to see all that hair. L. and I both thought that she looked just like him. In fact, we thought she looked just like her grandpa Barabasi. Newborns look like little old people and so it was no surprise that we could see Nagytata (grandpa) in her face. Now she has blue eyes, which come from mama, but her true eye color may change. As a good friend suggested, she looks like tata on the outside but she is all mama on the inside!

What a rush. I was enormously proud of myself. Tremendously. The rush of hormones was a high like I have never known. Physically I felt not only not bad, but really great. I had only a minor tear that needed stitching and otherwise I was filled with energy. Of course, when I got out of bed to be cleaned up I was a bit shaky. But ecstatic. My body knew what to do. I am not the natural earth mama type. I am more of the skinny-nervous, over-wrought, consult the textbook type. But my body knew what to do and I just had to get my head out of the way and let my body do its work. What joy.

Sunday Funnies: Yes, Pecan!

Stolen without permission from: http://justprettydeep.blogspot.com/

She Sleeps, Izabella, Queen of Transylvania

And sleeps. And poops big yellow poos. And coos. And when she is trying to wake up she makes terrible faces and does the most advanced baby yoga stretches with all her might.

Grandma went home yesterday leaving us alone with our baby girl after more than three weeks. We did okay last night after we figured out that, yes, she does want more to eat (what a champ!) and, yes, it does work better to tag team on the feeding/burping-rocking/pumping circuit. Since I do the breast and pump by default, we need to pass the baton when it comes to the bottle of mama's breast milk, burping-rocking (and washing out the lactation pump elements) jobs. A full time job indeed.

Now she is sleeping for the first time in her co-sleeper/bassinet. Up until a few days ago, Iza was mostly naked. She slept skin-to-skin with me in an effort to help her learn to love her food source. This means that at night I sleep flat on my back with baby Iza's belly on mine. She sets her little cheek right on my heart beat. This way I can sense her rousing immediately and tend to her needs. When she is sleeping during the day she often sleeps right in our big bed with all the covers removed and only her swaddling. Now that Grandma is gone and Iza is growing stronger and a bit more active, I decided to try out our bassinet. So far it has been a great place to store her clothes and blankets. She is happily swaddled there, her freshly washed hair standing up in electric shock.

I know I intended to post about her birth, but I am not quite there yet. I do want to write about it as soon as possible to capture as much of the detail as possible. On the other hand, her birth story is being told and as I tell it it grows more refined as the noise is filtered out and only the most salient elements remain. I will write it. Soon.

A note on her name: We struggled up until she was born about what to name our little one. Szilvia was a close second. We chose Izabella because we loved it and it is a Hungarian name that works in both Hungarian and English. We were disappointed to discover that Isabel and Isabella are both in the top fifteen popular names right now. Yet once we read about Queen Izabella of Hungary who ruled in Transylvania, I think we were hooked. (Tata is from Transylvania.) Queen Izabella (1519-1559) was a Renaissance lady who spoke four languages. (See her image above. Read more about her at: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isabella_Jagie%C5%82%C5%82o) Izabella seemed perfect for our little Transylvanian.

Of course, I have quickly learned to explain: "It is I-z-a-bella, that is the Hungarian spelling."

There are endless nicknames for Izabella. We often refer to her as "Iza," which is pronounced with a long e sound followed by a z sound plus a schwa. Thus, something like "ezuh." She is bella baby, belza, bizzy, izuka, and sugar plum fairy.

By now Iza has awoken, fed, fussed, latched on with a nipple shield for 20 minutes, fussed, burped, had a diaper change, and zonked out next to me here on the bed.

A friend commented in an email that she admired my energy to keep on blogging. All I can say is, it keeps me human. My nipples ache. I can't seem to get out of the house. But I can manage a quickie-blog now and then to keep in touch in the virtual world.

I will write the birth story. Next time.

Natural Childbirth: Assembling Team Iza and the Birth Plan

We made our baby in South Bend, Indiana. Her arrival was scheduled after our move to Boston, Massachusetts. I would need to find the right midwife and and hospital in a city filled with an overwhelming array of top notch medical facilities. I was overwhelmed. In the end, I would not change a thing about my labor and delivery. Newton-Wellesley hospital was the perfect setting for Iza's natural birth.

I knew I wanted a natural childbirth and I knew I wanted a midwife. (How did I know these things? That deserves another blog entry of its own.) While I was open to a home birth or a birthing center, my husband was less sure. So, how to determine which midwife is the best for me in a city where I don't know a soul? (Or at least the souls I do know are not in the birthing phase of life.) As a well-schooled student of Eve Ensler, I simply asked women about their experiences. As I walked the streets of Boston in my apartment search back in the Spring of last year, it occurred to me that I was passing women with their infants happily strolling along. The experts were right in front of me. And how they loved to talk. I gathered a few stories and a few names seemed to repeat. This is how I found Elizabeth "Biddy" Fein at Harvard Vanguard. One of her happy moms assured me that she was excellent. I scheduled an appointment soon after we moved to Boston.

At first I thought that my choice of midwife limited me to a delivery at Brigham and Woman's hospital. I toured their facilities and was impressed by their professionalism. Biddy let me know at my next appointment that she also attended births at Newton-Wellesley hospital. Honestly, having another option was almost unwelcome. I just wanted a place to give birth, not more decisions to make. Nevertheless I scheduled a tour at Newton-Wellesley just to make the comparison. It was a BLINK decision. It was clear to me that Newton-Wellesley was the better place for a natural birth. Not only were the rooms and the fresh muffins each morning impressive, but they also assign one nurse to each patient and have a reputation for being open and welcoming to moms who want to labor and deliver without medical interventions. Don't get me wrong, this is no Ina May Gaskin retreat. While they are open to natural childbirth, it is still not the norm. The nurse assigned to me was pleased to witness my natural birth because it is a rarity.

Not expecting my husband to coach us through labor (who can remember all those labor signs and aids?), I also hired a doula. As is the case with most hospital midwifery practices, you are assigned to a midwife for your prenatal care. The midwife who attends the birth, however, is determined by whoever is on call when you go into labor. Thus you cannot know in advance which midwife will be present. It was important to me to have a doula present because she would be the one person (besides my husband) who knew me and knew my birth choices. I wanted a familiar face. I found Tara Kenny through a recommendation from Isis Maternity. I interviewed a few doulas, but felt most comfortable with Tara. I highly recommend her services (and can put you in touch if you leave a comment). Tara is actually a midwife who is building her practice here in the Boston area. I was lucky to have her expertise.

I imagined that Tara would assist my labor in my home and help me to determine when to go to the hospital. She would bring all the tricks of the trade--her experience and skills as well as the birthing ball. She would tell me when and how to breathe. As it turned out, Tara would meet us at the hospital--more on that later. Tara helped me write my birth plan (see below), detailing my preferences for labor and delivery. The birth plan was sent ahead to the hospital and given to the midwife and nurse on duty. They knew my choices and honored them.

Put my picture on the natural childbirth brochure. Put Iza's picture on the cover of the Newton-Wellesley hospital's informational packet for parents looking for a natural childbirth. My midwife, Dianne Reynolds, was amazing. The nurses were outstanding. If you live in this area and want to have a natural childbirth, but are a bit hesitant about a home birth of a birthing center, go with Newton-Wellesley. That's my vote.

My birth plan:

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The Birth of My Child

My goal is to deliver a healthy baby. I would like to have a gentle and natural birth and would like support to begin breast feeding. In addition to my midwife, my husband and my doula will be present.

Labor:
· I prefer the use of intermittent, external fetal monitoring.
· I am aware of the medications available and will ask for them if I need or want them.
· I plan to move and bathe as needed during labor.
· I prefer not to have an IV unless it becomes medically necessary.
· I prefer to allow my waters to break without assistance.
· I would like to avoid the use of pitocin or other medical inducements.

Delivery:
· I would like the option to use a mirror during delivery.
· If there is difficulty during pushing, I would like to use gravity or pelvic positioning and be given more time as long as baby and mother are healthy.
· I prefer no episiotomy cuts, but would like the use of perineal support/compresses.

Following Delivery:
· I would like the baby placed on my chest immediately and allowed to find the breast, allowing as much time as needed.
· The baby’s bath, exams, and vitamin K shot should be delayed until after the baby has had a chance to feed for the first time, allowing as much time as needed.
· I prefer to refuse the prophylactic eye drops.
· I prefer that the cord be allowed to stop pulsing or at least that it not be cut until I am ready to consent. My husband or my doula will cut the cord.
· I prefer that my baby receive only breast milk and request that the hospital not give the baby any formula or provide a pacifier.
· I would like to be consulted in all decisions regarding the baby.

Cesarean:
· If a cesarean becomes absolutely necessary, my husband and/or my doula will accompany me.
· If the baby is not in distress, then the baby should be given to my support person immediately after birth.

Thank you for your consideration regarding my wishes for a healthy and happy birth!

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Next installment:

the blog-appropriate narrative of Iza's birth. . .

Iza's Due Date

Today is February 24th, Iza's due date.

She has been with us for two weeks already and we can hardly remember life before her arrival.

Breast Feeding Update: She is still learning how to latch. Two weeks is a long time to study the art of the latch. At least it is a long time for a mama trying to coax a little one onto her breast. But we are hanging in there. And now that she has arrived (as of her due date), we are sure that a true latch is in her near future.

Last night Iza decided to "latch" and do her suck-suck swallow thing between midnight and one thirty. We set the mood by playing her birth soundtrack with heavy doses of Enya and George Winston. There was invigorating music. There were bare breasts. Bodily fluids. Moans. Pip squeaks. A belch. This morning we received a very kind email letting us know that our lactation party kept the neighbors awake. Seriously. I guess the music traveled via the air ducts in our turn-of-the-last-century condo. Yay! Iza is such a party girl. She has already had the neighbors complain about her milk antics! Things may get so rowdy they might have to call the Boston Police.

There is much to write about. Little time. Let me just say, thanks for the muffins. There is nothing more loving.

And thanks for the pep talks. New mantra: "I am the mama" and I will decide that my baby girl gets her mama's milk. Now we just have to convince baby Iza to forgo the china and drink straight from the fountain.

Team Izabella

It takes a team to bring a baby into the world....

Yes, I was the one pushing and yes we used no medical interventions. Her arrival was 100% natural. (Labor narrative with all its juicy details to follow, perhaps.) Yet let there be no mistake, we had plenty of assistance. Team Izabella 2008. And for the record, I fully support anyone who does use medical interventions. I have been there, I know the painful intensity--it empowers and humbles you.

And since the delivery, we have needed a whole battalion of helpers--lactation consultants, cheerleading friends, the nurse who generously gave us a handmade knitted cap when baby Iza's went missing as we tried to leave in freezing weather. Without Grandma, all would be lost. (Thank goodness we have even had an offer of a volunteer Grandma in the future when my mom will need to return to the land of Oz. Be careful what you offer!) Not to mention the 20 or people who have massaged my breasts in the past six days, none of whom have been my husband.

The smell of her soft skin. The silk of her hair. Her scrunched up face and her yellow baby poo. What more is there?

First attempt at blogging post-Iza arrival: I fired up the laptop and then couldn't resist a lean down and a gentle kiss on her exposed arm (she was born with a fist up next to her cheek and loves to have the hand near her face) and BAM my laptop crashed from my lap to the floor, inches from my state-of-the-art lactation machine. Hence: kisses trump keyboards in this new state of our affairs.

For those of you who know me: picture this: J.K. Kelley changing a little teeny diaper on a skirmiquin of a sweet baby girl, careful not to irritate her cord.

Still. How can I not blog my little girl's world? I have to give her something to be embarrassed about in about 13 years.

Izabella
born at 38 weeks and 1 day
born 2-08-2008
6 pounds 12 ounces
all spunk and spittle

By the way, still no crib or changing table. Yet we are sleeping, poopalooing, and doing just fine. My belly was plenty big after all that worry. And we do have our Bundle Me (thanks Ash!) and our Burberry diaper bag (thanks Jji!). We are in style and as soon as we figure out how to latch (or as L. calls it in ESL, "leach") we will be on the way. . .