Day 33 Under Dictator Rule: Times are hard. Marcus and I fear for our lives as we struggle to get a wink of sleep or eat what little gruel we’re allowed. It has been 33 days since we found ourselves in this dire situation. Every aspect of our lives is ruled, nay, dictated by a 1 month old baby who answers to the name of Alexandra the Great. She insists we call her by such and we are too scared to find out what would happen if we don’t. She is a pint-sized lunatic who dictates when we eat, sleep, and poop.
Last night was one of the scarier nights of our lives as her full potential for evil was reached. Every 1.5 to 2 hours I was awakened from my slumber by the incessant demands of Alexandra the Great. “Feed me! Change me! Burp me! Damnit, don’t you know how to do your job you nincompoop!” Her tiny fists, uncontrollable by her rage, pummeled me into submission and I bowed to her every demand. Even now, I shake in fear of her next awakening. She will not be pleased if I am not able to procure her milk, a clean diaper, and pacifier in a timely manner. Marcus thinks if we just ignore her she will go away. He is clearly delusional from the lack of sleep.
I hope and pray for our safe return to normalcy but I am afraid it is not to be. She is too powerful and we are too weak. This may be the last time I am able to write. Tell my parents I love them and please make sure Lasagna is well cared for. I bid you all, adieu.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
My Husband, My Muse
There are two things you should know about Marcus. 1. He is my Muse. 2. He doesn’t mind. Really.
As you can guess we’re getting little to no sleep at the moment. If Alex sleeps more than 2 hours on end we’re lucky and, since she’s currently being bottle fed, both Marcus and I take turns getting up with her during the night. There is, however, a big difference between our waking up styles. When I wake up I may be cranky but I’m totally with it; I know where I am and what the task at hand is. In other words, I’m awake. Then we have Marcus who lands on the exact opposite end of the wakefulness spectrum. In other words, he's not awake.
I haven’t written about Marcus’s propensity for sleep walking/talking recently though for a while it was definitely blog material. As it is, his actual sleep walking had dwindled to random, incoherent questions and chit-chat through the night. Now that Alex is here I’m getting the best of both worlds (and yes, I do find it highly entertaining).
One night I was woken up by a crying baby at 5:53 AM. Why, you ask, do I remember that exact time? Because Marcus also woke up and asked what time it was. I responded with “5:53” followed by a question of my own, “When did she eat last?” Marcus replied with “5:53.” “No,” I said “that’s impossible. When did we feed Alex last?” Marcus was certain the last time we fed her was 5:53. I gave up. It was, after all, 5:53 in the morning and what time the baby ate last really didn't matter since it was clear she was ready to eat again.
Another episode occurred not when the baby was crying or making any fuss whatsoever. Marcus simply woke up, walked to her bassinet, and proclaimed that she should sleep in her own bed. “Why?” I asked followed quickly with “Are you sleep walking?” I was told in no uncertain terms that he was not sleep walking as he climbed back into bed and promptly fell asleep.
Finally, and definitely my favorite episode so far, happened just the other night. Once again, the baby was sleeping soundly however Marcus awoke and, I’m assuming, in his mind she was crying. I watched as he walked to the dresser where a pile of clothes was sitting and he began swaddling them. I asked what he was doing and got no response as he was very busy attending to the "baby." Finally, I asked “You know that’s not the baby.” Marcus didn’t seem to hear me but at the same time he bundled the clothes in his arms, gently cradling them, and walked to Alex’s bassinet and peered in. At no point in time did it seem like anything actually registered with him however he did walk back to the dresser, gently put the pile of clothes down making sure they were comfortable, and climbed back into bed.
Oh, Marcus. The good thing is I wake up every time he gets out of bed so I can stop him from doing anything too drastic…like diaper a pile of clothes. The bad thing is he’s diapering a pile of clothes.
As you can guess we’re getting little to no sleep at the moment. If Alex sleeps more than 2 hours on end we’re lucky and, since she’s currently being bottle fed, both Marcus and I take turns getting up with her during the night. There is, however, a big difference between our waking up styles. When I wake up I may be cranky but I’m totally with it; I know where I am and what the task at hand is. In other words, I’m awake. Then we have Marcus who lands on the exact opposite end of the wakefulness spectrum. In other words, he's not awake.
I haven’t written about Marcus’s propensity for sleep walking/talking recently though for a while it was definitely blog material. As it is, his actual sleep walking had dwindled to random, incoherent questions and chit-chat through the night. Now that Alex is here I’m getting the best of both worlds (and yes, I do find it highly entertaining).
One night I was woken up by a crying baby at 5:53 AM. Why, you ask, do I remember that exact time? Because Marcus also woke up and asked what time it was. I responded with “5:53” followed by a question of my own, “When did she eat last?” Marcus replied with “5:53.” “No,” I said “that’s impossible. When did we feed Alex last?” Marcus was certain the last time we fed her was 5:53. I gave up. It was, after all, 5:53 in the morning and what time the baby ate last really didn't matter since it was clear she was ready to eat again.
Another episode occurred not when the baby was crying or making any fuss whatsoever. Marcus simply woke up, walked to her bassinet, and proclaimed that she should sleep in her own bed. “Why?” I asked followed quickly with “Are you sleep walking?” I was told in no uncertain terms that he was not sleep walking as he climbed back into bed and promptly fell asleep.
Finally, and definitely my favorite episode so far, happened just the other night. Once again, the baby was sleeping soundly however Marcus awoke and, I’m assuming, in his mind she was crying. I watched as he walked to the dresser where a pile of clothes was sitting and he began swaddling them. I asked what he was doing and got no response as he was very busy attending to the "baby." Finally, I asked “You know that’s not the baby.” Marcus didn’t seem to hear me but at the same time he bundled the clothes in his arms, gently cradling them, and walked to Alex’s bassinet and peered in. At no point in time did it seem like anything actually registered with him however he did walk back to the dresser, gently put the pile of clothes down making sure they were comfortable, and climbed back into bed.
Oh, Marcus. The good thing is I wake up every time he gets out of bed so I can stop him from doing anything too drastic…like diaper a pile of clothes. The bad thing is he’s diapering a pile of clothes.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Baby Shower
So. Where to begin? "You and Me Equals Three?" is no longer a question. You and me really does equal three now. Alexandra Kathryn Tepaske was born 27 February, 5 weeks premature, and weighing a grand total of 5 pounds 2 ounces. What a strange time this has been for all of us. For me, the strangest part is knowing that a week ago I was uncomfortably pregnant and thinking about 5 weeks into the future when life would change. For Marcus, the strangest part has been the amazing life changing event yet feeling like he and I are both the same people we were before. For both of us the strangest part is all of a sudden being responsible for another person's life. I look down at a tiny baby girl and think to myself, pardon the French, "holy shit."
I will do my best to recount the events leading up to this life-changing event without being too detailed. However, it is a story about having a baby so some things just can't be left out. The part about when I ate the placenta after giving birth can be left out* but the part about exactly how far along I was in the birthing process upon getting to the hospital cannot be left out.
A week ago today I realized something wasn't quite right. I called my doctor's office the next morning (Friday) and told the nurse what was going on. She asked that I go to the labor and delivery ward of the hospital to be checked out. She was concerned I had ruptured a membrane which would be cause for concern and the baby's health. I went to the hospital and was checked out by my doctor who informed me I was 1 centimeter dialated but that nothing else was wrong and to go home and take it easy over the weekend. This was slightly easier said than done as Norma, Marcus's mom was coming into town and we had our own baby shower to attend in Williamsburg on Sunday. One other thing to mention is that during the day on Friday I began experiencing what I assumed were Braxton-Hicks contractions; little spasms throughout my lower back and abdomen that were uncomfortable.
Saturday was a lazy day while Marcus cleaned and I did minimal, piddly things around the house. Norma arrived in the afternoon and we had lunch and then took a nap. Later, we had dinner with my mom and then had dessert at Carl's ice cream. Marcus went out to watch the VT vs. Duke basketball game (go VT!) and Norma and I stayed home and watched a movie. Again, throughout the day I continued to feel the "Braxton-Hicks contractions." They were possibly a little stronger than the day before but would only occur once in a while so nothing to set-off any alarms. Also, I had just seen my doctor the day before and we rescheduled my appointment for Tuesday. I figured if things continued I would inform my doctor at that time.
Saturday night was miserable but only for the sheer fact that sleep was impossible. I couldn't sleep because the spasms were occuring a little more rapidly, though sporadic, and with a little more force. It seemed that every time I closed my eyes to sleep I would feel a wave of pain. Finally, at daybreak I just got up and got ready for the day. Though I was uncomfortable I wasn't going to let it slow me down.
We went to church that morning and during the service the spasms started to become more painful but nothing I couldn't handle. After church we ate a quick lunch and made our way down to Williamsburg, an hour and a half away. The spasms continued and sometimes they were painful enough that I didn't want to talk much but I was able to get sentences out. The same thing continued during our time at Dad's house although I was still able to enjoy myself and spend time with the family there.
Finally, around 7:00 PM we started saying our goodbyes. As I made my way to the door I had a spasm that was strong enough it made me grip the table and the second it eased up I felt my water break. They weren't kidding in our childbirth basics course that you would know when it happened. I ran (sort of) to the bathroom and Marcus quickly followed after being informed that I had just left the room in a hurry. We determined, amid hysterical laughter, that it was probably time to go to the hospital a full hour and a half away. We, more quickly now, said our goodbyes and set-off on the road: me, Marcus, and Norma. At some point during the ride I told Marcus I didn't think I had a very high pain tolerance. Marcus's famous last words were, "Well, you may be getting over the worst of it now. You might only be about 5 centimeters dialated and that's the worst part they said." Stupid childbirth basics class. I've come to realize they know jack.
The spasms became much more intense during the car ride to the point where I couldn't talk and if Marcus was talking during one of the more intense moments I wanted to punch him (he was just trying to make light of the situation, something even I would have done if the roles were reversed). Norma was in the back seat and helped keep track of the, let's call them what they really are, contractions. One thing our childbirth basics course taught us that turned out to be false (at least for me) was the "511 Rule:" come to the hospital when your contractions are 5 minutes apart, they are 1 minute long, and they have lasted for an hour. For me, that was a load of crap. There was absolutely no rhyme or reason behind the number of contractions or how long they lasted. All I knew was it sucked, hard, and anbody who may have been riding in a car next to us saw a scary sight if they looked in our car and saw me gripping the car door as if I wanted to Hulk out and rip it off its hinges.
As I ask Marcus today if he felt the car ride was any longer or faster than usual he says he felt it was just a typical car ride from my Dad's. However, now that he knows what was to come, he might have felt differently at the time. Anything could have happened and again, knowing now what was right around the corner, there was the potential for Alexandra to have been born on the highway.
We made it to the hospital and made our way to the labor and delivery ward. The whole time we were walking I thought to myself, "just act naturally...don't look too distressed." I found out later that Marcus was thinking the same thing.
Upon arriving at the labor and delivery ward they put me in triage and asked me to pee in a cup. Looking back, that was the dumbest and hardest thing they could have asked me to do at the time. Once I had peed in a cup (it must have been a test or something to see how much an insanely laboring woman can take) and after a quick check it was determined that I was 8 centimeters dialated. For those of you unaware, 10 centimeters is the "No turning back point." I think our initial nurse must have been as shocked as we were because she asked another nurse to check me out. That nurse said I was at 9 centimeters. Either way, I was about to have a baby. When Marcus heard the numbers he looked down at me with the craziest smile and laughed, bordering on hysteria, and repeated what the nurse had said. Neither of us could believe it. Also, to note, once you've reached the point I was at drugs are no longer an option. That's right. Au naturel.
After this point I won't go into much more detail other than to say we arrived at the hospital at 8:00 PM and Alexandra was born at 9:24 PM. After she was born they immediately whisked her away to the waiting NICU nurses and nobody said what she was (we never found out the sex). Even Marcus was just frozen, taking in everything that had just happened. I had to ask what she was at which point we heard she was a girl. Again, Marcus and I looked at each other and with a mixture of hysteria, exhaustion, and disbelief, we repeated what the nurses said.
In the end Alexandra's birth makes for one of the most excellent stories that even I couldn't have imagined. Even more remarkable was the fact that she arrived at a time when we lest expected yet it was almost as if it were planned. Marcus's Mom, who just happened to be in town was there for it all. My Mom who also shouldn't have been in town but was due to a change in her work schedule was also there. In the end the two grandma's were at the hospital waiting for her and were able to hold her within minutes of her birth.
Here we are, 4 days later, and we're still in a state of disbelief. We are also in such awe of our family and friends. Without them we would be struggling right now and we are beyond grateful for everything they did for us. Everyone took it upon themselves to do what they could to make our arrival at home an easy one. Being that Alexandra was 5 weeks early we had very little accomplished. By the time we came home 48 hours after her birth it was like we had been ready our entire lives.
So, that's it. The story of Alexandra's arrival. We still can't believe she's here and it probably won't settle in, ever.
*I did not eat the placenta and to be honest if you are one of those women who did you're disgusting. It's akin to eating your kidney for crying out loud!
I will do my best to recount the events leading up to this life-changing event without being too detailed. However, it is a story about having a baby so some things just can't be left out. The part about when I ate the placenta after giving birth can be left out* but the part about exactly how far along I was in the birthing process upon getting to the hospital cannot be left out.
A week ago today I realized something wasn't quite right. I called my doctor's office the next morning (Friday) and told the nurse what was going on. She asked that I go to the labor and delivery ward of the hospital to be checked out. She was concerned I had ruptured a membrane which would be cause for concern and the baby's health. I went to the hospital and was checked out by my doctor who informed me I was 1 centimeter dialated but that nothing else was wrong and to go home and take it easy over the weekend. This was slightly easier said than done as Norma, Marcus's mom was coming into town and we had our own baby shower to attend in Williamsburg on Sunday. One other thing to mention is that during the day on Friday I began experiencing what I assumed were Braxton-Hicks contractions; little spasms throughout my lower back and abdomen that were uncomfortable.
Saturday was a lazy day while Marcus cleaned and I did minimal, piddly things around the house. Norma arrived in the afternoon and we had lunch and then took a nap. Later, we had dinner with my mom and then had dessert at Carl's ice cream. Marcus went out to watch the VT vs. Duke basketball game (go VT!) and Norma and I stayed home and watched a movie. Again, throughout the day I continued to feel the "Braxton-Hicks contractions." They were possibly a little stronger than the day before but would only occur once in a while so nothing to set-off any alarms. Also, I had just seen my doctor the day before and we rescheduled my appointment for Tuesday. I figured if things continued I would inform my doctor at that time.
Saturday night was miserable but only for the sheer fact that sleep was impossible. I couldn't sleep because the spasms were occuring a little more rapidly, though sporadic, and with a little more force. It seemed that every time I closed my eyes to sleep I would feel a wave of pain. Finally, at daybreak I just got up and got ready for the day. Though I was uncomfortable I wasn't going to let it slow me down.
We went to church that morning and during the service the spasms started to become more painful but nothing I couldn't handle. After church we ate a quick lunch and made our way down to Williamsburg, an hour and a half away. The spasms continued and sometimes they were painful enough that I didn't want to talk much but I was able to get sentences out. The same thing continued during our time at Dad's house although I was still able to enjoy myself and spend time with the family there.
Finally, around 7:00 PM we started saying our goodbyes. As I made my way to the door I had a spasm that was strong enough it made me grip the table and the second it eased up I felt my water break. They weren't kidding in our childbirth basics course that you would know when it happened. I ran (sort of) to the bathroom and Marcus quickly followed after being informed that I had just left the room in a hurry. We determined, amid hysterical laughter, that it was probably time to go to the hospital a full hour and a half away. We, more quickly now, said our goodbyes and set-off on the road: me, Marcus, and Norma. At some point during the ride I told Marcus I didn't think I had a very high pain tolerance. Marcus's famous last words were, "Well, you may be getting over the worst of it now. You might only be about 5 centimeters dialated and that's the worst part they said." Stupid childbirth basics class. I've come to realize they know jack.
The spasms became much more intense during the car ride to the point where I couldn't talk and if Marcus was talking during one of the more intense moments I wanted to punch him (he was just trying to make light of the situation, something even I would have done if the roles were reversed). Norma was in the back seat and helped keep track of the, let's call them what they really are, contractions. One thing our childbirth basics course taught us that turned out to be false (at least for me) was the "511 Rule:" come to the hospital when your contractions are 5 minutes apart, they are 1 minute long, and they have lasted for an hour. For me, that was a load of crap. There was absolutely no rhyme or reason behind the number of contractions or how long they lasted. All I knew was it sucked, hard, and anbody who may have been riding in a car next to us saw a scary sight if they looked in our car and saw me gripping the car door as if I wanted to Hulk out and rip it off its hinges.
As I ask Marcus today if he felt the car ride was any longer or faster than usual he says he felt it was just a typical car ride from my Dad's. However, now that he knows what was to come, he might have felt differently at the time. Anything could have happened and again, knowing now what was right around the corner, there was the potential for Alexandra to have been born on the highway.
We made it to the hospital and made our way to the labor and delivery ward. The whole time we were walking I thought to myself, "just act naturally...don't look too distressed." I found out later that Marcus was thinking the same thing.
Upon arriving at the labor and delivery ward they put me in triage and asked me to pee in a cup. Looking back, that was the dumbest and hardest thing they could have asked me to do at the time. Once I had peed in a cup (it must have been a test or something to see how much an insanely laboring woman can take) and after a quick check it was determined that I was 8 centimeters dialated. For those of you unaware, 10 centimeters is the "No turning back point." I think our initial nurse must have been as shocked as we were because she asked another nurse to check me out. That nurse said I was at 9 centimeters. Either way, I was about to have a baby. When Marcus heard the numbers he looked down at me with the craziest smile and laughed, bordering on hysteria, and repeated what the nurse had said. Neither of us could believe it. Also, to note, once you've reached the point I was at drugs are no longer an option. That's right. Au naturel.
After this point I won't go into much more detail other than to say we arrived at the hospital at 8:00 PM and Alexandra was born at 9:24 PM. After she was born they immediately whisked her away to the waiting NICU nurses and nobody said what she was (we never found out the sex). Even Marcus was just frozen, taking in everything that had just happened. I had to ask what she was at which point we heard she was a girl. Again, Marcus and I looked at each other and with a mixture of hysteria, exhaustion, and disbelief, we repeated what the nurses said.
In the end Alexandra's birth makes for one of the most excellent stories that even I couldn't have imagined. Even more remarkable was the fact that she arrived at a time when we lest expected yet it was almost as if it were planned. Marcus's Mom, who just happened to be in town was there for it all. My Mom who also shouldn't have been in town but was due to a change in her work schedule was also there. In the end the two grandma's were at the hospital waiting for her and were able to hold her within minutes of her birth.
Here we are, 4 days later, and we're still in a state of disbelief. We are also in such awe of our family and friends. Without them we would be struggling right now and we are beyond grateful for everything they did for us. Everyone took it upon themselves to do what they could to make our arrival at home an easy one. Being that Alexandra was 5 weeks early we had very little accomplished. By the time we came home 48 hours after her birth it was like we had been ready our entire lives.
So, that's it. The story of Alexandra's arrival. We still can't believe she's here and it probably won't settle in, ever.
*I did not eat the placenta and to be honest if you are one of those women who did you're disgusting. It's akin to eating your kidney for crying out loud!
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