No "ambush prayer" allowed.

It's not something people may think about, especially those who have been in an evangelical and/or non-denominational Christian community for some time.

You're sitting there in church/a meeting/class/a bible study, and all of a sudden the primary speaker closes his or her eyes (doesn't even bow his or her head!) and starts with a "Heavenly Father" or "Dear God" or "Abba, daddy, hey-yo!"

By the time you realize it's a prayer, the leader could already be saying "In Jesus' name" and finishing the prayer you didn't know was happening! 

Listeners of yours may be deep in thought, reflecting on a past experience, wondering how their loved one would receive such teaching, or simply trying to take in what they are thinking and feeling at the moment.  They also may be wondering where you're going with your teaching, since throwing in "ambush prayer" is an easy way to end something without giving a good conclusion. 

Conclusions to teaching are tricky, but what can make them mystifying is if you all of a sudden look like you're easing a tension headache by tightly shutting your eyes and elevating your hands to waste level.

So, folks, if you're ever in charge of teaching people or giving a testimony and you want to end something with a prayer, first of all make sure you are actually ending what you have been saying, and then say "Let's pray."  They're just two simple words that unify the church by getting them all on the same page.

Mooing for honking....mostly

We recently moved (moooooved?) from Iowa to a pretty rural part of PA. Where we lived in Iowa was just 100 yards from the interstate. You would hear engine breaking, semi-truck honking, and the screeching of many a tire.

Here, you hear cows, cows, cows. That's because the town we live in is quite small, and one farm at the edge of our town possesses a vocal herd of cattle.

For days on end we will hear nothing, and if we are lucky, smell nothing, too. But last night and again just this afternoon, cows and cows possibly upon cows are bellowing like its the second coming.

Call me a city girl (I'm really not), but few things are as weird to listen to than collective moo from a bunch of cattle all at once and all day and night. Who knew they were so dang loud?

Well, I did, actually, as I have stayed at my family's farm many times in my life. That said, never have I heard a whole team of cows moo all at once, nor have those moos gone on for two days straight.

What would I rather have? Of course it'd be the occasional cacophony of bellowing than the consistently jarring sound of interstate or big city traffic, but I will say - the moos are no more peaceful than semi-truck noise at 1 in the morning!

One odd thing, though: people around here do lay on thier horns. It's not because someone cut them off, though; it's because they want to say "hello" to someone walking on the street!

Blue - the color.

What is in a color?

A lot of stuff.

I was just commenting on the "Oh Joy" blog about what my least favorite color is, and it's blue.  Brown is a close second, but I really don't dislike any color entirely.

I wear a lot of blue for some reason, and I'm starting to take more to a rich, vibrant navy color (yes, navy can be vibrant and it most definitely can be DRAB). 

In our living room, we have a turquoise and goldenrod blanket from india that some good friends gave us, an ikat-print navy and olive and forest green and cadet blue padded bench, and a sky-blue/yellow/olive green green floral print lamp shade. Blue, blue, blue, and here I am saying I don't like the color.

It's growing on me a little bit, and I feel like blue could be a nice color to welcome people in or make them relax.  But even as I say that, i get that feeling of drabness, sorrow, and melancholy.

So I think you need to enjoy the stuff you're looking at, regardless of how it's designed or what favorite (or non-favorite) color it is.  If you don't really like it and enjoy it, then its not worth having.

And with that, it's time for me to ditch a few things I just don't like!

Rain is a good thing.

I'm not referring to the country song here.  It's a catchy tune, don't get me wrong, but I'm talking about the physical rain. 

It's pretty dark outside at 2:21 p.m. I barely needed to draw the room-darkening curtain in my daughter's room at nap time with how thick this cloud cover is. 

Since having my daughter, I no longer am able to tolerate heat like I once did.  Let me tell you, it's way better to be "warm-blooded" than "cold-blooded," as some people like to call themselves.  When warm-blooded, I was able to be comfortable at 80-anything degrees and ~70% humidity.  When it got to 90 degrees, I started to sweat a little.

Now, 80-anything degrees has me on the ground in front of a fan.  It's starting to get better, but only a little.  That's why rain is a good thing, at least today.

Today's rain brought not a sweltering humidity but a glorious cold-front that has us in the comfortable 70's.  Yes, I have very little idea of what to do with my daughter when she wakes up from her nap, though probably a trip to Wally World will suffice (it will get her some crayons and allow me to return an incredibly immodest 2-year-old swimsuit, so it's a win-win for both of us). 

Even so, it's my first day-time thunderstorm of the summer that has kept going and going, and it's not one of those severe ones that you should rightly fear/respect.  It's a steady, understandable rain that has mostly rolling thunder attached to it. 

It's also the first good rain after a dry-spell, and as I think I've written before, when it's too dry, it's not just the land that feels it; I think people feel it, too.

So the rain is a relief, and I'll take it.  We can't go to the pool today, but we can still get some good hydration.

Being smart

I don't particularly care for The Huffington Post, but sometimes they have some great pieces on there from some really smart people. 

This statement from a professor to his future students is a good one, but what I like even more is this response a commenter had to several of the commenters who said a good professor is one who "personalizes" instruction for his or her students:

Rob Engle · Florida A&M University

Wow, you people need to get a clue.
I had a college professor tell me my freshman year, "I'm not your teacher, and I'm not your friend - I'm here to guide you to the knowledge you must teach yourself, because there's not enough classroom time to cover everything you'll be expected to know by this course's completion. So put on your big boy/girl pants and get ready to work."
Best advice I ever got, both inside and outside the classroom.
And they were right, the tidbits I picked up in class were nothing compared to what I taught myself outside the classroom, whether in the library doing research for papers or reading in any one of a number of books I brought home outside of required reading. The professors merely show me the way. It was hard work, but I thrived because I put in the time. I learned, I wasn't spoon-fed. High school, by comparison, was more like kindergarten.
But the kids, and parents, of today seem to insist on the new hands-holding mentality that held them back in high school, and leaves the overwhelming majority needing to take remedial courses in math and English, and will leave them unprepared for the real world. About time they get a wake-up call.

I'm considering homeschooling for a whole variety of reasons, but one is because of the sheep-like learning that can (sometimes/often?) occur in schools.

I wasn't a magical teacher when I did teach, but I did try to make my instruction dynamic and meaningful, and I would hope that I instilled the learning independence that this man received from his professor.

Yet another name - "gone" - ...maybe.

One of the tricky problems of infertility, though it wasn't nearly as important as other concerns, was the problem of "losing" names.

No, I hadn't forgotten them or anything like that, but the names I would like and add to a list eventually were lost to becoming popular.

Now, I don't intend to name my kids anything particularly extraordinary, but having a name that was particularly popular when I was born has lead me to none too few situations where I and another friend/classmate looked at a teacher to see which "Laura" they were talking to.

Additionally, I need to say that I wouldn't choose a name because it's popular, even if it's beautiful and fits so well with our intentions for naming.  This might sound goofy, but we really, really avoided names on the top 10 or 12 list.  Having a John and a Laura in the family didn't help. Having a sister-in-law named Laura, with the same last name, was also an incentive to name Suzy something not particularly typical.

So, as we waited to conceive, I saw names I loved suddenly shoot to the top of lists for most popular names.  Here are some I liked before they got "big":

Sophia
Ella
Adele
Charlotte
Penelope
              among others.  So, for one reason or another, these names dropped from my list, though if something came up that made a top name really, really, really necessary, we'd consider it. 

That said, now comes another name on my list that may be dropped - maybe.

Alice.

When Adele, the singer, got REALLY famous after her "21" album made it, I went searching for names of similar sound or meaning.  Alice became a contender both with the hypothetical and actual considerations. The general order of preference for names, as they were over a year ago:

Elizabeth (as high as #12 at one time last year according to some website somewhere)
Suzanna
Caroline
Alice
Rosalind.

So when Suzy was born, Rosalind and Caroline were dropped pretty quickly for one reason or another. Alice was a #3 consideration for a while, and the debate between Elizabeth and Suzanna waged for 48 hours.  It wasn't that awesome.  After "sleeping on it," we didn't feel settled on Elizabeth, and - with about 30 minutes to spare before leaving the hospital - we decided on Suzanna.

I don't think Alice got the full consideration that Elizabeth and Suzanna did, but Suzy is definitely a good fit, and Alice has been on "reserve" for whenever we might have a daughter again.  It's not a definite, but it's a real possibility.

Now the new royal British babe has been born, and all the bookies have 6-4 odds or so than she will be named Alice.  Charlotte is also a consideration, but my money would also be on the girl who went to Wonderland. 

Would I take Alice off the list if the new princess were named as such?  I don't know, but there'd be more than a few comments, I'm sure, regarding the inspiration for the name.

That all said, there are plenty of Williams and Henrys out there,
but hey,
to my buddies, Will and Kate:
could you go ahead and pick some incredibly regal name and let the common folk have Alice for themselves - i.e. me?
Thanks.
Also, Kate - when you're over your clothes, just let me know, and you can ship them to me.
I'll take them off your hands - no problem!

- update: as the world knows, "Alice" will still be a contender for the next baby.

Oh wait, that's normal - seeing Cyclone apparel

Having lived in Chicagoland for 4 years, I got used to getting excited about seeing things connected with "home" that were rare sights in the IL metropolis.

One thing in particular that always got me going was when I saw someone or something that wore or contained Iowa State University insignia.  It was like someone who knew me came to visit, even if I had never seen them in my life.

I had a buddy at work who was a student at the seminary my husband attended.  He worked in our office part-time, but he was a Godsend for how much he made this completely not-me environment feel like home.  I mean, the kid had an Iowa State mug, for crying out loud!  And by kid, he is probably 2 years younger than me, maybe 3, so of course I can call him that. :)

Anyway, now that we're back in Iowa for a while, I see ISU gear all the time.  Cyclone lawn signs, ISU t-shirts, vanity license plates that tells the world the driver is "ExCyted!" - it's everwhere, yet I still look at it and think "Oh hey, an Iowa State Person!"

And then I get some weird, uncomfortable feeling that tells me I ought to know I'm in Cyclone Country (with a healthy dose of Hawkeye influence, let me tell you), and it's not something I should think is exciting or peculiar to see.

What was once an experience like seeing a peacock amongst a sea of Canadian geese is now an experience like seeing a peacock amongst a gaggle of many, many other peacocks; however, something with my brain still doesn't compute this fact, and I keep thinking "huh, Iowa State!" while living only 50 minutes from my alma mater.

A random assortment of words and thoughts.

I use "The Old Reader" for my rss feed.  Google Reader was the easiest rss feed to use back when it was going, and thankfully I found this when GR went kaput.

Anyway, on the right side of The Old Reader, it has a list of "dead feeds," which are blogs that haven't posted in a long time.  I thought about how long it's been since I wrote, and I wouldn't even make that list because I'd be so outdated.  It's only been 6.5 months, but really - there's been plenty to write about.

We now live in Iowa, my daughter is 1 and not wanting to nap this afternoon for some reason, and my husband is still doing army and currently doing hospital chaplaincy.  The weather is better here than in Chicagoland, though I really miss my friends and the various amenities/neighborhoods that came with living along the North Shore. 

I particular, I miss seeing people who aren't like me, or at least don't look like me.  That said, I am still tall, and that makes me different from a lot of people around here.  In general, I have found that women from Minnesota are taller than women from Iowa, but both a much taller than nearly everyone from the Chicago area.  Read "The Tall Book" to get some ideas as to why.

Baby Suzy is not a baby, really, but still can't walk, so the toddler label feels weird to say.  She is also tall, so just by sitting upright, she is able to reach pretty much anything she wants as far as toys go.  Her favorite toy is a book - any book - and she asks for them the second I get her up from her nap.  "Booh?!" she will say, with the sign for it.  If it's not "booh," it's "bah" (ball), "da", or "mamamamama" for when she needs something.  She LOVES kids and squeals or screeches every time she sees someone small.  In a word, she a lot of fun.  In another word, she's incredibly sweet.

Life post-seminary is weird.  We had less time and more space while living in Chicagoland, so now that we're at a much slower pace of life, we are in a smaller apartment where I can't ignore my kitchen and, therefore, it actually gets cleaned almost daily.  And I am cooking a lot, so pictures of what i make may actually pop back up on this blog again.

Post baby - my body is nearly back to what it was.  Yes, weight has shifted to a degree, but I don't think it has as much as it seems to for other women.  Really, I am gaining and losing weight (not too quickly anymore, though) in the exact same areas as I had in the past.  This means that my pre-pregnancy pants almost fit, but not quite all of them, and my outfit for Easter Sunday that I had planned months in advance didn't work out.  I'm probably 2 or 3 pounds away, but naturally Easter is 11 or 12 months away, so those gold brocade pants will be sitting in a closet near me for a while.

Now Suzy is really awake and ready to eat something (a "booh"?), so I better get her.  Thanks for reading, if you do, and here's to more writing and blogging.

When a random, well-meaning lady comes up to your kid, takes off her sock, and rubs her foot.

I've seen my friends lament on facebook about their kid getting touched by strangers.

Lament is one way to put it, but feel free to call it something else if it fits better.


I thought to myself, - wow, I'm sure glad I live in Lake County right now.
No one touches anyone here.
I may have had my previously pregnant belly touched once,
maybe twice,
by someone who I wasn't related to.

It was great!

Now, however, so many really, truly, and often adorably well-meaning
women
try to touch my baby.

The thing is,
              thus far,
                     no stranger has done it in either a weird or unwelcome way or at all.
They come close - they lean in - they make fun faces and cute noises - and they go on their way.

The body language says "IT'S A BABY HUMAN!!! GET IN MY ARMS!!!!"

The actual action is "I know I shouldn't freak you out, but I so want to hold this baby! I'm leaving!  I promise!  I want to hold the baby! I'm leaving! OK...here's a mile-long stare so you feel bad!  But don't - I'm leaving! "

It's been great, still, and then...
then...
then.

"I love feet!"

That's what a woman said to me/Suzy when she came up to us in a busy store, somewhere still in Lake County.
She proceeded to do what my title says above.
Suzy smiled,
I very uncomfortably grinned,
She walked away,
Suzy and I rolled away (shopping cart reference here),
I immediately put her sock back on and did not quit moving until we got to the cash register.

Was I caught off-guard?
Yes! yes yes yes yes yes!

Will I be caught off guard again?
NO.

And now, frankly, I have a very good excuse to be freak-out-hypochondriac-(though lovingly-kind)-Mom in any public place from here on out:

Ebola.

Good luck out there, people,
                   and don't let anyone aside from yourself
                                                                    (or your beloved...
                                                                                         or your caregiver)
                                                                                                                 take your sock off.

Suzanna's birth story

I started and stopped and started this for months.  It's a small novel (novella), so take a minute, grab yourself a snack and a drink, and get ready to settle in for a while!

note: I am primarily telling this story for two reasons - to give glory to God, and to let people know out there that good birth experiences do happen.  I don't know at all why mine was as easy as it was, with just a few complications to speak of.  I also don't know why some people have really awful birth experiences for no apparent reason.  All I know is that God is the one who sustains us all when modern medicine can't, and he created those people who made modern medicine and gave them the inherent skills, talents, and strength so we are sustained through this ordeal. 

Tuesday, March 4

It was 2 days until my schedule induction date. My due date was February 24, and baby girl was "late."  I was feeling pretty bummed that we'd have to induce most likely, as only dilation and no detectable contractions had started.  Neither John nor I actually expected to go into labor before the 6th, so we decided to make the next day, March 5, fun and memorable, getting a bite to eat at a local restaurant we've been wanting to try, then chilling at the house together while we just waited. To help with the waiting and take advantage of our dwindling time as a kid-free couple, we decided to have our friends, Christie and Aaron, over for dinner and a board game that night, which meant that I needed to clean a lot, run errands, cook a little bit (thanks to another friend, Bethany, we already had a main course), and then pick up John from school.  I moved around a ton that day, having to sit down at least twice to catch my breath just from cleaning!

Another friend of mine told me that drinking red raspberry leaf tea would help get labor going.  I did a little research and saw that it had worked for many, many people, so whilst shopping I picked some of that up and had it after dinner while we played a game with our friends.  Actually, John asked me if I was going to drink it, and I said "I want to...but I also want to go out to lunch tomorrow."

Yes, my priorities lay there simply because I didn't believe I'd go into labor without some high-octane drugs.  Two cups of that plus a body tired from running all day lead to me conking out on the couch while watching the 10:00 p.m. news.

Wednesday, March 5 - very early morning

When I woke up from dozing on the couch, it was almost 12:45, so I got up to get myself ready for bed.  After leaving the bathroom for some reason I can't remember, I felt the most definite beginning of my water breaking.  We scrambled to get a few loose things into our go-bag, and I decided to call the doctor since I thought that was what I was supposed to what to do.  Sorry - my adreniline trumped my memory at that point. Doc called me back, asked if I had any contractions (no), and told me to wait a couple of hours.  I was to head to the hospital if the two hours had passed or if my contractions got to be 10 minutes apart.  Given that I had yet to have even 1 contraction worth noting, John and I went to bed to hopefully catch some last shut-eye.

I couldn't sleep, felt what would have been a .5-level contraction on the 0-10 pain scale, and relaxed in the living room until 3:00 hit.  I then woke John up, he took a shower and got a few more things together, and we were out the door at 4:00 a.m. And I did follow our nurse educator's advice and had some toast prior to leaving. It was worth it!

Wednesday, March 5 - still before dawn

We landed at the hospital and were escorted to the women's services center (i.e. labor and delivery).  I said "No, thank you" to being escorted in a wheelchair, which I regretted after what was a significantly longer than I expected walk from the ER, particularly because it didn't benefit me in the way of labor progression.  After briefly checking in (PRE-REGISTER, FUTURE PREGNANT PEOPLE!), they brought me to my room, got my blood tested, hooked me up with an IV insert, and had me gt into a glamorous hospital gown.  After doing a few walks up and down the halls, John and  I headed back to the room to rest.  He was thankfully able to sleep there for most of the morning while I, waiting for something, anything to happen, barely got my eyes to close.

The nursing staff brought me water, popsicles, jello, ginger ale, apple juice, and sympathy.  Eventually the doctor came in to assess where I was at.  3-4 cm, he found, but no contractions to be felt.
           As an aside, I do believe that Suzy head-butted me several times and, therefore, accomplished more than any single contraction could.

The doc prescribed for me to get pitocin going so we could progress labor along, lest we bring on an infection to the baby or placenta. John and I went on one last walk up and down the quiet women center's corridors, hoping at least one contraction would happen (it didn't). Pitocin was administered at 7:00, and I started getting contractions after about 15 or so minutes.

March 5 - mid-morning...bring forth the fury fire hell-storm earthquakes!

So pitocin is effective, I know, for most people.  I did have a friend who was induced and didn't have anything effective happen for over 12 hours, so I also knew that it could mean my body may not react to the drugs.  As it is with most medical things, I reacted normally and had contractions at 5-min intervals within about 30-60 minutes.  They progressed at that rate for another hour or so, and then...oh then.  Then they all of a sudden went to every 3 minutes, then every 2, then sometimes 3 and then 2 and then 1.5 and then 2 and then 2 and then 1.5 and then 3 and then...well, read that all fast; punch yourself in the gut, hips, lower back, and upper thighs every time you read a number; and that's almost how it felt.

The thing was, I knew it wasn't a top-severity contraction each time I got one - here's how I knew:

In every room, next to every bed, is a double-screened computer that nurses and doctors use to monitor, look up, and log a patient's medical information.  It's super helpful and keeps everything in order.  One of the computer's screens monitors both the baby's heart rate and the mom's contractions.  When I got there, my contractions were flat-lined and my baby's heart rate was at about 110-115 (more on that later).  As I watched that monitor, hoping that some little bleep of a contraction would pop up, I was able to see between 2 and 5 other women's screens next to mine.  I assume that these other screens are visible for the nurses and doctors to know what is going on around the area, and they are also in place so moms can have their first comparison pitfall experience of motherhood.  While all of the other women on my screen were having regular, 75-90% strength contractions, mine were barely eeking above 50%, and ugh, was it wreaking havoc on my body.  

It had only been a couple of hours since the contractions got going, but I didn't know how I would be able to make it.  I felt like a chump knowing that my contractions weren't as strong as they ought to be, but then I know that the sweats, pain, cramps, and other unmentionable symptoms were just going to get worse.  Thankfully John was there, and his sensible logic was as such: I was planning on getting an epidural anyway, so why not get one now instead of needlessly going through this pain.  One more trip to the bathroom, several intense contractions, one expertly applied shot (I'm not sure, but the lady may have been the head of anesthesiology), and 30 minutes later, and I was able to truly relax.  I say truly, because there is no way your legs wouldn't be relaxed when there was absolutely no sensation left in them. I could still move them, though, which is an important fact for the rest of this story.

Prior to the anesthesia (I think), my new doctor came in - Dr. Lee. The OBGYN team that works with this particular location has a different doctor on call for 24 hours each day of the week, so once the 7:00 a.m. bell rings, a new doc comes in.  I was so glad that it was Dr. Lee who was on call.  My OBGYN is Dr. George, and I would have been equally happy with her, too, since she had been with me since the very beginning when we started discussing infertility options.  Dr. Lee, however, was the kind of doctor that I needed in that moment.  He is calm, humorous when needed, lays out all of the information in a way I could understand despite the contractions taking over my being, and in general was the doctor that both John and I appreciated in that moment.

March 5 - early afternoon

We had been relaxing for a while, but I wasn't one of the women who could just fall asleep for a couple of hours while the labor progressed.  I had been listening to Suzy's heart rate monitor the entire time, as her heart rate dropped a few times during labor.  It was very scary, since she was already at a low rate anyway, and sometimes it would drop close to 90 beats per minute.  The first time a couple of nurses rushed into my room, pushed me around on the bed into a different lying position, and moved around my monitors to pick up a better read on the baby.  That happened so fast and without any  explanation until it was over, which lead to me crying as soon as the nurses left.  Later, after the epidural was applied and I had spent an hour or more watching the educational videos that the hospital had prescribed, another substantial drop happened, and the nurse and doctor explained that the doctor would be attaching a monitor directly on Suzy's head for an exact read.  That was comforting to know that a better monitor would be able to keep track of this delicate situation, and it was also helpful in that it showed I was about 5-6 cm dilated at that point.  They had taken me off of pitocin to do this procedure, but put me back on since I still wasn't contracting on my own.

In addition to this, I needed another dose of epidural since I started to feel the contractions again.  One more dose, a reapplication of pitocin, and I went merrily contracting along.  Still, since my contractions never got above 50% strength, I figured that everything was moving slowly, and I would most likely need a c-section that evening to prevent the baby or placenta from getting an infection.

Dr. Lee administred the monitor and then explained to me that, in the case that the baby wasn't moving quickly enough, he would use forceps if necessary.  He said he didn't care to use the vacuum, which was a huge plus for me, since that's not at all what I wanted.  I figured, though, that our baby's head was big, and she would need a little help getting out.  If that didn't work, though, we'd be heading to a c-section, to which I had been slowly resolving myself. 

March 5 - mid-afternoon (about 3:00)

Suzy's heart rate dropped again - below 90 if I remember correctly.  I buzzed for the nurse as soon as it did.  She came and checked me out, called in Dr. Lee, and they told me that the contraction I had caused the lower heart rate and that I was, lo and behold, at 10 cm!  Bring on the baby!

Well, not quite yet.  Our hospital does 2 things that I really like.  1: labor, delivery, recovery, postpartum all happens in one room. No walking here or rolling there. 2: they let you "labor down" so that the baby gets fully engaged to be pushed instead of you doing a kind of pre-pushing that your body and baby would already do for you.

So, I waited for about 40 min until the nurse came in. My current nurse was leaving her shift, for which I was a bit sad. She kept me company all day and talked me through the epidural, the heart rate drops, and the general tediousity (made-up word) of the day. Mary was her name, I think, and she did all sorts of loving and no rough-housing. It was her first day back to labor and delivery after a long break to raise her kids. And she was awesome.

In came the next staff - incredible people. Nina and Jenny.  Jenny is from Africa - likely the eastern and mid-to-southern side of Africa - and she was a joy!  With her delightful African accent (it truly was musical to listen to), she talked me through the pushing because, let me tell you, that's exactly what I needed.  Nina, the medical tech, moved in and out like a bit of a ninja for a while, bringing in supplies for the impending push. 

Due to my two doses of epidural, I felt no pain whatsoever.  Also due to those doses, I couldn't feel my legs!  As Jenny said matter-of-factly, "you're legs are dead!"  She and Nina held both of them up, and we did some "practice" pushes (as they deemed them) for about 20 minutes.  Jenny didn't count down the seconds when I started pushing, but just kept saying, "Ok - ready? Push push push push push!" until she quit saying that.  I never knew when it was going to end, so how many seconds they were, I don't know.  After that first push, both Nina's and Jenny's eyes lit up.  "Wow!" they said, "You did great!"  I was encouraged by that but really had no clue what I was doing.  Not only could I not feel my legs, I couldn't feel my butt, my hips, my pelvis, or anything below my belly button!  They literally had to describe everything to me because I didn't know whether or not I was pushing!  

 Since I couldn't even feel the baby coming out of me (the one clear benefit I see to not doing an epidural, or at least as strong of a dose as what I had), I relied entirely on their verbal direction:

Push push push push push!
Lean forward!
Push down and out - like you're going to the bathroom!
Here she comes! She's really moving!
Ok - stop!  Great job - you are doing great!  

These words totally helped, yet I really didn't know whether I was actually progressing or if they were saying this just to keep me going.  John was able to go around to the front and watch the baby come out of me.  It was...other-worldly, based on his expression.  He was mesmerized, amazed, perhaps a bit mystified and excited, too.  I kept asking, "is she coming? is she moving forward?" and the nurses and John all said yes! - she is right there!  I said "Really, I can't tell!" "You can't tell?" "No - every time I push, I don't feel her move, so I can't tell how far ahead she is." Well she's right there - she's crowning!" "She is?!"  I couldn't believe it.  It seemed like she should have already been out, so I figured she wasn't going anywhere.  Nurse Jenny asked, "would you like to feel her head?" "NO!!!" I said in a sacred and anxious shudder.  What if I smooshed her head?  What if threw up because it was so weird feeling?  What about that soft spot? "Here," Jenny said, "Give me your hand and I'll put it on her head.  You won't hurt her."  I slowly moved my hand toward Jenny's, she lowered it down to where Suzy was, and I felt the little hairs on her little head.  I then recoiled, because surely something bad would have happened if I left it there!  Jenny then called Dr. Lee to come in and get this little girl out of me.

March 5 - 3:35ish

Dr. Lee, a couple more nurses, a bunch of meds and a bilirubin table came in to the room.  The doctor had me push once, I think, and maybe a second time, too.  He then told me that he was going to "make a little room" to help the baby come out.  I looked at Nurse Jenny and said, "He's going to do an episiotomy."  She nodded, I felt a bit bummed (at first - more on that in a second), and after the procedure, we were ready to go again.  After a little more pushing, she was about half way out and let out a huge wail!  John noted that she was crying before she even got all the way out, but one more push/pull secured her entry in to the great big world.

They plopped her on my chest for one brief moment.  There she was, squinty-eyed, crying, arms and legs splayed as long as they could be.  What were my first thoughts?

"Shh, shh - Oh, it's ok!"

"She has my mouth!" 

"Is she cold?"

"Her nails...how can her nails be so long?!"
"How did that nail get ripped?"
"...she has my hands...and my feet.  Poor kid."
"Yes, nurse, you can clean her up!"

This little girl was so tiny in the grand scheme of things but a big girl nonetheless: 8 lb., 3 oz., 21.5 in, and a 99th percentile-size head.  More room was, indeed, needed to get her out, yet she was such a cute and loud bundle!  They had John cut the cord and put her on the table to get measured, have her vitals checked, and get that dose of vitamin K.  While the doc finished my delivery and stitched me up (and while another nurse that came in helped me with a little post-push nausea), the nurse that was working on Suzy had her all swaddled, held her up high, and declared "looks like Daddy!" John took some pictures of her wee little self while she was on the table, shed a tear when she cried after she got her vitamin K shot, and got to hold her first!  :)

They helped me get Suzy latched and she sucked really well, though she went for way longer than intended (an hour and a half total!).  Then, one of the best things we did, we sent her to the nursery for the night, aside from feeding times.  They brought her in whenever she was hungry - about every 3 hours or so, and we got the last semi-decent sleep we would get for a while.  

March 6

The next morning,  my almost year-long OB-GYN came in and checked me out.  She was really excited and comment about how that little girl came just a day early (so to speak)!  John went and got our daughter, yet to be named, from the nursery so we could hang out while he went back to our apartment and did a few things.

Compared to the previous day, nurses came in only when requested and on much further-distanced intervals.  Also, it was no longer about the pregnant lady and all about the little baby who grunted and peeped!  She was cute indeed, and she was pretty content most of the day with just some intermittent fussing. 

I did have one friend bring me some snacks and supplies from Target, namely a nursing tank top because I was so ill-prepared for that!  She kept me company for a short while before John got back (with a Very Up-Beet smoothie from Jamba Juice!).  We stared at our daughter, talked about random other things, and tried to hash out a name.  We also had a celebratory dinner that the hospital provides and watched some movie that I can't remember (and I don't remember it being that entertaining, either).  I had some cheese ravioli, and John had salmon, I think.  We also had some great desserts that came with that, too. After that, we searched the internet for name inspiration because the 5 names we came in with just weren't sticking.

That night was a still ok - trying to figure out how to get Suzy latched again and mystified why nursing was so painful.  We got sleep in when we could, though we did send Suzy back to the nursery for some peace and quiet.  They gave her a pacifier because she was rather fussy, which we later determined was the best thing for her to have!

March 7

After another check-up for me and Suzy, a [hardcore, no time for whimpering, this is how it's done in my country] nurse came in to help me figure out breastfeeding (to little avail - the lactation consultant was never retrieved for me at that time), and a pediatrician came in to check Suzy's vitals, etc.  Everything looked good, and we were scheduled for a mid-day check out.  A photographer came in and took newborn pictures of the baby and of us as a family (!), which turned out great.  The only issue with that was that Suzy had scratches on her face, and, due to her skilled finger-sucking ability, gave the camera the bird a couple of times.

We still were trying to figure out a name, and we turned in all our discharge paperwork without one!  Finally, a half hour before we left, we looked at each other and said, "Suzanna? - yeah." We confirmed that it would be with a "z", no extra "h", and Suzy, with a "y" and no "ie", would be her name. John retrieved the paperwork, filled in the name, and we headed home as a family of 3 - we thank God for that!