Hiking for Photographs

Beautiful Dova tree-hugger taken by Adam.

Last summer, when I suggested to hiking to the kids, they immediately said, "Nooooo!!! That's BORING!!!"  So I bribed them with a camera for each and lots of snacks.  Adam got my brand new Canon EOS Rebel T3i and Dova used my Panasonic Lumix DMC-TZ5K.

Adam has taken photographs along these trails for years now, and he's always had a great eye.  This year, he was more interested in getting as many "butt shots" as he could.



Good thing Dova has a cute caboose!  Dova took the high road with her camera and captured this amazing photograph of the waterfalls near a dam.  Such movement!  Such texture!  And the light through the water!



Later, Dova gave up the camera and took to tree hugging.



I asked Adam to take a close up of her. Closer! Zoom in! He starting joking around and exaggerated everything I said. And then this beautiful shot emerged.



This has now become our favorite photograph of Dova. It is framed in our house and in the homes of both grandparents.  Wow, Adam you are quite the photographer!

Later, Adam finally gave my camera back and I captured these shots during the golden hour on our hike back. Here they are taking a rest along the edge of the trail.



It was a beautiful spot to stop, overlooking a lake.



They got a bit silly, here's Dova pretend-slapping Adam in the face.



It was a beautiful day to get outdoors for a hike. I love to see the kids this happy.



We've since moved onto to mountain biking as a family, and now they've finally stopped groaning whenever I suggest hitting the trails.  Yay!

L'Oeuf Love Thursday

Silicone Egg Pancake Ring

These silicone heart rings are so sweet!  Not only do my kids love having heart-shaped eggs and pancakes, they put a huge smile on my face when I cook with them.



I love the association between the French word for egg, l'oeuf, and it's subsequent use as the "love" score in tennis. As I learned from tennis lessons in high school, "love" was used for a score of zero because the number zero is shaped like an egg, or l'oeuf, in French. But according to Wikipedia, "the most accepted theory on the origins of the use of 'Love' comes from the acceptance that, at the start of any match, when scores are at zero, players still have 'Love for each other'." To me, when your score is love, you're definitely not feeling the love.  The l'oeuf explanation is more likely.



Either way, we all feel the love when eating these heart pancakes.



Happy Love Thursday everyone! Visit Chookooloonks for the original Love Thursday.

Tiger Mom in the Trenches

My joyful violinists

Sometimes I step back and shake my head at how I've become a completely stereotypical Asian mom.  I expect academic excellence and make my kids learn both the piano and violin. Completely textbook!  But not only do I make my kids practice, I jump right in myself, taking the tiger mom role to the extreme.  And just to be clear, there is NO TIGER BLOOD in this tiger mom as opposed to Mr. Sheen.

So how do I jump right in?  Since I don't play the violin, I also take lessons myself.  I am learning the Suzuki method along with the kids, drinking and living the Suzuki kool-aid, and practicing Every. Single. Day (hence the drop off in blogging - I should be practicing right now). The fact that I am learning along with them is actually unbelievably helpful.  Part of the Suzuki brainwashing is listening to the Suzuki recording so that you hear what the pieces sound like. We only really listen to the music in the car on the way to violin lessons, but the kids actually hear me practice the pieces ad nauseum before they learn them.  First I learn a piece (thankfully at this point, I am still ahead of them), then a few weeks later, Adam will learn the same piece, and a few weeks after that, Dova will learn the piece.  By the time Dova gets to it, she's heard it so many times, that she has it completely memorized by ear and it is really easy for her to learn.  Check out them out playing Bach's Minuet No. 2.



Not perfect of course,  it's only a practice session.  And Dova is precariously standing on a chair, oh well.  Since I'm in the trenches, it wouldn't be fair if I didn't post a video of myself as well.  Here I am playing the fiddle piece Devil's Dream (oh no, I've veered off the Suzuki course!).



Adam heard me practice this so much that he picked it up by ear as well. Here he is effortlessly pulling it off while Dova pretends to play along.



OK Dova, you need to GET OFF THE CHAIR!!! Adam will be better than me in no time. I just wasn't expecting that to happen within the first year.

And being in the trenches doesn't only apply to the violin. Since the kids have to perform in numerous piano recitals, it is only fair that I have to perform on the piano as well.  Recently, I auditioned for a local talent show.  I wanted to show the kids that I still get nervous and push myself outside of my comfort zone.  I haven't performed solo on the piano since I was 16 years old.  It's time to Susan Boyle it!

Here is a practice session of the piece that I will be performing in the talent show next month, Edvard Grieg's In the Hall of the Mountain King from the Peer Gynt Suite.  The kids have always loved being crazy when I practice this piece, so I've named this video, Hall of the Mountain Children.



Do you suppose my kids are benefiting from me being in the trenches with them, or am I totally insane?

Love with Chocolate Leaves

For Valentine's Day this year, I was inspired by Piera's beautiful chocolate leaves from her premier post on Aiming Low. She even got her hubby to demonstrate how to make them on video!  I'm no food blogger (especially since my last food post here was about ramen noodles), so don't look here for directions. I can only offer advice as a totally non-crafty kinda baker.

First thing I had to do was to find some fake leaves.  I have no plant-like decorations in my house, other than the wild real plants that live here, and have never understood the huge section of plastic flora at craft stores.  I found this nice fake plastic branch for $1.99.



I yanked off the smaller leaves and washed them. Dova thought they looked like little feet. I left the leaves attached to each other "just in case" I wanted to use the branch again.



I didn't manage to take any photos during the process of making the chocolate leaves, so go back and visit Piera's awesome cheesecake post on Aiming Low. Chocolate covered hands simply don't go with cameras in my book. But I can certainly take photos of the finished product.



And with our Valentine heart cookies.  Dova went a bit overboard with the colored sugar...



To add a bit of color and hopes for springtime, we made a batch of flower cookies as well. Again overboard with sprinkling...



Dova, not so much!



During the cookie making process, Dova uttered the ultimate mommy bliss words, "Mom, I LOVE baking with you." Awww, I think I'll keep her.



Her cookies make for a beautiful presentation with the chocolate leaves. And afterward, I put the leaves back on the branch and put them in the corner of my kitchen. I can decorate with fake plastic plants after all!



Well sort of. Is my coffee maker growing a plant or just happy to see me?

How Do I Rate as a Chinese Mom?

On January 8, 2011, I was too busy whipping my kids to read this excerpt from Amy Chua's book in the Wall Street Journal, Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior.  Oh wait, I was actually at a contra dance without my family, while my daughter skipped her violin practicing and went to a friend's house for a sleepover and my son watched TV all night.  OMG, I am a TOTAL FAILURE as a Chinese mom according Chua.  But the next day, Dova had one of those tearful 2.5 hour violin practicing sessions which ended up in her missing a playdate because her practicing took too long.  Whip whip whip!!

The ensuing blogstorm after this article is like a train wreck that you can't take your eyes off.  I can honestly say that I can empathize with facets of the original article as well as all the rebuttals.  Mostly, I just want to say chill out!  Stop perpetuating the stereotype!  I was raised with Asian parenting methods, and I have been found guilty of using the Suzuki method for parenting.  But as with everything in life, moderation is key.  Yes, I can be a hardass, but I am also a pushover.  I do believe that my kids are inherently strong, not fragile.  Just because Amy Chua is a hardass extraordinaire doesn't mean we all are!  To each their own.  Let it be! 

To lighten up the mood, here's a quiz to see how I rate as a Chinese mom. First, in proud Chinese mom fashion, a video of Dova playing the violin.

1. Sheet music placed in front of the TV?  PASS
2. Dova playing reasonably well after 4 months of lessons?  PASS
3. Fiddle music and not classical?  FAIL
4. Slides (although intentional)?  FAIL
5. Pizzicato with the pinkie finger?  PASS
6. Perfect intonation?  FAIL
7. Even tempo?  FAIL
8. Hitting multiple strings?  FAIL
9. Shave and a haircut?  FAIL
10. Carnegie Hall at age 7?  FAIL
11. Video made in Zhu Zhu Pets pajamas?  FAIL
12. Video taken over and over until perfect?  FAIL (one take for fun)
13. Cute and charming?  PASS
14. Squealing in delight afterward?  WIN

Despite the sometimes trying practice sessions, the smile at the end says it all.  She is happy and confident.  What more can a parent ask for?

If you want a more serious look into the rebuttals, here are some that I recommend reading:

• Hyphen
• Racialicious
• Betty Ming Liu
• Quora, see Christine Lu's answer among others.

I’ve Discovered the Asian Parenting Manual

Photo by mswlogo.





My Suzuki daughter Dova.

Through conversations with friends who are Asian or have an Asian spouse, I’ve learned that most Asian parents are extremely demanding and hard on their kids when it comes to both academics and music.  My parents expected excellent grades from me at all times (A’s are not good enough when you can get an A+),  but they never pushed me when it came to the piano.  Apparently, I was one of those rare kids who practiced on their own without any reminders.  It was always easy and fun for me.

So when my kids started on the piano, I wanted them to succeed, so I would sit with them through practice time.  I remember interviews with The 5 Browns where the mother would sit with each of their five children for one hour of practicing each every day.  She must have had someone else do all the cooking, cleaning and laundry!

Since I have plenty of musical background, I figured that it could only help with their practicing.  Of course, this has lead to countless head buttings with them both, but in the end, they do get the satisfaction of being able to learn a piece and really make music on their own.  Doug disagrees with my methodology and thinks that I am way too hard on them.

This summer, we all started on the violin.  I found a local teacher that taught the Suzuki method.   The kids are starting relatively late at ages 9 and 6, where Suzuki suggests starting at 3 or 4 years of age.  I never liked the idea of those tiny robotic kids playing the violin, so I never wanted our kids to join this “cult” previously.  But little did I know that I would discover that my whole parenting methodology IS the Suzuki method.

In the foreword to Suzuki Violin School: Vol. 1, I read this paragraph to Doug:

For more than forty years of experimental pedagogy, I have come to know without a doubt that ability is not inborn.  Please raise your child to be a fine human being.  Heart and ability depend entirely on the manner of nurturing.  Everyone knows how important it is to cultivate seedlings with care, yet some parents are inattentive and indifferent to their children’s development.  Without exerting any effort, they resign themselves to the thought that, “My child was born this way.”  I hope you will not repeat this lamentable mistake from past eras of human civilization.

As I finished, Doug exclaimed, “That is you, 300 percent!”  Aha!  I have found my mantra.  Here is some more later on:

Please do not fail to nurture your child.  It is a mistake to think that your child’s future is only a matter of heredity or inborn qualities.  In response to the skill and ingenuity of the nurturer, any child can be fostered to achieve a high level of ability.

Yes, I must work these kids harder!  Although I do believe that there is a huge contribution from genetics.  But later on, I found the item that I need to work on:

It is crucial that parents understand how to guide their children’s hearts and provide a motivating environment without anger or negative criticism. 

Oops, here’s where I fail.  Tonight, after a long evening of soccer practice, homework, and excruciating piano practicing, I tried to give Adam a pass on violin practicing for one evening.  He refused saying, “No mom, I HAVE to practice my violin.”  That’s my boy.  Something must be working.  I gave him a pass on taking a shower instead.

Leaving the Innocence of Family Love

This post originally appeared on BlogHer in February 2009.  Thankfully, Dova has outgrown the Disney princess cult since then.

When my daughter was born, my then three-year-old son assumed that he was going to marry her.  It was a sweet notion, which someday we would have to dispel.  As my daughter grew and started talking, she also claimed that she was going to marry her brother.  My husband and I were extremely grateful that they got along so well and didn't take the route of fighting and squabbling.  But when do we break this bubble for them?

I remember talking about life in general with my son when he was five.  I told him that he would probably go away for college and then move away from home and have his own family some day.  The thought of leaving home disturbed him greatly.  His sense of security comes from knowing that his family will always be there for him.  As a parent, I desperately want to hold on to these days when our children still need us and adore us.  I know only too well that the inevitable teenage years will be here before we know it.  Where parents suddenly don't know anything, don't understand them, and are totally not cool to hang around with.

I finally had the conversation with my son about not being able to marry his sister when he was seven.  I took the scientific tack of the maintaining genetic variation as he tends to be very factual.  Being a total boy, he was fascinated with the types of birth defects that could occur.  After steering the conversation back to not marrying his sister, he took it in stride and said, "That's OK, I have lots of other girlfriends."  As he has no secrets from his sister, he broke the news to her that if they got married and had babies, the babies would have no arms, or eyeballs, or anything else that would get a laugh out of her.

But now that he someday has to search for love outside of our family, what will I tell him about relationships and marriage?  At this point, the best thing I can do is to show him what a good marriage is.  That a good marriage is built on not just love, but honesty, trust and respect.  We always remind our kids that even though we sometimes get mad at them, we always love them.  The same goes for our marriage.  Just because we sometimes argue, we still love each other.

Our now five-year-old daughter is completely caught up in the Disney princess cult and is always staging weddings for herself as well as her dolls and stuffed animals.  This is OK to a point, but Ladyblog explores when the princess fantasy goes too far.  It will be much harder to bring her down to the reality of relationships after this foray into princess fantasy land.  The Disney movies have gotten better at portraying strong women, but they always end with the happily ever after wedding.  She'll have to learn that the wedding is only the beginning of the journey.

Most importantly, we hope that providing the safety and sanctuary of family love will give them a strong foundation for future relationships.  Sure, our family isn't perfect, but neither is any relationship.  Hopefully, they will learn that relationships, like families, are all different but can be full of love, fulfillment, laughter and fun.

Live to Chat, Chat to Live

Adam with his mop top.

The first time I chatted with someone on a computer was over Unix talk in the mid 1980's.  It was really cool, but invariably with someone within close proximity (think huge terminal lab at MIT), so it was more of a novelty than anything.  It wasn't until the late 1990's when a co-op student showed me AOL Instant Messenger at work.  He used it to chat with his friends from school.  Soon, most of my friends and I were on it as well (I was the pioneer pushing it onto many skeptics).  A technological communications door that I always had imagined had just been opened.  Not as disruptive as a phone call and not as slow as email.

Instant messaging was used so prevalently at my last job, it was perfect for tele-commuting because people didn't know whether they were chatting with someone in the next cube or at home.  When I started at my current job, IM simply wasn't allowed.  I did it on the sly with my old friends but slowly, all the ports for AIM and MSN Messenger were closed down.  The only thing left is Skype now.  There is corporate IM for work, which is helpful, but not used to the degree that I had in my previous job.

When Adam was born, I couldn't wait until he was old enough to use the computer so I could chat him from work.  Maybe by age 6, I thought.  But as he got older, I became more and more wary of subjecting him to the good and evils of the internet.  I have yet to give him an email address to spare him the pain of spam. He does not need to know about penis enhancements and Nigeria!  Besides, he needs to learn how to talk properly with his friends on the phone first.  But on the computer, he has fallen into the world of online video games which he plays with his friends, real and virtual.

Yesterday, for the first time at age 9 1/2, I installed Skype on his computer and we finally had our long awaited chat.  I enjoyed it immensely. (Screenshot edited slightly for clarity and privacy.)



I was impressed by his nearly perfect spelling and punctuation.  I broke him in with my casual IM way.  Since I always refer to him with the (emo) emoticon to Doug, I had to share it with Adam.

Me:  this is you

Adam (later):  you are

He is still the sweetest boy ever, even on chat. Does my heart good.

Silly Bandz Fever!

Several months ago, Dova and I were in a store where she stopped dead in front of a display of Silly Bandz.  I had no idea what they were and immediately said no. 

Silly Bandz Fun Shapes

Shortly after that, she started coming back from school with a variety of Silly Bandz on her wrists. She had won them from the prize jar from school for good behavior.  Every day she came back with a different set of Silly Bandz that she had traded with her friends.



Here is a sample from that day. They've all changed since!



I didn't catch the fact that she wore them for her soccer portrait.



In the latest school newsletter, we got this note about Silly Bandz:

Silly Bandz are colorful silicone/rubber band bracelets that come in different categories of shapes (animals, geometric shapes, alphabet, princess…) and have become very popular with some children. In school, while some are satisfied with wearing one or two on their wrists and enjoying this latest fad, others have become over-zealous with this new fashion. This includes pressuring others to trade; efforts to buy/sell; using them as rubber bands
to shoot at each other; wearing excessive amounts that interfere with writing/school work; taking them off to count or play with; finding/losing them;…and other examples that distract our children. Teachers are dealing with these problems according to their different grade levels; however it is clear that there have been problems in some classrooms. Please speak to your child if you feel that this might be a problem. Thank you for your cooperation.

I had no idea what an obsession this has become with the Kindergarten set! Lately she has been begging us to buy more Silly Bandz. Yesterday, I went to our local Rite Aid and asked whether they carried them. They did, but they were out and was receiving a shipment today. When we went again today at 7pm, they were sold out again. Dova was crushed. So much so that she holed herself into her room crying. Such begins the first of many fads in her life.  Lets hope that they are all this cheap!

The Choice Between Cloth and Disposable Diapers

Too much fun during a timeout from 2006. Also blogged here for Anti-Cyberbullying day.

This post was originally published on BlogHer in December 2008. Since I am swamped with work and kids, I figured I'd pull out some of this great material that you may not have seen. Check out the original post for more tips and comments. And to think that I had mostly stayed away from poop talk on this blog!

When my son was born eight years ago, I thought I would use cloth diapers. Really, I did. I planned to be a green, crunchy granola mother, using breastfeeding, attachment parenting and cloth diapers. This was all before it was super hip to be green. When I was pregnant, I spoke another mom and she said I was crazy to try cloth diapers. Breastfeeding was good, because the "plumbing" was all there, but cloth diapers was another story.

My mother had saved all my cloth diapers from when I was a baby and had given me a stack of around 40 diapers with pins. Now, 33-year-old cloth diapers may not appeal to some, but they were super soft cotton in large rectangles. The new cloth diapers I received as gifts were not as soft as these. I looked up how to fold cloth diapers on the internet and I purchased some vinyl pants to go with them. I also learned that you could buy paper inserts which you could use to capture the solids and flush them down the toilet, reducing the amount of cleaning. When I was at work, I would practice folding napkins into the shape of diapers. Really, I was committed to use them! But as my due date approached, I started getting free samples of disposable diapers. OK, I thought, I would just use them when I was outside of the home for convenience. For that matter, I bought one package of disposable diapers "just in case".

When my son was born, he was immediately placed in newborn disposable diapers. The first time I changed his diaper in the hospital (I was eager to practice and didn't pawn off this work to the nurses), I was shocked that meconium was like black sticky tar. Gross! No way would I want to have to clean that off cloth diapers. When we brought our baby home, he was still transitioning from meconium to the mustard poop of breastfed babies, so we kept him in disposables. After the first week, there was no turning back. I didn't realize that newborns pooped every two hours (or at least mine did) and that nothing could contain blowouts. For the uninitiated, a blowout is where poop comes out of the back of the diaper and up the baby's back. Because breastfed baby poop is essentially liquid, it can go through several layers of clothing in a matter of seconds. If that's the case, it would go right through cloth diapers as well. Inserts would not make a difference. I just didn't want to find out.

In the early days of being a new mother, anything that made things easier was better in my book. Breastfeeding was easier than having to prepare and clean bottles. Disposable diapers were easier than cloth diapers. That was probably my main reason for not ever trying cloth diapers. We did make good use of the hand-me-down cloth diapers. Both my kids used them as security blankets and my daughter, who is nearly five, still needs one when she is upset or when she goes to sleep. They have been loved to tatters and only a few handful remain. We did pay the price for using disposable diapers in cost, guilt for filling landfills, and prolonged potty training periods because they are too absorbent for kids to understand what is going on down there.

If you look around nowadays, cloth diapers have come a long way, even from eight years ago. If I were a new mother today, and I didn't have the pressure of using old-fashioned cloth diapers that were handed down, I might just try the new cloth diapers systems. According to Consumer Reports, major brands of cloth diapers, all-in-ones, and cloth diapering systems are Bum Genius, Bumkins, Fuzzi Bunz, Gerber, Kushies, and Swaddlebees. Many systems are are convenient at disposable diapers, with velcro tabs, cool colors and designs. Look at these cute options:

Prints from Swaddlebees.

The biggest obstacle to tackling cloth diapers is the cleaning. According to iVillage, there are new materials that allow you to use a dry pail method without the soaking. An alternative to both cloth and disposable diapers are flushable diapers. gDiapers offers a diaper where you can remove a biodegradable insert and flush it, compost it or toss it. How cool is that? For the latest blogging news about cloth diapers check out All About Cloth Diapers, Cloth Diaper Mamas and The Cloth Diaper Whisperer.

The most important thing about choosing between cloth and disposable diapers is you. Do what you are most comfortable with. If you're overwhelmed being a new parent and choose disposable diapers, don't let the guilt add to your stress. If you have a support network and are comfortable tackling cloth diapers, go for it! The environmental impact of both methods have been hotly debated. Either way, all babies need diapers and all babies need parents that are happy with their diaper choice.

Warning - Extremely Dangerous Babies!!

Babies are dangerous??  YES, if you are 42 years old and your youngest child is far from being a baby.  In May, Doug's cousin had his first baby and she is just adorable.  I visited every weekend to help the new mother with breastfeeding.  I was immediately overcome with the feeling that I should have another baby.  A totally irrational thought, completely governed by hormones, without any logical or analytical reason.  I could almost feel my breasts swell up with milk watching the tiny baby nurse.


The culprit at one week old.


Yawning at three weeks old. Can you smell that sweet baby breath?


Look at those precious tiny feet!

So I started conspiring to convince my family that we should have another child.  I suggested to our kids that they needed a baby sister or brother, just like their baby cousin.  They both agreed (what do they know?) but Doug kept looking at me like I was crazy.  We'd need another bedroom, we'd need to buy a different car (a dreaded minivan - egad!), and he was way too old (although his cousin is a first time father at 53, three years older than Doug!).  So I thought, words aren't going to cut it, I must sprinkle some of that baby magic onto Doug.  When the baby was three weeks old, we went to visit as a family.  I thrust the baby into Doug's arms.


He loved holding her.


He loved talking to her.

But he was not convinced.  I finally came out of the fog and realized how crazy it would be to have another baby.  The diapers, the extra room that doesn't exist, the minivan, the lack of sleep, the outnumbering of the parents, the resources...  I snapped out of it finally, for good.  Even the tremendous number of pregnant women and babies at BlogHer didn't phase me. But last week, we went to a party and saw another bouncing six month old baby boy.


Just look at this cherub!!


I love chubby baby legs, they are delicious!!

At six months, this baby is a huge 20 pounder just like Adam was.   He reminded me so much of Adam as a baby.



OK, maybe we were a bit younger and had a tad more energy then. At least these babies are nearby so I can get my baby fix!

Adam's Birth Story

It was completely by luck that my husband Doug took this photograph of my insanely huge belly the night before Adam was born.  Just looking at my tired face and painful red stretch marks reminds me that I'm done having children!  I hadn't previously posted this photo on the Internet, because I was too embarrassed.  Certainly not your picture perfect pregnancy.  But then I thought that people might actually be interested in what a nine pound, eight ounce baby looks like before they are born.  Of course I didn't know this going into labor, all indications pointed to a normal-sized baby.  My weight gain, measurements and blood sugar readings were within the normal range throughout the pregnancy.

Adam was due on November 3rd, 2000.  During my last OB visit a week before on October 27th, I was 2 cm dilated and my doctor asked me, "When do you want to have this baby?"

I asked, "I get to decide?"

"Yes, you decide.  It's all up here," he replied pointing to his head.

Both Doug and I felt that Halloween would not be a good birthday (Adam begs to differ).  Then I decided that November 1st would be a good date, easy to remember.  At this point, I was still working full time despite my swollen ankles and huge waddle.  Instead of taking any time off before the birth, I wanted to maximize my time off after the birth.  On October 31st, I apparently did not seriously heed my decision to have the baby on November 1st, so I failed to check in my software code before leaving work.

At 2am that night, I awoke to contractions.  I watched the clock to see how far apart they were.  At first it was 6-8 minutes, and by 2:30am, it was 5 and then 4 minutes.  At this point, I woke up Doug and spoke those clichéd words, "It's time."  Apparently, this did not provoke panic and a mad rush to the hospital since first labors usually take a while.  Doug simply got up and took a shower.  I was kind of like, "What the heck?  I'm in labor and you're taking a shower?"  But it proved to be a wise choice given the day and night to follow.

We packed "the bag" and put extra towels on the car seat in case my water broke on the way.  By 4:30am, we headed out into the eerily quiet night.  I remember thinking - is this real or is this the Twilight Zone?  And, we don't have a name for the baby yet!  The hospital didn't even look awake, but they took us in after we pressed the intercom, just like they said they would during our birthing classes.

The nurse checked me and found that I was 4 cm dilated.  She asked what I was during my last check up and decided, "OK, we'll take you."  I thought, "What!! You were going to turn me away while I'm in labor??"  My contractions were consistently 3-4 minutes apart.  Hmmph!

By 8am, there was not much progress, so the doctor decided to break my water.  It took a couple of nicks, but finally there was a flood of amniotic fluid that splashed on the floor despite all the pads that were put in place.  I was shocked at the amount of water that came out!  After that, the contractions were decidedly more painful, but I could still tough them out.  My mother had a completely natural childbirth with me, but it lasted 24 hours and required forceps.  I wasn't necessarily opposed to drugs, but I wanted to go as long as I could without them.  A girlfriend told me to tattoo "epidural" on my forehead so that I could still point to it if I couldn't speak.

The next 8 hours went by in a blur.  They wanted to put me on pitocin to speed up my dilation, so a nurse made a big production about putting the IV in.  She brought over warm wet towels and jabbed the top of my hand for a good 10 minutes before getting it in.  It still hurt after she put it in, but not nearly as much as the contractions, so I didn't complain.  I made my calls to work, family and friends and tried to forget that I stupidly failed to check in my code the day before.  We tried to get some rest during this time, so the shades were drawn and the room was dark.

Another nursing shift started and my new nurse was much more engaged and competent.  She took one look at my IV and said it looked all wrong.  She yanked it out and put in a new one in less than one minute.  And it finally stopped hurting!  Fantastic.  She also wanted me to try different positions to help the labor along, or try taking a shower or a bath.  I wanted none of that, I just wanted to lie on my back and rest between contractions.  She was fine with that and didn't push me beyond my comfort zone.

At noontime, I agreed to have some Numorphan, the first step in drug relief.  It was not long afterwards, that I woke up needing to throw up.  And then I threw up again an hour later.  And again after that.  By 5pm, it was do or die time for the epidural block, so I finally agreed.  I can honestly say, that my most painful wait in my life is the time between deciding to have the epidural and the time the anesthesiologist shows up.  At this point, you have given up on the fact that you can withstand the pain, and the contractions are that much more unbearable.

The epidural block did not provide the instant relief that I was expecting.  Sure things felt numb, but pain of the contractions still came right through.  The doctor explained that it was the pressure, and not the pain that I was feeling.  Pressure, pain, either way, the contractions were still quite intense.  My anesthetic dosage was adjusted and finally by the time I was fully dilated, I could finally say that the pain was gone.  The pressure was still strong, but it was dull.

At 8pm, 18 hours after my labor started, I was finally ready to push.  I remember that a girlfriend told me that you need to push like you're making the biggest dump of your life.  So I pushed like hell.  The first hour of pushing didn't amount to much; changing positions didn't help either.  And I was still throwing up during this process.  The baby was also not quite rotated to the right position.

During the second hour of pushing, my doctor said, "You know, this is a really big baby, eight or nine pounds.  You're going to have to think about a cesarean."  Eight or nine pounds, really???  No one told me this!!  And cesarean?  Heck, I've been through 20 hours of labor and you want me to recover from that and a C-section?  No thank you.

By the third hour of pushing, I definitely could not speak anymore.  The doctor asked a few more times whether I wanted a C-section before the baby crowned, but I must have shaken my head no.  I don't remember replying yes or no, but Doug said that I emphatically did not want it. The vitals for both the baby and me were fine.  I was completely exhausted, but I was determined to GET. THAT. BABY. OUT.  I did actually sleep between contractions, just like they show in the videos.  And in between sleeping, I was throwing up.  I was really thirsty and the the nurses offered me water or ice chips, but I knew that it would just make me throw up more.  By the time the baby head started to show, they asked whether I wanted to see in a mirror.  No thank you ma'am!!  I couldn't even watch the birth videos during the birthing classes let alone my own va-jay-jay being stretched to ungodly proportions.  Doug was thankfully not as squeamish and watched the whole thing unfold.

By the end, I had an entire cheering squad of doctors and nurses including the anesthesiologist.  And finally, after nearly three hours, the baby's head crowned.  Before his head came out, I was given an episiotomy, which thankfully I had no idea.  I pushed and pushed and pushed until his head came out.  I pushed and pushed and pushed some more, but his body was definitely stuck.  Finally his shoulder peeked out and the doctor reached under his arm and pulled the rest of his body out.  It was 10:46pm on November 1st, nearly 21 hours of labor with 3 hours of pushing.  Unfortunately, I incurred a large tear with that last pull, but what a relief when he finally came out.  Whew!  (Just writing this story gives me the cramps).  The doctors offered Doug to cut the umbilical cord and  he asked, "Do I need gloves or anything?"

When they weighed him, we were shocked that he came it at nine pounds, eight ounces.  And he measured 22 inches long!  Not a fat baby, just huge all around, perfectly proportioned at 95th percentile height and weight.  He was definitely cooked enough.  When they first put him on my chest, I was surprised at how heavy he was.  My first thought was that he looked just like my father.  I was so relieved that the birth was over, I figured that I could finally have something to drink, so I asked for some ice chips.  But my body wasn't quite ready and after 15 minutes, I threw up again.  I lost count of how many times I threw up in total, it was around 8 or 9 times.

The first time they propped me up to nurse my baby, I felt wow, this is a weird sensation and then I felt faint.  They quickly whisked him away and laid me back down.  My blood pressure was around 80/40, but they felt it was fine.  I felt like I was barely alive.  At this point, the delivery nurse (3rd shift by this point), told me that she had been delivering babies for 22 years and she has never seen the incredible determination that I showed that night.  Never once did I complain or show any signs of giving up.  She was extremely impressed that I delivered that sized baby as my first.  I was thinking, "What?  Not all first deliveries are like this?"  Apparently I had braced myself for the worst and made it through with flying colors.



The next day, I felt much better, but I still felt quite weak trying to walk around.  My delivery was indeed difficult, but I was thankful that I didn't have to contend with the recovery for a cesarean as well.  And of course I forgot enough of the experience to have a second child.

[Author's note:  You know that I've finally embraced "mommyblogging" when I post a birth story...  I may even try to get Dova's birth story up for the "Labor Day" meme]