Tall Tara

{Thanks for your patience. It took six months and an emotionally intense therapy session before I was able to write this post. I suppose I was a *little* traumatized by the whole thing. Unlike Part One, my nether regions are highly featured in this story. Gentlemen, you’ve been warned.}

On March 25th, I was officially a week overdue. We went in for an ultrasound to check my amniotic fluids (which were low) and headed for my check-up at the midwives’ office.

This is what I looked like:

After they listened to the baby’s heart rate and checked my cervix for ripening (once they found my cervix – yes, again with the hard-to-locate cervix), the midwives huddled together and suggested that I head to the hospital later that afternoon. I somehow negotiated a later admittance time, asking them for one last meal before going in. They granted me this request and we went home to order some Indian food.

I was a little bummed at this point because the entire experience had already started out wrong. My plan was to start labor at home, naturally, and then make my way to the hospital not a moment before it was necessary.

Needless to say, this was just the first of many “changes” to my birth plan.

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At the hospital and in my cute birthing dress, I was ready to go. Unfortunately, the baby was still not.

Enter the cervical catheter. Designed like two water balloons, it’s supposed to help open up your cervix and get the proverbial show on the road. Unlike water balloons, cervical catheters are not colorful. Or fun.

The midwife proceeded to put the catheter in me incorrectly, causing me more pain than I’ve ever experienced in my vagina. This, in turn, caused me to wonder about the rest of the whole “getting the baby outside of my body” process. Oh my holy hell, what had I gotten myself into?

Once the catheter was in, I was told that it needs to stay in for 12 hours and I should try to sleep.

Oh, but having a cervical catheter in your body doesn’t make for the most comfortable sleeping. Trust me on this one.

The nurse asked if  I wanted an Ambien. I’d never taken an Ambien before. However, I can honestly say that after taking that Ambien, I had the best night of sleep I’d had in months. It was also probably the last night of good sleep I would have again for months. Thank God for Ambien.

(This post is not sponsored by Ambien. But I would probably do more of it if given the chance. Not that I’m into pills. Just good sleep.)

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The next afternoon….

To fill in the gaps, the catheter opened my cervix to 5cm. Then we tried getting labor to start naturally, hence the breast-pumping, the stair-walking, and the pregnant-lady-lunging. All to no effect.

Still at 5 cm. Still no contractions.

Around noon, the midwives suggested Pitocin to get things going. Once labor was underway, they told me, I wouldn’t need the Pitocin. It was just a kick-start. I could still totally push this kid out on my own.

I seem almost cheery in the video, don’t I?

And I really believed this kid was going to come out on the 26th.

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At 5pm, they broke my water.

At 10pm, I walked the hospital hallways, eating nut butter and making jokes.

At 1am, I took another hot bath, hoping to ease the intensity of the contractions.

At 3am, the levels of Pitocin were so high that I was having back-to-back contractions. One on top of the other, no breaks,  just pain.

At 3:30am, they decreased the Pitocin and checked my cervix again. I was at 4 cm, exhausted and disheartened.

At 4am, I was getting prepped for an epidural. My midwife promised that I could take a nap and then continue to labor after I’d rested.

At 4:15am, after deeply breathing through the epidural, another catheter and an intrauterine contraction monitor were inserted. I laid back in bed and was ready for that nap.

At 4:25am, my baby’s heart rate crashed.

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I heard someone say something about Code Blue. There were suddenly people running into my hospital room, shouting at one another and I was told that we had to get the baby out.

It started to dawn on me that this could have an unhappy ending.

My husband put on scrubs as I was being prepped for surgery. My friend Jess must have seen the crazy, desperate look in my eyes because she was telling me that everything was going to be okay. I kept asking what the fuck was happening.

I was wheeled down the hallway in a frantic rush. All I remember thinking was, “Oh god. This is just like you see in the movies when there’s an emergency surgery. How perfect.”

After a dramatic arrival in the OR, the baby’s heart rate stabilized.

Since we didn’t want to put the baby in any more danger, it was decided to move forward with the operation. This meant that the doctors could now take their time with my incision.  It was going to be a nice bikini incision, instead of, as I overheard one doctor put it,  a “slash and dash”.

(For real. I didn’t go to medical school, but I guess that’s doctor-speak for an emergency c-section.)

So now that we had some time, my midwife introduced me to the doctors by telling them I’m a stand-up comic and that I’ll probably use this as material in my routine.

Do you want to know when I feel the least funny?

I’ll give you a hint. When I’m strapped to a table in the OR, with a sheet up around my mid-section and the fate of my child hanging in the balance….yep…not many witty one-liners at that point.

After the awkward small talk, the doctors get down to the business of cutting me open and getting the baby out.

I distinctly remember that one of the doctors told me I had really good abs.

I reminded myself to thank Nicole, my Crossfit coach.

The doctors told Adam he could watch over the abdomen curtain and I was totally jealous. I wanted to see what they were doing to me, too. A few minutes later, they pulled the baby out, Adam told me it was a boy and I heard a loud cry.

Elijah Cole was born at 4:53am, weighing 8lb, 2oz.

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There you have it. The whole 33-hour story in a nutshell. Turns out Eli was face-up with his shoulder pressing on my cervix and the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. There’s no way I could have delivered him naturally.

Not pretty, not painless and not perfect…just like the rest of parenthood.

Definitely not according to plan…just like the rest of life.

This is totally true. And I’m still pregnant.

{hat tip: Amber Rhea}

“February is merely as long as is needed to pass the time until March.”
-   Dr. J. R. Stockton

During the blurry 28 days of February, I celebrated Chinese New Year, a dear friend’s wedding reception, a few snow days, my first Fasching party, my third baby shower, my return to the stage, my 35th birthday and many cups of tea.

Whew.

Somehow, through it all, I was able to maintain my photo-a-day challenge the entire month, resulting in February looking a little something like this…

It’s now March.

And so far, it’s been in like a lamb and promises to be out with the baby.

(I did mention that I’m due in less than two weeks, right?)

NOT. FREAKING. OUT.

Nope. Not one bit.

Simply biding the time with serious nesting, intense moments of anticipation and Girl Scout cookies.

If my unborn child is half-Samoan, you’ll know why.

{Warning: the following video may not be safe for work. The content is completely inappropriate, I use the word ‘fuck’ a lot and it will probably be used to justify why my child needs therapy later on in life.}

I performed at one of my old haunts, a dive bar named The Squire located in downtown Denver, and am relieved to know that I can still be funny while totally sober. This open mic night is known for being dirty, raunchy and hipster-filled.

Adding to the challenge, I had to go on stage following Josh Blue. You know, the winner of Last Comic Standing in 2006?

Ummm….no pressure.

Enjoy. You’ve been warned.

Many thanks to my husband for being a great cameraman. He’s the laughter you hear right off-camera. And my inspiration.

No, it’s not what apps I should use to keep track of the fetal kicks.

What do I put on my labor & delivery playlist?

I’m such a first-time mom.

GAH.

I’ve never been good at putting together music mixes, whether it was back in high school, making tapes for friends, or more recently, when my husband and I were courting. We would make mixed CDs for one another and it was always such a struggle. Picking out just the right songs, putting them in an order that made sense AND sounded good together, wondering about what the song choice said about me…so many things to think about.

I’d rather just hit ‘random‘.

But an event like this feels like it needs more than just ‘random’ and now that I’ve begun to think about what I want to listen to on the BIG DAY, I’m drawing a blank.

What if I put the wrong song on there and it ends up annoying me, ruining the mood that I’ve carefully established for helping me to get through contractions? Not only am I going to hate that song forever but it might just make the entire ordeal harder? If that’s even possible?

And then I start debating…do I want fast songs? Mellow songs? Songs with a good beat? Songs with a message (I thought “Push It” by Salt-N-Pepa would be a natural choice) or songs without words?

Just to prove how awful I am at all this…I tried working on the playlist this past weekend and after three hours, I had a total of three songs on there.

Seriously.

Three.

Of course, they’re three really good songs ¹ but who has that kind of time?

Now can you see why I’m having troubles here? And can you see why I feel silly for having these troubles?

Honestly, this is one of the last things left on my to-do list to feel truly ready for the baby coming. ²

Well, this and getting the car seat installed. But in the grand scheme of things, they feel pretty equal in importance. Baby’s safety versus the soundtrack for one of the most amazing experiences ever?

Right?

This is where I ask for your help. I’m going to crowdsource ³ this query to those who know better.

What songs should I have on this playlist?

Any and all recommendations will be considered. Moms and music snobs (and those who are both) especially encouraged to chime in here. Thanks in advance for the help peeps.

It really does take a village to create a playlist.

{photo: vasta}

It’s a well-documented fact that my husband considers himself a foodie. He loves to cook and he really loves to eat.

One day in the grocery, we passed some black licorice and he mentioned that his cache at home was getting low. I wrinkled up my nose in disgust as I often do when the topic of black licorice comes up.

“You know what you need?”  the hubs asked.

No response necessary.

“Some foods of your own that I don’t like that can just be your little treats. I have black licorice, glad corn and sardines. We just need to think of something that you can eat that I won’t touch.”

Sounds easy, right?

After significant brainstorming and discussion, we could only come up with four things that my husband doesn’t like to eat.

• durian — pictured above, it’s an Asian fruit that smells like a rotten onion omelet

• “snot sushi” — not its official name, but you get the idea

• organ meats

• goose tongue — and this one’s only on the list because of the bone down the middle…if he could find a boneless goose tongue, he’d be all over it

So basically, to summarize, as long as it’s not totally fucked up, he’ll eat it.

(On a side note, don’t do a Google image search on organ meats. Especially if you’re pregnant. Trust me on this one.)

Around Halloween, we discovered the fifth thing to be added to the list…

• Reese’s Fast Break® candy bars.

Fortunately, I do love nougat and will be enjoying these even more since I recently found out that this candy bar was intended to replace breakfast.

Well-played Reese’s.

Now, in addition to wondering where I can get the freshest offal in Colorado, I’m also going to be that crazy pregnant lady wandering around eating candybars first thing in the morning.

You’ve been warned. And you’re welcome to share my new snacks.

I’m taking part in Reverb10, a time to reflect on the year that has past and manifest for the upcoming year. If you’re interested in participating, you can find out more about the project here.

December 3 Moment.

Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year.

Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).

Was it the moment that I lost myself in the zen of skiing fresh powder on a bluebird day, zooming through trees and feeling my body carve effortless turns?

Was it the moment that I found myself scuba-diving a few feet away from a manna ray and a sea tortoise, floating along 60 meters underwater and discovering how much life I’d been missing?

Was it the moment that I stepped up on stage at Ignite Boulder 8 and made 800+ people in the Boulder Theater laugh at me with a story (complete with pictures) from my awkward teenage years?

Was it the moment when I sat in front of a campfire at 11,000 feet, looking up at an impossibly starry sky and basking in the glow of love, whiskey and friendship?

Nope. All the above moments were quite magical, but there’s one that stands out above the rest.

In a typical-looking medical examining room, I experienced a moment I’ll never forget. I was laying on a typical-looking examining table, looking at my husband sitting next to me. The nurse rubbed a cold and slimy gel on my stomach and rolled a small machine over. She began tracing a wand over my belly and at first, all we heard was a monotone static-like sound.

Then…there it was.

The moment when my husband and I heard our baby’s heartbeat for the first time. Knowing that there was something living inside me, something that we had created together, was the most alive I’ve felt this year.

*Although, to be honest, that skiing was really amazing.

**And no, not all of my Reverb10 posts will be about my pregnancy. At least, I hope not.

I participated in the #Best09 challenge that Gwen organized last year and really enjoyed the retrospective nature of the writing activity. A year later and I’m looking back, with many others, during #reverb10…a time to reflect on the year that has past and manifest for the upcoming year. Plus, it’s pretty obvious from the date of my last post that I needed a little kick in the tookus.

December 1 One Word.
Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?

In both the literal and figurative sense of the word, I’ve grown a lot this past year. From undertaking a nutritional challenge that involved eating Paleo to running my fastest 10k, there was physical growth happening left and right. I accepted a new job, spent two weeks peacefully disconnected from the rest of the world on my honeymoon and began the process of simplifying my life in preparation for the arrival of our first child.

Of course, let’s not forget the most obvious growth of all…that my belly just keeps getting bigger.

I’m not sure what the word for 2011 will be but plan to stew on that one for a bit longer. When I’m not on cold meds (as I am now) and have given it more thought, I will be sure to update y’all.

I’m open to suggestions. What was the one word that best summed up your past year?

Wow.

That’s what I’m left with after running 13.3 miles on single track trails from Snowmass to Aspen this past weekend. The Golden Leaf half-marathon course was amazing, weaving its way through three ski areas, underneath lifts, through aspen groves with changing leaves and over many rocky descents. Although I had my doubts, I really surprised myself with how well I pulled this one off. Especially considering my current state…cough, 4 months pregnant, cough.

The start…

The beginning of this race was harder than any I’ve done before. It was all uphill for the first two miles. And not easy uphills, but really steep climbing. I was happy to see that many people hiked these sections because, as you might’ve guessed, I was one of these people. My strategy for the race was to start slow and the gnarly uphills ensured that I was able to do just that. I distinctly remember looking down at my watch at the end of that first mile and thinking, holy shit, if each mile takes me nineteen minutes, I’m going to be out here for a while.

However, once the race course started leveling out and we made it to the first downhills (around mile 3), things really started getting fun. How can you not love the thrill of running downhill? You let gravity do its thing and try to just concentrate on good foot placement.

The entire race course was on single track trails so it definitely made for a stressful passing situation. Some parts of the trail weren’t wide enough for two people, so if you wanted to pass, you  had to go off-trail. Some people refused to make any room for you to pass by them. And then some people got passed and got told they were doing a great job.

Fortunately, I was mostly in the last group.

The middle…

Miles five through nine went by with a blur of steep downhills, muddy water crossings, kicking myself in the ankle and gorgeous surroundings. Mile eight was especially memorable because I tripped and caught myself not once, but three times on the trail. One of those involved hitting my foot against a protruding rock so hard that I needed to walk a bit to make sure I hadn’t done any permanent damage.

The race course was very well-marked and there was never any doubt which way to go. At a few points along the way, you would have the entire trail to yourself, with so much room that it was easy to forget you were running with a thousand other people. But then there were the crowded sections, where you had people right in front of you and right behind. This actually helped me because I was forced to push my pace a bit in order to avoid being run down by those on my tail.

Mile ten was pretty brutal, since we were down and out of the forest, running in the foothills outside of Aspen. It was hot, we were surrounded by brush and there was not a spot of shade to be found. After a little calculation, I think I averaged about a fifteen minute mile through the mid-section of the race.

The end…

The most interesting part of the race happened in the last few miles. In mile eleven, I ran a twelve minute mile. This made me realize that not only was I actually going to finish this thing, but I was cutting time off my miles. This is practically unheard of, for me anyway, in a race of this length. Suddenly, I felt really strong.

Then, as if I wasn’t excited enough about almost being done with the race, can you even guess what happened during the mile 13? No, I didn’t shit my pants. But I did run a ten minute mile. For those fast runners out there, this is still a slow mile. For me, this was phenomenal. My fastest mile of the entire race turned out to be my last mile of the entire race. I’m blaming endorphins.

My husband and I crossed the finish line together, with an official time of 3 hours, 19 minutes. While definitely not my fastest half-marathon time, we did this one as a family. I would recommend this race to anyone looking for a hearty challenge and a very well-organized race. Not to mention a good time…

P. S. Here’s some geeky race nutrition info for those who care about such things…for this race, I carried an emergency GU packet, only to be used in case of dire circumstances. I also cut up a Kashi bar (not necessarily my favorite, but the only ones we had in stock) and put a few pieces in my front pocket. Stopped at all three aid stations and had both water and whatever electrolyte mixture they were serving up…perhaps Cytomax. Also, Adam had a stash of Sport Beans which ended up helping me more than anticipated. I think it’s because I refer to them as magic beans. And they’re in Fruit Punch flavor. They’re like little sport vitamins, a la Super Mario Brothers, and they’re made by Jelly Belly. How can they not be the perfect energy boost during a long run?

P.S.S. Yes, I did give a shout-out to CrossFit Roots during the race. They are my secret training weapon, after all.

I know, I know…it’s all about the pregnancy posts these days. What can I say?

(Also, Mom and Dad, you don’t really need to read this one.)

It all started a few years back, with hushed whispers and links sent in emails from girlfriends. This was my first glimpse…

Then, as one would expect, I wrote a joke about it for my stand-up routine. Something about how if you had an orgasmic birth with one child and then not with the other, it was going to be easy to pick your favorite child.

Fast forward to the now. Pregnancy and childbirth are no longer just something I joke about up on stage. I’m reading Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth, given to me by an old massage-school classmate and proclaimed as ‘the bible’ when it comes to such things.

First I read a section about painless birth. Ummm…that seriously exists? Because not one of my mommyblogging friends has mentioned such a thing. And everything I’ve ever seen both on movies and television portrays childbirth as being very painful. I’m thinking there’s some sort of conspiracy theory going on.

Then, the very next section in the book is about orgasmic birth. Fuck yes. I was late coming to the orgasm game (ha!)(also see: repressed Catholic upbringing) and now that they’re a regular part of my life, I say bring it on when I’m delivering.

So, when asked these days about the baby’s delivery, I’m happy to tell people my birth plan.

Painless with an extra helping of big orgasm, please.