Category Archives: Hope

My growing baby

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Being a parent, as I can personally attest to now, is most certainly a full-time job, and not a 9-to-5 job but a true 24–7 job. It is the most exhausting thing I have ever done in my entire life, but now, I finally understand why parents say that it is also the most rewarding thing that you can do. As Kaia has gotten older and now that she is over 13 weeks old, she is getting more and more attentive, active, and playful. Watching her develop every single day brings me the greatest joy. It’s almost like I can feel my heart is being squeezed. She does the most quirky and cheeky things: sometimes, when I am swaddling her, she farts and I exclaim in response, she gives me a huge grin, as though she knows that what she did is stinky and silly.  Every time she smiles when I smile, my heart melts just a little bit. And last night, when I was bottle feeding her before putting her down to bed, out of nowhere, she reached her hand out to hold my pinky finger and let it stay there the entire time. And I just thought that was the cutest thing ever.

 Lately, she has been cooing and babbling nonstop during certain periods of the day when she is very awake. She particularly loves it when I am singing to her. I have captured her cooing and babbling many times, but she seems to be picking up on the fact that I am recording her on my phone. In the last two days, when I put my phone up to record her babbling and squawking, as soon as she sees my phone, she immediately stops talking. It’s as if she is saying in response, “Get that rectangle thing out of my face and let me be!“

 I suppose that is also another reminder to me that I don’t necessarily need to record and capture every single thing that she does on photo or video, but I really should be more in the moment and just enjoy her for the time and the moment itself. But I really do love sharing these photos and videos with her grandparents and some of my friends who truly adore her and look at her like a niece. At the same time, though, I want to document her growth and development. I want to be able to share these photos and videos with her when she gets older. When I was young, I always loved it when my family showed me photos and videos of me when I was a baby. Because even though I could not remember that time clearly, it was still fun to see me, myself, at a younger age. It was also fun to be able to see how others, like my cousins and brother, interacted with me as a baby. It’s almost like you are making memories of something that you don’t actually have a memory of for your child. And I really like that.

Visits to meet our baby while she is being nursed

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Last weekend, a friend and his wife came over to visit Kaia for the first time. Given she feeds so often, as in every three hours, and I nurse her during the day, I am pretty open about the fact that my breasts will be out, and no, I will not cover them up. I’m in my own damn house, so I need to be comfortable. So I tend to preface all visitors with this message: Just giving you the head’s up that my nipples will be out, so hope you’ll be comfortable with that!

So they came and visited for a short duration while I nursed Kaia on one breast and had my Haakaa breast pump that pumped and caught milk drops on the other breast. I felt totally comfortable during this while we chatted. But afterwards, Chris said that they were both extremely awkward; my friend was doing his very best to look away from the direction of my breasts, and his wife was trying hard to be extremely polite, staring straight ahead as though actively avoiding my view.

I wish that as a culture, we could be more open minded and “normal” about breast/chest feeding. It’s really not that big of a deal. This is how animals feed their children. There is absolutely nothing sexual or inappropriate or questionable about seeing a person breast/chest feeding their baby in the presence of other people. If I saw them staring at my breasts while I fed my baby, I really would not care. This is human and animal nature and thus is natural. Americans need to stop being so prudish about something that is just natural: feeding one’s child.

Exclusive Pumping Mamas Facebook group

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When I had told my friend who is also a mom that the baby had a weak suck, and thus nursing could not be the primary form of eating for her, she empathized with me and told me that she had a couple of friends who were exclusive pumpers and had done this for over a year with their babies. So she would reach out to them to ask for their advice to share with me. They had a couple of pieces of advice for me: dark beer, brewer’s yeast, oatmeal, and joining the exclusive pumping mama‘s Facebook group for support. Most people do not understand the life of an exclusive pumper, including those moms who exclusively nurse, and so the support that we needed was a bit unique. A lot of people do not believe that exclusive pumping moms are breast-feeding their children, as stupid as that sounds, because their babies are eating from a bottle as opposed to directly from the breast. And so, in the exclusive pumping mamas Facebook group, one of the rules is that you cannot discuss nursing or latching; one tiny violation of this, and you will be banned for life. This group is solely to support women who pump and particularly those who exclusively pump to feed and nourish their babies.

I had not even thought about joining a Facebook support group, and so when my friend suggested this, I immediately applied to become a member. Hours later, I was excepted, and there I entered into a world of support and resources that I had not had in the last couple of months that I really would’ve benefited from in retrospect. During my middle of the night pump overnight, my pump time came and went so quickly because I was so engrossed in reading all of the posts that people wrote. I related so much to the mental stress and anxiety that people expressed over their milk supply, particularly those who are under suppliers like me. I thought I had it bad when I was only pumping around 200-300 mL per day for my baby in the beginning when there were women who were only able to pump 10-20 mL per day. I actually felt seen and heard in this group of women who I had never met. I even responded to a few posts and questions, and I also posted one or two of my own questions. And people were so willing to respond and so willing to cheer everyone on. Everyone understood each other’s journey here and why we all pumped. We all understood and did not need to explain to each other the importance of breastmilk and why we wanted our babies to have as much breastmilk as possible. It felt really good to read through all of these posts because it was like these were my peers I was conversing with.

I am always making references to the pumping mamas Facebook group when I talk to Chris. It’s like some thing that I mention at least a couple of times every single day, and I’m sure he thinks it is a little annoying. I told him that with this Facebook support group, I finally feel seen. He had a quizzical look on his face and responded, “What do you mean? I see you every day!”

IBCLCs: one part lactation consultant, one part therapist

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Shortly after I purchased my Pumpinpal flanges for my elastic nipples, I got really frustrated because I felt like I was spending all of my time with my breast pump and not enough time with my baby. I had increased the number of pumps per day from 6 to 7, and I had also realized that a 20 minute pump recommendation from the lactation consultant at the pediatrician’s office would not be a one-size-fits-all situation, and I actually needed to pump for about 30 minutes to fully empty my breasts. Granted, it is actually impossible to “fully empty“ your breasts, as there is always milk that is still left. But the goal of pumping is to empty as much as possible to then signal to your body to create more milk. That is part of the supply and demand process of breast-feeding.  The supply and demand process of breast-feeding also does not consider your mental health: you need sleep (rest) to produce milk, but you also need to pump (or nurse) around the clock in order to continue producing milk and at the same levels. See how those are two very different messages?! It’s pretty ridiculous, and it boggles my mind, but that is a way that milk supply works with the human body. 

I was standing in the kitchen connecting my breast pump one day, and I got really exacerbated because all I really wanted to do was hold my baby and play with her, but I couldn’t because I needed a pump. I said to Chris, “I feel like I spent all of my time with the stupid pump.“ And he responded, yeah you do spend a lot of time with the pump. He didn’t really know what else to say, and I don’t really blame him. He knew that I wanted to give my baby as much breastmilk as possible and that I was upset nursing wasn’t working out, so there was really nothing else to be said. But that response did not satisfy me, and instead, it made me feel worse. I felt like I was having a downward spiral.

Well, during that pump, the Cleo lactation consultant Andrea had texted me to check in to see how things were going. It was almost like she heard the thoughts in my head and wanted to see if I was OK. So I texted her back and told her that I felt like I spent all of my time with the stupid pump and not enough time with my own baby, and it was pissing me off. I thought I was having a baby so that I could actually spend time with my baby. So why did it feel like I was spending all of my time with an electric breast pump of all things? I felt like I want to throw the pump out the window. 

She responded empathetically and said that she totally heard me, that it was a very common sentiment among women who are exclusive pumpers or who pumped milk at all for their babies. Even if you only occasionally pump milk, you still need to spend time with your breast pump to figure out the best settings for your body because every body responds to every pump differently. On top of that, we have to remember the end goal of pumping: that is to nourish our babies with breastmilk. That was what I wanted all along, and that was what I expressed to her during our very first meeting. She told me that if, at anytime, I wanted to stop pumping, then I should stop, and she would 100% support me and my decision. But, that was a decision that only I could make. Whatever way I chose to feed my baby would fit my baby, she assured me. I told her that if I was not able to give my baby breast milk through my breast directly, then the next best thing was my breast milk through a bottle, and I was determined to make this work. I was NOT giving up. She also reassured me and said that she knew I had dedicated so much time and energy into making sure that my baby had breastmilk, that I was a warrior, that I was not someone who easily gave up, and that because of all of this, I was a great mom.

 I saw this message, and I immediately started crying. I really didn’t feel like a great mom. I was upset that nursing was not working out. I felt like I wasn’t spending enough time with my baby. I blamed myself, even though it wasn’t fair or even true, for not having a great milk supply and ultimately crappy output every time I pumped. I wanted to fully nourish my baby so badly with my own breast milk, and I was failing. I really did feel like a failure. Even though my output was on an upward trend, I still didn’t think it was enough. It didn’t really help that on social media, most of the milk supply and pumping posts you see are of women who have an over supply. That is despite the fact that women who have an over supply are outliers. They are not the norm, but let’s face it: an over supply or freezer milk stash post is going to get a LOT more engagement than a “just enougher” pumping mom or an under supplier like myself. I highly doubt that I would ever have milk to stash in my freezer for my baby. I was not even sure that I would be able to get to 50% of her needs at that point. And it really bothered me because I was really doing everything within my power to ensure she had as much breastmilk as possible. I’d had such a frustrating journey to conceive, then the tumultuous roller coaster of IVF, and now, I was facing challenges feeding my child the way I wanted. It’s like everything was a struggle for my body and me, and it really just made me angry to no end.

I thought about all of the women I knew who formula fed, whose milk never came in because they had c-sections and their bodies never got the signal that hey, their baby came out, and therefore the milk needed to come in. The women whose milk never came in never had the option to breast-feed or pump. I really felt for them, because I knew that if that had happened to me that I would have blamed myself and agonized over it for a long time; that was also a major reason I was terrified of an emergency c-section: that afterwards, my body would not get the message to produce milk. I was lucky that my milk came in on day three after birth, and that I had any milk supply at all. I owed it to my baby to try harder to make this pumping journey work. I wanted to give her the world, and it started with breastmilk. 

This obsession was taking over my life, but I kept telling myself that this was temporary, that I would not be pumping milk forever. At the end of the day, my baby is a combo fed baby: she has both breast milk and formula because my body is not producing enough breastmilk to satiate her, and I had already made peace with that. But I also logically knew that if I were to switch her to formula completely, she would end up completely fine. I mostly had formula when I was a baby and Chris had only formula, and so we were fine. All of my acquaintances and friends who had formula fed – their children were completely fine. I had to stop pressuring myself so much to produce breastmilk and just go with the flow, literally, and accept what my body was able to produce and do what was in my power to increase my supply. Anything outside of that and any internal shaming that I was doing was not going to help. Stress does not help milk supply. Lack of sleep does not help milk supply. I had to keep reminding myself this so that I would not ruin my own goals.

Andrea, the Cleo lactation consultant, was like a godsend in many ways. I was never able to have the at-home lactation consultant visits I wanted that were covered by health insurance, but I had her, who helped not just as an IBCLC, but also as a make-shift therapist in some ways. She checked in on me regularly, whether that was through text or phone, and she even reached out when we were outside of the seven-day window when I would have access to her after our sessions arranged by Cleo. She genuinely seemed like she cared, and she was incredibly empathetic and always listened before she spoke. Unlike the hospital LC or the IBCLC/RN at the pediatrician’s office, Andrea genuinely centered her care and concern around me and my physical and mental health. The best IBCLCs are just that: one part therapist and one part lactation consultant. They respect your wishes and your boundaries, and they do their best to push you to meet your goals, and when you are not able to meet your goals, they reassure you and show you alternatives. She lives across the country, and so even if Covid did not exist, she would not be able to do a home visit with me. But I know that if she were able to, I probably would’ve had a better and more successful breast-feeding journey. But it’s okay. I can’t control everything. I am grateful for the support that I have received from her to date because I know that because of her, my journey has been more successful than it would’ve been if I did not have her.

My first birthday as a mama 

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Today, I turned 36. It is my first birthday as a mother, and although I hoped to become a mother earlier than this age, I would not have anything different if I had to do it over again. Being 35 and pregnant was a great experience for me. People often times say that as you get older, life events like pregnancy and childbirth become harder. A friend of mine gave birth at 34 and said that she lamented having her first child that late because she spoke with women who had given birth in their late 20s and early 30s who bounced back far quicker than she did. Well, I had a very smooth, complication-free pregnancy despite having to go through IVF from age 34 into 35, and I had a quick recovery from birth all things being equal. Well, my pelvic floor is still not 100%, but then again, it’s only been just over four weeks, so I still have more time that I need to heal.

Every time I look at my baby, I am beyond grateful that she is here and healthy. She is just over one month old, and when I look back at photos of her from this time last month, I cannot believe how quickly she has grown and how much her little face has changed in such a short span of time. Every day, she changes just a little bit. And every day, I cannot believe that I am this lucky to have her here. I love her more than anything else on earth.

There were many times in the last year or two when I wondered if I would ever even become a mother. Perhaps it wasn’t in the cards for me, I thought. Maybe I didn’t deserve to be a mother. There was a lot of uncertainty, a lot of fear, and a lot of tears, but we are finally here and our baby is with us. 

And so, even though today is full of a lot of the same routine, with feeding, burping, pumping, and dealing with spit ups, I have never been happier or more fulfilled. Every day since her safe and healthy arrival, I have given thanks for her existence in my life. This is, indeed, a very happy 36th birthday for me.

Inefficient at the boob and one-month doctor’s appointment

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Today was the baby’s one-month appointment. It had been about three weeks since we started the intensive and grueling triple feed program, and I was looking forward to getting good news that she was in fact continuing to gain weight and that we would no longer need to continue this feeding program anymore.

In addition to that, I was looking forward to doing another weighted feed, hopefully to see that she was transferring more milk when feeding at my breast. Honestly though, when we were on our way to the doctor’s appointment, I did not have a lot of hope in this area, mainly because in the last week, she had been particularly lazy at the breast and not really sucking very much or hard at all. And she was also resorting back to her old bad habits and falling asleep because she was working too hard at the breast. This annoyed me, but really, there is no way to actually make your baby more efficient at the breast. I mean, the Cleo lactation consultant had suggested that we get a referral for the baby to see an occupational therapist to evaluate what was causing her weak suck, especially since she had a perfect latch, but Chris thought this was completely outrageous and immediately vetoed the idea. So we never went through with that.

Well, my fears were confirmed: during a weighted feed at this appointment, where she ate on both breasts for about 10 minutes each, she only transferred about half an ounce or 15 mL of milk. I was absolutely mortified and frustrated, and I knew that the measurement was going to be bad because she kept falling asleep despite being hungry. That has always been such a frustration point for me: how the heck do babies fall asleep at the breast when they are obviously hungry? Isn’t the hunger supposed to keep them awake and make them work harder?? Apparently, this is not the case, and my baby is not alone in this.

Her pediatrician evaluated her suck quickly by putting her finger in the baby‘s mouth and seeing how strong she would suck. She immediately confirmed that the baby had a weak suck, and because of that would be unable to efficiently eat at my breast for the time being. The milk transfer was just poor. She suggested nursing for comfort a few times a day but cutting back on it because it was just not working out, and relying on bottle feeds, using breast milk when available and formula when there was not enough. Some breast milk is better than no breast milk, the doctor said, and I needed to make sure to pump regularly in order to protect my milk supply. She also suggested that as the baby grew, she’d only get stronger, so there *may* be hope that her suck would eventually get stronger and she’d be able to transfer more milk while nursing. So nursing should still continue if I wished.

“How can my baby be inefficient at the breast? “I exclaimed in disgust. “This baby has Indian and Chinese heritage; she is supposed to be efficient! It’s in her blood!”

The doctor and her assistant thought I was trying to be funny and burst out laughing. But I did not find any of this funny at all. I was not joking.

It made me really upset to see this happen. I had invested so much time researching and studying breast-feeding articles and blogs and podcasts and taking a class, and knowing that nursing as a primary form of feeding my baby was not going to work really crushed me. That was how I envisioned feeding my baby, and knowing that it wasn’t going to work just stung. Chris said to me that not everything will always work out obviously; I had the unmedicated birth that I wanted, and not having the breast-feeding experience I wanted is just a part of what I needed to accept. 

On top of that, nursing as a primary form of feeding your child is a bit idyllic and romanticized: when you nurse exclusively, you have to feed your baby on demand. That means that you cannot adhere to a schedule or force your baby onto a schedule: that means whenever your baby is hungry, even if she only wants to eat for one or two minutes, you have to give your breast to her otherwise it will hurt your milk supply and also hurt her growth, neither of which you want to happen. That obviously can cause massive exhaustion for any mom and lead to mental health problems. I know moms who have been successful with exclusive nursing and nearly went insane or suffered from severe postpartum depression, feeling more like cows than like moms.

So, I was not going to have the nursing experience I originally wanted. But that does not mean that my baby can no longer be breast-fed… Because pumping milk and feeding it to your baby is also a form of breast-feeding; it’s just that it is not nursing. And so that led to more intense research for me on exclusive pumping. There is an “EP” label that I was looking at that was not just Executive Platinum status on American Airlines: that is for exclusive pumping mamas. It would be intense in terms of time, commitment, resilience, and my sanity, but I was still determined to make sure that my baby had breast milk and as much of it as possible for as long as possible… And when I say as long as possible, I meant as long as my breasts could handle it and as long as my mental health was still intact. So that new journey begins now.

My birth story with baby Kaia

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At 2am on Thursday, the 9th of December, I woke up for what I initially thought was a usual middle-of-the-night pee that tends to happen at least 2-4 times throughout the end of pregnancy, but when I got on the toilet, I realized the sensation was completely different. Not only did I need to pee, but I had a strong sensation of constipation, except nothing seemed to come out from the other end of me. In addition, the lower part of my stomach hurt, and my lower back felt a strong aching sensation. I sat on the toilet for about five minutes, wondering if I really did need to poop.. or if something else wanted to come out. And it dawned on me ten minutes later while still on the toilet that this actually could be early labor.

The pressure on my rectum was unbelievably strong; I had never had even a fraction of this sensation before. I had already been feeling the pressure increasingly over the last few days, and none of it was a shock to me since based on the most recent ultrasounds both at the doctor’s office and at maternal fetal medicine (MFM) center at the hospital, everyone was noting how low in my pelvis the baby’s head was. The doctors and sonographers kept saying in the last week and a half, “Any day now!” On Wednesday at MFM, the specialist smiled and said, “Well, no need to schedule another scan. This baby just needs to come out and be born now!” And it appears that “any day now” had finally come.

In the last few weeks during my multiple night time pees, Chris had been more attentive and stirring whenever I went to use the bathroom, and he’d often ask me if I was feeling okay and if everything was all right. For the most part, it was… until this early morning. He asked how I was feeling, and I told him I was experiencing a lot of pelvic pressure and a major feeling of constipation. After about three hours of feeling contractions and still having that nagging constipated feeling at around 5am, I texted my doulas and told them what I was experiencing. They suggested this might be early labor and encouraged me to get into positions that would be more comfortable, continue hydrating and breathing. Chris continued asking me every hour how I was feeling and suggested he not go to the office today.

7am: contractions were getting stronger, but still irregular. Chris started using his contraction tracker app to track my contraction frequencies and lengths. I shared screen shots with my doulas to see their thoughts.

10am: Contractions were getting stronger and more frequent. I tried showering and barely survived standing up in the shower. In fact, I ended up having to get on all fours at multiple points during my shower, fearing that I might end up toppling over and hurting myself and the baby. When I got out of the shower, standing, sitting, and lying down all made me feel worse. The only position that was even seemingly comfortable was on all fours.

4pm: I was frequently in pain, wondering how long these contractions would keep going. Why did all these people who had given birth tell me that when they were in labor, they were able to do everything from work to meetings to even cooking and exercise? I could barely focus on anything and could barely even send a text during my contractions; voice to text would have to do, and screw it if Siri didn’t get the grammar/spelling correct. It was very clear to me that these were not Braxton Hicks contractions, but I wasn’t able to focus on anything other than my contractions since I woke up at 2am this morning. I thought all those dates and red raspberry leaf tea I ate and drank in the last four weeks were supposed to give me an easier, shorter labor?? THEY ALL FAILED ME. My doula suggested that Chris push my hips together every time a contraction came. It provided a little relief because if he didn’t push my hips together with his hands, it really felt like all my insides would come out. And there’s no way I am dying, I thought to myself. I went through hell to get pregnant, and I’m going to survive this insanity!!

6:30pm: Oh, crap. I think I finally reached active labor. Contractions were getting more and more frequent, and lasting far longer than 1 minute. They were more like 3-6 minutes long, and it felt like all my insides, all my internal organs and the baby, wanted to fall right out of me. I felt like I was going to hemorrhage. Is this what child birth is supposed to be like?! Pain with a purpose, pain with a purpose, I kept repeating to myself in my head. I tried my best to approach this from a meditative standpoint to get myself through the agony and the excruciating pelvic pain. Whoever said that labor felt like menstrual cramps multiplied by 100 was a thousand percent correct — just move those pains further down in the pelvis as well as in the lower stomach. This pain will end. This pain has a purpose. This pain will bring my baby. I am not going to die. I am not going to die. Even though it feels like I am dying, I will not die. I will survive this and be with my baby in the end, who will be born alive, healthy, and well. I need to get through this to see my baby. My baby is almost here. My baby is almost here. BUT WHEN WILL SHE FRICKIN’ GET HERE? I don’t know how much longer I can take with these long-ass contractions that no one warned me about!!

I called my doula and asked her to come ASAP. She would be traveling from Brooklyn, and it would likely take her over an hour to get here. I have to be at least 4cm dilated by this point, I thought, and 4cm is the minimum needed to get admitted into the hospital. If I am not at least 4cm dilated, I will go crazy. There is no way I am less than 4cm dilated, right…?! I have to be as far along in active labor as possible, otherwise those crazy American healthcare workers in the hospital will try to push every freaking unnecessary intervention on me, and that is NOT what I want or signed up for. I’m a low-risk birthing person, for God’s sake! Need to stay at home for as long as possible. Need to stay at home for as long as possible. I will NOT get turned away at the hospital. There’s no way in hell they are going to turn me away and tell me to go back home once I get there! I thought. I called my doctor and told her I was definitely in active labor, and she encouraged me to labor a little longer at home, to wait for my doula to arrive, and to call her back then.

If I recall correctly, my doula Tina arrived around 8:30. Sometime between 5:30 and 8 (well, I think?), Chris went out to get us some food, which were lamb gyro wraps from the food cart just a block away in front of Fordham. He said it would be quick and easy for me to eat between my contractions, and despite all the pain I was in, he was right: it was easy to eat with one hand, tasty, and somehow I was still able to enjoy the flavor between contractions. I even appreciated the bit of crunch from the iceberg lettuce in it, too. Between contractions, Chris was slowly, surely, and quietly getting everything in the apartment tidied up, putting away different packaged goods, food items, stowing away baby items, and doing who else knows what. He also prepared the hospital bag, luggage, and coats to get us ready to go and had the car seat waiting at the door.

When Tina finally arrived, I was moaning at every contraction onset and still beyond miserable, with both knees on the living room floor, kneeled over the sofa with my elbows resting on the seat of the couch. My misery truly felt like it had no end, and I wasn’t sure what to make of myself. Is this what having a child is all about? I wondered to myself between contractions. How do people birth so many kids – 2, 3, 5, 10???? HOW DO THEY GO THROUGH THIS? IS THIS REALLY WORTH IT?? Maybe Chris was right: maybe having just one kid is ideal because then, I’d never have to go through this excruciating pain ever again! “One and done” doesn’t sound so bad after all right now!!!

Tina provided near immediate relief when she arrived, using her full hands to squeeze my hips together with an extremely strong force. She was truly like a God-send. Does she work as a masseuse in her free time? I thought to myself. Her hands are super powerful and made Chris’s fingers seem wimpy in comparison! She was also like those birth doulas you read about in books, slowly saying little mantras to me: “You’re getting closer to your baby.” “You are stronger than this contraction.” “You are strong. You are fierce.” It’s almost like she was either made to be a meditation guru or a doula because she truly had the most calming voice possible during my labor. After a number of intense contractions with Tina present, somehow between contractions, which sometimes felt just one after another with little break between, I finally called my doctor again, who was on call at Lenox Hill, and she suggested I slowly make my way over to the hospital.

We slowly made our way down to the lobby of our building, and while Chris carried all our bags and the car seat, Tina guided me to the Uber Chris called for us. Given I was having intense contractions in active labor, Chris even got us an Uber XL for more space and comfort. I found out later that we were charged about 4.5 minutes of ‘wait time’ with the Uber, so I guess that was the cost of contractions en route to the hospital! Sam, one of our doormen, immediately realized what was happening and if I remember correctly, said something to the effect of, “Oh, snap! Good luck! We’re thinking about you and praying for you! Wishing you the best!”

The ride cross town to Lenox Hill was brutal. I felt every single bump and pot hole on the road, and I moaned throughout the ride, attempting to keep my moans quieter so that the driver didn’t lower Chris’s Uber rating (he’s VERY intent on keeping his rating very high!). Contractions in a moving vehicle are NO joke. The driver, who happened to be female, which is rare, noticed I was moaning and asked what was wrong, and Chris explained to her that I was in labor. She finally realized why we had an empty car seat put in the trunk and started getting excited and gave us many well wishes as we left her vehicle.

We finally arrived at Lenox Hill and went up to the labor and delivery / maternity floor. They got me a wheelchair right away and wheeled me into triage for evaluation. Unfortunately, support people and doulas are not allowed in that area, so I got separated from Chris and Tina at this time. And I was pissed — not because I got separated from them, but because they treated me like I was not in labor and just there feeling normal. They asked me too many questions that were already answered by my hospital pre-registration (identity, health insurance, weeks of gestation and due date, etc.), which was completed over a month and a half prior to this day, and asked me to fill out more forms. WHY DID I EVEN DO HOSPITAL PRE-REGISTRATION WHEN THEY ARE TRYING TO GET ME TO FILL OUT THESE STUPID FORMS WHILE I AM IN ACTIVE LABOR AS WE SPEAK? WHAT IDIOT WOULD NOT RECOGNIZE I AM IN MASSIVE PAIN RIGHT NOW?!! I gave them some cutting remarks before they eventually went to Chris to have him fill out forms for me (I didn’t realize they did this until the next day, when Chris told me they went out to him to ask him to do this, making it clear I was in no state of mind or body to fill them out myself at the time. OBVIOUSLY).

They brought me to the triage beds and checked my blood pressure, hooked me up to a contraction and fetal monitor, and then a resident doctor checked my cervix to see how dilated I was: 6 centimeters. THANK GOD, I thought to myself when they told me. I’m 60% of the way to pushing! You need to be at 10 centimeters, which is full dilation to start pushing. I immediately texted Chris to let him know. While I waited to be admitted officially, some nurses came over during contractions to ask if I’d like an epidural for pain relief. I immediately said no without hesitation, and when they asked me if I was sure, even during contractions, I insisted I didn’t want an epidural. I’m not sure if it is standard at Lenox Hill for the nurse manager to check in on patients who are in labor, but the nurse manager came to my triage bed to introduce herself, and she explained that if I did change my mind and wanted an epidural, it would require that my body absorb two bags worth of fluid via an IV before the epidural would be administered into my spine, so I needed to be aware of that if I wanted to decline it. Apparently, I tested positive a few weeks ago for Group B Strep, so regardless, they’d need to get me hooked up to an IV anyway to ensure that antibiotics were going through my system that would be passed onto the baby so she wouldn’t catch it from me.

After all this was explained, they officially admitted me and moved me into a delivery room, where Chris and Tina came to meet me. On the wheelchair ride to the delivery room, I felt every bump yet again and thought I was going to keel over. When I finally got to the room, Tina started stringing mood lights around the window area and took out a bunch of things to help with my stress and pain: peppermint and lavender oil, fans, cold compresses, combs to grip for acupressure. She took a look at the birthing items in the room, such as the peanut ball and birthing ball, and she immediately suggested I get on them for relief.

I switched positions a lot with Tina’s and Chris’s assistance, from sitting on the birthing ball to side lying with the peanut ball to hands and knees on bed to attempting to squat (OH, BOY, THAT WAS SO PAINFUL. That REALLY felt like my insides were going to come splattering out of me all over the bed and onto the delivery room floor). The pain just got worse and worse, and the pressure on my rectum was so great that I could barely stand it anymore. Fuck this, I thought. I already have the IV with the fluids hydrating me. I NEED THAT EPIDURAL. I kept looking eagerly at the slowly dripping bag of fluids via the IV, and Chris kept asking me why I continued looking in that direction. “I need that bag to fully drain and another bag to get an epidural,” I responded sluggishly. “I can’t take this anymore!” Tina reminded me that we could try some other positions and pain alleviating techniques, but I felt so drained that I wasn’t sure I’d make it. I really thought I was going to die bringing my baby into the world without medication.

And that’s when all the self-deprecating comments in my head started. You thought you were so almighty and special, wanting an unmedicated birth. Who did you think you were – special and different for not wanting pain meds or an epidural? Like your friends said — science exists for a reason, and who the hell wants pain when pain can be solved for with medication today?? Such hot stuff — and look at you now! Miserable and feeling near death! An epidural would have been a DREAM now! You wanted to live and be in the moment and feel everything? Well, here you go – you’re certainly in the moment now, you idiot! How stupid and naive can you be? Why were you so adamant about not having an epidural even after the nurse manager came in to confirm with you for the third time in triage?? I was so mad at myself for refusing pain medication that the internal conversation in my head was filled with rage and defeat.

I was also feeling like any time Chris and Tina were not pushing my hips together that I was really going to have all my insides fall out. It was a constant, nagging, excruciatingly painful feeling. The pain got to a point where it wasn’t even enough for just one of them to push my hips together with their hands; eventually, BOTH of them had to push my hips, one of them on each side of me, to keep me somewhat contented. They apparently had to use ALL their arm and upper body strength, as Chris told me later. When they were not there during one of my contractions to push my hips, I would yell and ask where they were. “WHERE ARE YOU? PLEASE PUSH! PLEASE!!”

When Fetessie, my assigned labor nurse came to check in on me, I asked her if I could get an epidural. She looked at me sympathetically and said we’d have to wait until the fluids went through my system through the IV and that they’d check after that to see how far dilated I was. Later, she told me that I was too far along in terms of dilation for an epidural to make sense, but she didn’t want to tell me that while I was in active labor in so much pain. My doctor eventually came into the room. I had no concept of time at this point because there was no clock in the room, and at that point, who the hell knows where my phone was.

“Yvonne, how are you feeling?” I could hear Dr. Ng’s voice, which sounded faint and very far away, but it’s likely she was right there when she walked in.

“I feel miserable,” I responded slowly while on all fours, with my face stuffed into a pillow. “I feel like I want an epidural.”

“Okay, well, let’s check to see how far along you are,” she responded slowly. I spread my legs, and she checked my dilation. It hurt so bad to have this checked even between contractions that I yelped loudly.

“You’re at 9 centimeters,” my doctor said eagerly. “We’re 20-30 minutes away from pushing! I’ll be back soon!”

It was too late for an epidural. I was going to have the natural, unmedicated birth I romanticized about all along whether I liked it or not.

“You’re getting closer to your baby, Yvonne,” Tina cooed, fanning me and trying to keep me comfortable. “No one has said anything about pitocin (the artificial version of oxytocin used to speed up labor). Your body is doing exactly what it needs to do. You’re doing this. You’re giving birth to your baby.”

About 30 minutes later, my doctor came back and checked my dilation again. I was fully dilated as she predicted. As soon as she got into me, I felt a huge burst of water come out and completely soak the mat under me. My water had just broken. Fetessie quickly and swiftly cleaned it up and got me a new mat to protect the mattress. And we started the pushing phase.

Tina suggested I try pushing while in a squatting position facing the head of the bed, but while I attempted to get into that position, I failed miserably even with both Tina and Chris’s assistance. It hurt even more than any other position, and it really felt like all my insides were going to come out in that position. Was I going to die getting into that position?! I just couldn’t do it even if gravity would have been on my side in that position! There was just too much pressure in my rectum there. The pressure at this point of labor on my rectum was by far the strongest and the worst. Chris told me later that I was likely hallucinating, but I had the worst thoughts at this point going through my mind. Am I going to survive this? Is my baby going to come out alive? What if I end up dying in the process of birthing my child? Chris will end up being a single parent, and my daughter will never know her own mother! I will have gone through all of this with nothing to show for and be dead in the end!

I always thought pushing would be quick… because so many moms before me told me that pushing would be the shortest part, that it would go quickly. Thirty minutes! Twenty minutes! Ten minutes! She’d be out before you knew it! And for me, although a nurse later checked my chart and told me it lasted about 1.5 hours, which was under the 2-hour pushing average for most first-time moms, it felt like a fucking eternity. I swear that I thought that part of labor lasted at least four or five miserable hours. The position that ended up being the most comfortable for me was half sitting, half lying down, with both feet held up high in the air, one by Fetessie on one side, and the other by Tina on the other side. Chris stayed near my head for support and to keep a cold compress on my forehead, plus to replenish my fluids via my water bottle.

My doctor, Fetessie the nurse, Chris, and Tina were there the whole time, even during my breaks between contractions and pushing. If you want to know what pushing out a baby feels like, just think about it like this: you are pushing the biggest piece of poop out of your body — EVER. My doctor kept coaching me, counting to ten (and really wanting me to push beyond ten), insisting nothing mattered if I farted, peed, pooped. I mean, she’s seen this all before, right? It was definitely tough Asian mom love because with each push, I could tell when she was satisfied with my progress or not. When she wasn’t happy, she gave pointers on how to maneuver my feet or just said “okay.” When she was satisfied with my performance, she praised me. “YOU CAN DO IT, YVONNE!” she kept yelling over my own screams. I was definitely screaming for the first handful of pushes, but after that, my vocal chords got so exhausted that I ended up stopping all the yelling and was just silent with the following pushes. In my silence, I just felt like my whole face was going to cave in with each push.

“Am I actually making progress?” I kept asking, paranoid that I’d be diagnosed with “failure to progress” and be forced into an emergency c-section. “Why does it feel like nothing is changing?!!!”

To be frank, I wasn’t even sure at that point what hurt more: the contractions themselves, pushing, or the fact that my doctor literally had her entire hands IN my vagina with each push. The pain from her entire hands being at my vaginal opening was more than excruciating, and I hated it so much. At one point, she told me to push my feet down to get the momentum going instead of forward, but in my head, I thought, maybe the reason it seems like I am about to kick you with my feet is because of how much it hurts that your hands are inside of me!!

Fetessie and my doctor insisted I was making progress. “That’s why we’re moving the fetal heart rate monitor lower and lower!” Fetessie said, optimistically. “You’re getting closer!”

It did NOT feel like we were getting closer even if the heart rate monitor for baby was moving lower and lower. I felt like I was failing, like I wasn’t able to push fast enough, hard enough, or efficiently enough. And this is when the negative thoughts came back into my head: What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you taking so long?! Are you ever going to get this baby out of you?! Well, a c-section would have been so simple. No pushing! None of this pain! I’d be numbed and baby would be taken out! Piece of cake! Who cares if the recovery would be longer because this is absolute hell! Remember how you told them via your birth plan that you wanted no vacuum and no forceps to take baby out? Well, how good does a vacuum sound now? The baby could be sucked out of your vagina, and the pushing would be all done in one go! Maybe medical interventions aren’t so bad after all!

The doctor kept saying she could see baby’s head: a whole head of hair. OMG, I thought. Her head can be seen. I need to get my shit together and breathe and push her out ASAP! And finally, the doctor said it was finally time for her to come out. They lowered a table near the end of the bed for baby and put on head coverings and additional scrubs, and I knew it: this time, it HAS to be all in one go. I pushed like that was all I existed for. I AM GOING TO SEE MY FREAKING BABY NOW.

And with one final, long and hard push…. She came out — at 2:52am early on Friday morning, the 10th of December. I felt her descend and escape my body, and immediately when the doctor held my little baby’s squirming body up, I heard what I had been waiting to hear for the last 2.5 years: my sweet baby wailing and crying, with her umbilical cord still connected to me. My little baby Pookie Bear was covered in amniotic fluid, blood, and a thick layer of vernix all over her face and upper body. I had never seen anything so amazing, wondrous, or beautiful in my entire life.

I always imagined that when I’d see my baby for the first time that I’d immediately start crying, but that wasn’t what happened. Instead, I was so exhausted from the labor and pushing that I was just in shock that she was finally here. And I felt immediate relief: all the contraction pain was gone just like that. It took me a couple minutes to realize what had finally happened – delayed reaction, as Chris always says about me. The doctor immediately placed her on my chest, and I was still heaving and breathing heavily as Chris patted the cold compress on my forehead while admiring our little baby girl on my chest. I patted her back and arms, marveled at the thick sticky layer of grey vernix on her, and said hello to my sweetie pie for the very first time. The doctor had Chris cut the umbilical cord once it stopped pulsing minutes later; he successfully cut it on the second or third try, he later told me. And within minutes, we were skin to skin once the nurse undid my gown, and Pookie Bear immediately latched on to my nipple and started suckling.

I was in heaven. And my pain was over. Even when the few stitches were being done on me in my vagina by my doctor and a resident doctor, as I had a minor 1st degree tear on the inside, which the doctor said would heal faster on average than most, I could feel nothing down there. All I could feel was the little warmth and breathing of my newborn baby girl. Tina misted my face with rose water afterwards, which felt cooling and refreshing.

That early morning, I birthed my baby girl. And on that early morning, I birthed a new side of myself that I had never known existed before. I never realized happiness to this level could possibly exist until this moment, as trite as it sounds. I was happier than I’d ever been in my entire life. That entire 25-hour labor, with 9 active hours and 1.5 hours pushing, was a thousand percent worth it to have this tiny human in my life today. I would not trade that experience for anything else in the whole world.

And I had the birth I wanted in the end: completely unmedicated, with no medical interventions, with Chris and my doula at my side, unmasked. The amount of gratitude and love I had in those hours after she was born was nearly bursting out of my body. I felt like my life was complete.

39-week appointment

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Yesterday, I had my 39-week appointment at my OB-GYN’s office. Based on today’s visit, I am still 1 cm dilated, but incredibly, I am 60 percent effaced, so my doctor predicted that I would go into labor between now and the end of this weekend. We scheduled a 40-week appointment on Monday, just one day shy of exactly 40 weeks, but “I don’t think you will get there,” my doctor said yesterday. “I’m pretty sure you will go into labor in the next few days based on how things look now.” She suggested going for long walks and doing squats to get things moving.

I ended up walking all the way home from 87th St and 5th Avenue back to our apartment since the buses were being insanely slow, and along the way, I took a look at the Christmas lights along Fifth Avenue, the fountain decorations by the Plaza Hotel, and also stopped by the Japanese market on the way home to buy some seaweed to make Korean seaweed soup (it’s supposed to be a popular soup women drink after giving birth to help increase milk supply for breast feeding). I had also been doing far more squats in the last week or so to get things moving along in my pelvic area, too, to get the baby’s head to further descend downward.

Welp, it apparently all worked.. because I went into labor at 2am today. Who would have ever thought that the first signs of labor for me would not only be contractions, but also the most massive pelvic pressure and constipation I’d ever known before.

Almost 39 weeks

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Well, it looks like the daily pep talks with Pookie Bear worked: she has stayed cozy and warm inside my uterus through December, and now we are on the eve of our 39th week of pregnancy together.

I’ve felt and thought this the entire pregnancy, but I am so happy and grateful to have had such an enjoyable and relatively smooth pregnancy to date. I still can’t believe she is coming, and soon we will meet our little Pookie Bear baby. I’ve also enjoyed every single one of her movements, whether they have been kicks, pounds, squirms, wiggles, turns, and even her tiny little hiccups. Even when they have been painful, like when she’s kicked me in my ribs or given me sciatica or piriformis pain, I still love each feeling and just feel so blessed to have gotten this far with her. Sometimes, I just can’t believe how lucky I am, and I rub my belly and remind myself that this is all real, that my little baby is almost here.

In the beginning when I could feel her movements, she would get excited and move a lot after exercise, meals, cold drinks, at bedtime, and in the middle of the night. I still fondly remember waking up feeling startled, just to her little somersaults in my uterus. As time progressed and she got bigger, she’d get excited on plane rides, especially during ascending and descending. She loves being in festive, rambunctious events like Auria’s backyard food and beer event, and she moves a lot during those events, as though saying she wants to be included in the fun. She also kicked a lot during calls and presentations when I did a lot of talking. And she absolutely loves comedy and live theater; she never stopped squirming and turning during those live events.

I hope this is all indicative of the person she will become: someone who is lively and boisterous, loves good conversation, live theater, comedy, music, and events, travel, and delicious food. I’m so excited to meet my little Pookie Bear, and she has a throng of people who already love her and are eagerly waiting to meet her, too.

Baby’s head low in pelvis

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I was at my OB’s office yesterday for my 38-week appointment, where we did a high level ultrasound and she informed me that the baby’s head is very low in my pelvis.

“That means that she’s ready!” my doctor exclaimed, smiling wide and getting excited. “I estimate that based on her position, she could really come anytime in the next week. You have our emergency number on your phone, right?”

Anytime in the next week? WHAT? I was both filled with excitement and terror all at once. Pookie Bear is ready to come out and discover the world? I guess I really shouldn’t have been surprised given that I’m already at 38 weeks, and babies being born about a week or so early is pretty normal and healthy since it’s not like they have a calendar that says, “it’s 40 weeks — time to GET OUT!”

So what did I do, the crazy overdrive person who can’t keep still and is obsessed with productivity? On the way home, I stopped by Whole Foods and purchased a 3-lb container of rolled oats to start making lactation cookie dough balls to get ready for the freezer. I already picked up ground flaxseed and brewer’s yeast the week before, so I had all the core ingredients to make up the “lactation” part of this cookie dough.

I told Chris about what the doctor said, and today, I knew he was on edge regardless of whether he’s willing to admit it. He insisted we organize a lot of the baby items in the second bedroom and start taking things out of the boxes that we were gifted from the baby registry. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, and I also knew it wouldn’t take that much time, but he snapped at me when I said it wasn’t a big deal and that he could take care of a lot of it.

“What if you go into labor tonight or tomorrow?” he snapped. “Then I have to do all this myself! I don’t know what’s in all these boxes!”

Well… the box that says “changing pad” — that has a changing pad in it? None of this is that complicated. He didn’t appreciate my comments and insisted we do this at this second. So we did it all this evening, and it took probably less than 30 minutes. There’s really not THAT much baby stuff, and I don’t think he realizes that because pre-baby, this bedroom was empty, hollow, and had a big echo. There’s not much of an echo anymore, though.

But this is what Chris is like when he gets anxious, and he feels like he’s not in control. I married a loving control freak who wants to be in control of literally everything, and he hates surprises. The second he feels like he’s out of control, he reacts by being a bit short fused and snappy. So I expected this from him at some point.

I don’t think there’s a newborn out there that allows his/her parents to be in control. And that’s what he and I will need to get used to — not feeling like we’re in control at all and just going with the flow of what the baby wants and needs.