And the Oscar Goes To...

She is downplaying her fame here, but for all of you who have been hoping for live action shots...here ya go.





Peanut's Video Debut from Richard Williams on Vimeo.

Making Possible the Blue Cocoon

Sometimes God puts people directly in your path.

When I wrote to ask her if she might be willing/interested in coming to Barranquilla to help us with the birth of Peanut, I wasn't sure what she would say.  When we met in February I had confided that I was pregnant (mostly to avoid eating too near any provocative smells), and sparkly eyed she had confided that she was sort of a birth nut.  She was available to talk if I needed to do so, and she wished me well in the coming 7 month journey.  It wasn't much to go on, but, following Ed McMahon's logic, I figured "Heck, if you don't enter, you can't win" and the email shot into cyberspace.

Her response was quick, thoughtful, and lengthy - a preview of all the emails and communications to come.  :)

Susanne is here working with the Mennonite Central Committee for three years, and aside from concerns about whether she would be able to take the time away from her work, she and her family were committed to making this crazy request work...all the way from Bogotá.  So she packed a bag (before we did I think), put it by the front door, and faithfully checked email, text messages and voice mails to see if she needed to hop on a plane.

In her words, "I would love to make it to the birth itself, but if circumstances/timing doesn't work out right...I could bring some recipes and cook a little" and "I'll just be there to clean the toilets and do some laundry for you all."  There may be no one who has undersold themselves quite so impressively.

What we did not know (remember?) is that Susanne is actually a child specialist: birth to age three.  So aside from making it to the hospital by 5pm (plenty of time...) and helping convince Dra. Lucia to let me get on that darn ball to help Peanut turn over, she stayed with us for 4 more days and helped us get our sea legs.  Having eaten together twice and spent a total of 6 hours together previously, Susanne saw more of me than most people ever even wanted to - on the surgical table and afterward as I worked to get the hang of breast feeding and hurt in places I wasn't even aware existed.

Besides cooking some of the best food we have had this whole year, doing the laundry and bringing recipes (we did manage to keep her from attacking the toilet), she stayed up through the night with us to help us figure out the first nights with Peanut.  Susanne helped us remember that Peanut's crying was not a personal attack but rather part of the work she was doing to try and get it together in this new place.  She brought a sense of calm to a household that was feeling more of the storm, and she allowed both of us to hole up in the blue cocoon so that we could sleep, cry, smile, and stare in wonder at this new arrival.

In short, she helped us move from people to parents, and for that Tía Susanne, we can never thank you enough.

And the Winner Is...

So no one got everything right on the nose, but two folks did get awfully close.  It was difficult to make a final decision, but we are going with...

Emily Hendel!  She had the correct day and correct gender, but put Peanut a little heavy...  Don't worry, we don't think she holds it against you.

Your prize will come in the next 6-8 weeks.  We thank you, and all, for playing.  :)

Legends of the Legume

Peanut, 9/12/2010

It has been over two weeks, and I have been meaning to write about Peanut's birth.  Some of the reason I have not gotten this done before is that time seems to slip so quickly away, but some of it has been my reticence to put it all into words.  I think it important, yet somehow an experience that was so deeply embodied seems to defy being summed up on a page.  I am unable to capture the intensity, the good and the difficult.  As my body continues to heal and my heart continues to grow the whole process totters between carnal and mythical.  Imperfect as it may be though, "hay que intentar" (you've gotta try), ¿no?

Querida Peanut,

Though you came to rest in my arms on September 22, I feel as if the story of your birth begins a bit earlier.  One could argue it begins 9 months earlier, but even the final drama began a few days before your official debut.

It was Monday, in the early hours of the morning, and I felt odd.  I did not feel like I needed to go to the bathroom, and yet it felt as if the muscles of my bladder would not stay under my control.  Each hour I would get up to go to the restroom, but little resulted, yet still I could not fall deeply asleep for sensing a drip, drip, drip that reminded me of Poe's tell-tale heart.  By the time light had dawned I knew something was happening, but I was still not sure what.  

I should tell you now that many a time throughout our nine months together I was told that "I would just know" things.  "I would just know" when you began kicking.  "I would just know" when my water broke.  "I would just know" when contractions began.  "I would just know" when it was time to push.  Unfortunately it seems I am a little slower than folks believe me to be.  Ah well, you will undoubtedly agree when you are 14.  

At any rate, I called Dra. Lucia to let her know what was happening, and when I went to her office she first believed my water had broken, just with a small tear or something that had not allowed the movie-like gush to occur.  After moving your head around and thinking longer, she decided it was simply my mucous plug that was very watery and signaled a move toward labor but not yet an immediate one.  That afternoon we returned to check on your heartbeat and movements as well as my contractions (heartbeat and movement -  good; contractions - non-existent), and we were told to walk around more and see if we could encourage effacement and dilation.

Then there was Tuesday.

While Monday was sort of exciting (maybe we are almost there!), Tuesday was a little frightening.  What had been a clear or reddish-tinted liquid began to have a greenish tint, and though I know virtually nothing, I do know that any time something leaving your body is green it is basically bad news.  Another call to Dra. Lucia.  Another trip to her office as soon as possible.

The fear was that somehow the green color was due to the fact that you had passed some meconium already and that you were potentially in distress.  The confusion was that my water still did not seem to have broken, so there was no way for meconium to be showing up this way.  But something was green...  So back to monitoring in the afternoon again.  You still seemed fine, contractions were still merely a dream.  Dra. Lucia was willing to wait, but she was concerned.  I sensed we were running out of time with her, and I was also very worried that you were having some trouble we could not identify.  I was afraid.

Early morning on Wednesday I began to feel some pains.  They were not bad, but I did notice them.  I began to look at the clock to see if they were coming at even intervals because then I felt I might legitimately be able to call them contractions.  They were every twenty minutes or so for a little while, but then they faded into uneven patterns and when I moved around I was not sure if I felt them at all.  Was it simply discomfort?  I wasn't sure.

I texted Dra. Lucia anyway, just to let her know.  She asked me to come into the clinic that morning first thing, 7:30am, so that she could see me.  "No problem," I said, and started to get ready.  But then the roller coaster of worry snuck up on me again, and I began to wonder why she wanted to see me so quickly.  Could it be that she thought something was wrong and she just didn't want to say it over the phone?  My heart pounded as we took a taxi to the Clínica Asunción.  

We met Dra. Lucia in the Emergency Room lobby and she said, "So, it is a good day to have a baby, ¿no?"  An ultrasound said that you were okay, but I was not at all effaced or dilated.  When she said "Well, let's check you in" I was stunned.  Everything I had read about birth said not to go to the hospital too early because it was more likely that the birth scenario would end in a c-section, not to mention that it is just easier to live your life in your own home while you wait for things to build.  We had not even brought our bag (expertly packed by your father, of course) because if you were well then I figured she would just tell us to go home.  But it seemed that was not the path we were on, so we checked in, found our room, and your Papi went back home to get our things.  

While he was gone I was given part of a tablet to help me efface - not to induce labor, though sometimes that is a result of the effacing.  I was comfortable, excited, anxious for your dad to return, and wondering what would come next.  That was 9:00.

I did not have to wait too long.

By 10:00 your dad was back and setting up the array of early labor activities we had planned.  We had the little computer with 2 movies, the iPod with early and active labor music rotations, a book, and I don't even remember what else.  We let folks know we were in the hospital, set up the computer, turned on the first movie and got about 25 seconds into it when the first pains hit.  

All the books will tell you that labor builds gradually.  You have some pains every 20 minutes, working down gradually to 3-5 minutes when you should go to the hospital, birthing center, or be prepared to get down to business at home.  Until then you should distract yourself.  Your body and mind will accommodate the pains slowly and your strategies to manage those pains can shift with them.  None of this was my reality.  I don't know if it had to do with the effacing tablet or if it was just my lot in life, but when my pains hit they hit strong and hard from the get go.  Your dad recorded every time I felt pain, and it seemed way too often to be contractions, but I didn't know what else it could be.

By 12:00 when Fanny and Gloria came to visit I was having pains every minute and a half - one shorter, and therefore more manageable pain, followed by a longer pain that seemed do-able only because it would be over and I would have three minutes until it came again.  After a very brief greeting everyone got into the act with me rubbing my head against a pillow, Fanny letting her hand be twisted out of shape by mine, your daddy pushing down on my back, and Gloria holding my leg to stop it from shaking.  

At 3:30 Dra. Zoila, the on-call doctor, came in to check me, and I had dilated 1 cm.  You've gotta be kiddin' me.

At that point we decided to opt for an epidural.  On the one hand I felt like we were on that slippery slope the books warn you about for going into the hospital early, but on the other hand I knew that I would not make it a lot longer without something since I had been in almost constant pain since 10:30 with only 1 cm to show for it.  So at 4:30 I was wheeled into the surgical room, told I would get a partial pain killer so I could still participate actively in the labor, and instructed to curl up in a ball and not to move.  If I was worried about the pain from the needle, I should not have been.  I'm not sure it was the "tickle" I was informed it would be, but after searing pain for the previous five hours, the epidural was a walk in the park.  

And sure enough it did help for a little while.  Tia Susanne who came all the way from Bogota to be with us arrived at 5:00, and I was able to talk with her and just stop occasionally for pain.  It was as if I was getting a peek at the labor I thought I would have at 10:00 in the morning!  The anesthesiologist came in to see how I was doing and said he was glad to know I had teeth (that I could smile), and hopes in general were higher than they had been in a while.  Unfortunately that only lasted about an hour.  (In fact, your Tia Susanne thinks I shouldn't even mention the epidural since it didn't seem to cut much of the pain at all in her opinion.)

The challenge is that this being my first time to do any of this, I have no idea if what happened from there was more like normal or still particularly intense.  But, for me, the intensity came back quickly and then simply never left.  A part of the reason for that (I came to understand) was that you were facing the wrong way (head down, but face up rather than face down), so your head and back were pressing on my spinal column (ouch).  Thus a lot of the pain I was having was not "productive" pain; it was not the result of contractions...it was just pain.  But you were all good, thanks be to God.  It was a pretty comfortable position for you - why move? - and it was evidently also all but impossible for you to make your way out.  Dra. Zoila pushed for a c-section.  Luckily, Dra. Zoila was not my physician.

Dra. Lucia and I had talked a lot about how much I wanted a vaginal birth and that it meant a lot to me.  Your dad and I were clear that if there were any problems for you then we would certainly concede to a c-section, but we really wanted a genuine shot at a more natural birth.  We had been told that some doctors here would schedule me for a c-section based solely on my age, so our conversations with Dra. Lucia had been very clear from the start.  Keeping an eye on your heart rate and trying to figure out how to help me turn you around, she then had me sit up, legs crossed and start to push just to see if it would do anything.  Given that after a dilating cream and the return of persistent pain I was only dilated 7 cm with no desire to do any pushing, I did my best, but not much changed.  

At that point your Tia Susanne stepped in and suggested we get the birthing ball from our room, turn me over on all fours, and see if we could get you to turn over that way.  Dra. Lucia was skeptical, but willing to try it...as long as I stayed on the table.  So I don't know who, but someone went for that ball, somehow I turned over on all fours, and then I passed to a point in which I just wanted to cry and scream, and I thought there was no way this was going to happen.  Susanne was leaning over me and bearing her full weight on me.  Your dad was getting his hands crushed.  The two doctors were...taking pictures.  Yes, it seems the birthing ball was a new thing for them...

Dra. Lucia, Margarita, Peanut, Susanne

To be honest I thought then that it might all be over.  I did not have the energy or strength to keep going any longer, and the pain was ripping through me as if to tear me in half to try and get you out.  When I asked Dra. Lucia to check my dilation one more time, thinking that would help me decide if I was going to keep this up or not, she insisted I get on my back again.  I wasn't sure I could do it.  I really wanted her to check me while I was on that ball.  I figured I would move when I knew what the next step would be because even the thought of doing it "just to check" anything made me want to fall apart.  

From there things get very shady for me, and maybe your dad or Tia Susanne can fill you in.  I was still not fully dilated, but Dra. Lucia told me to start to push.  My legs were up in stirrups that were higher than Mount Kilamanjaro (I really should have taken a photo of that), and I realized I had no idea how to push.  For all the "prenatal classes" I had taken, I had only learned exercises to keep me flexible (likely helpful given those stirrups), but never anything about breathing or pushing or anything.  

In the end I think I dilated by the sheer force of pushing you out.  Dra. Lucia would tell me to push by saying, "Okay Mamie, fuerte, fuerte, fuerte, fuerte, fuerte."  It is about the only thing I can remember from that time, and it was something that helped me focus.  I laughingly say that you heard her and figured she was talking to you so that each time you push up your head or stretch out your legs you say to yourself, "I am strong, strong, strong, strong, strong!"

Eventually my/your waters did break, and eventually I did get to 10 cm, and Susanne talks about the moment she saw in the doctors' faces that this was really going to happen.  And when I say "doctors" let me be clear that we had a whole panel in the room with us.  The anesthesiologist was back  (I found out later that he got in on the game at one point, taking his arm and pressing down on my stomach to help push you out).  The pediatrician came in.  Dra. Zoila was there.  Dra. Lucia was in charge.  There was at least one nurse (Margarita) who had been helping us the whole time, but maybe others?  My eyes were closed from the time I got on my back again with my feet in the air and my hands on grips that helped me pull up and get air between me and the bed.  I don't know how long it took, but they promised you were coming, so I kept pushing until at some point I actually wanted to do so. 

And then, there you were.  

Once your head was out the rest of your little body just shot right on through.  You made a small cry, not too big, but enough to make us know you were all right.  They put you on my stomach but on some sterile blue paper and we asked to hold you closer, skin to skin.  You were warm and sticky - blue and covered in white and some red.  Evidently you came out with your arm beside your head (as you can often be seen now), and that led to an episiotomy with a fancy right hook to avoid the hemorrhoids that came back with a vengeance with all of that pushing.  But sticky, white, blue, red - you were beautiful.  Your heart shaped face and your small little body were all that I needed.  

I think it is not true that you forget the pain.  You can't really keep it in focus and remember just how much it hurt - that does get blocked out, I think for the sake of your mom's mental health - but you don't forget that it hurt.  What you know more is that somehow all the hurt is still really worth it.  You really are the prize.  You are the miracle.  You are my Peanut, my sweetest one, and it was worth it. 

So welcome to the world baby girl.  We love you, and God loves you.  And you are one great nut.

The Many Faces of Peanut