Tonight Miss Lisel Blossom will be featured in a story on the KEYE 5 o'clock news about her soon to be adventures on the baby bus. Michelle Valles and totally awesome cameraman Ben came to the house and interviewed Lisel, Mom and Dad about their plans and schemes for traveling the country. For those of you in town, I hope you can check it out. For those of you who don't get KEYE, I'll definitely post a link to the show later today!
I don't want to brag, but she was especially good during the interview. No red light fever for this baby!
Friday, January 30, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
How To Witness History
How To Witness History
So for those keeping score, this is how one goes about witnessing a historical event. In most cases it is not known that the event one is witnessing is historical but there are rare instances when you can actually plan on seeing history made and the inauguration of the 44th President of the Good Ol’ U.S. of A. was just such and event.
The set up was perfect. The band had been flown up to Washington to play the Black Tie And Boots Ball put on by the Texas Society. This was my third time playing this ball (two for the W. Bush inaugurations) so I knew what to expect. Lots of people wearing lots of tuxedos listing to lots of music and drinking lots of booze. All in all these parties are fun but not terribly different from events we play throughout the year. The big difference is that the following day there is always an inauguration and, to be perfectly honest, I never had much of a desire to see one before. Not so this time.
Elizabeth, Floyd Domino (who would be on this gig) and I had started planning our assault on the Mall a month prior. Floyd had researched our escape route and purchased train tickets from Union Station to BWI airport a month before the event. I had purchased the metro tickets on the 19th. We were savvy travelers making sure we had planned accordingly…or so we thought.
As the date approached news of what to expect started trickling in. Four million people would be in attendance. Make that five million. Two percent of America would be squeezed into a narrow strip of earth in our nation’s capitol. Only a mad man would go there willingly. It was a fool’s errand. A one-way trip into a logistical quagmire!!!!!
Elizabeth, who had said that there was nothing on Earth that could keep her from the festivities, grew less impassioned as the time grew nearer. She had, after all, given birth to our daughter on the 27th of December and I think the prospect of flying with a newborn or leaving her for three days seemed less and less reasonable or desirable. It was with mixed emotions that she bowed out of the trip entirely. Only Floyd and I remained.
Floyd Domino, among his other accomplishments attended the Woodstock Festival. “It sucked,” he has beed heard to say, “but I was THERE.” This would be our motto. It might suck but, by gum, we would be THERE.
“What about the other band members?” you ask. “Why are they not going to attend the ceremony with you?” Well, not all musicians are created equal and the bunch I travel with had no desire at all to live this moment of history anywhere but in a hotel room. As a matter of fact after we arrived in D.C. their attitude became one of gamblers betting against a horse. “You’ll never make it to the train.” “This guy who lives here says there is NO WAY you’ll get out of there.” “You’re big boys. You’ve got credit cards.” These were the words of encouragement we heard from our fellows. And to be honest, I started doubting the plan myself. The plan was this: We get up early, take the free shuttle to the metro where we board a train that will get us close to the Mall. We find a place to view the festivities from a jumbotron that will afford us an easy exit. Once the “prez” was sworn in we would walk to Union Station in time to catch our 1:06 pm train, which would easily get us to BWI with enough time to catch our 3:30 PM flight. But as we acquainted ourselves with the lay of the land, and with the words of the nay-sayers ringing in my ears, this plan started looking more and more flawed.
There were too many people, too many security stations and a big old parade route standing exactly between us and our destination. It seemed like a fool-proof plan from the warmth and security of Austin but once we started checking things out I started getting cold feet. No really. Freezing feet.
Floyd and I met at 5 AM and got a little nosh to start us out. Then onto the shuttle to the metro. No problems so far. No people either. Then as we got closer to L’Enfant Plaza Station we started meeting our fellow revelers. Thousands of them. Packed into the train and then the station. At 6am! There was something unknown going on at the exit of the station which kept these thousands from leaving the station. Trapped like rats. Then something gave way and we all started exiting. I think the problem was that the escalators weren’t working because we all had to walk up the 3 or 4 flights of escalator steps to the sound of a woman’s bull-horn-amplified voice yelling “Let’s go people. Keep Moving. Hussle!” (I kid you not. She really said that). And there were little old ladies there. It was 100 heart attacks waiting to happen. At this point I started wondering how many of my fellow Americans would surely perish from this Earth on January 20th 2009. But we kept moving, by God.
From there it was a short walk to the Mall but the temperature started coming into play now. F-f-f-f-f-freeezing. I’m glad I listened to Elizabeth and took the big coat. My first instinct was to go light and that would have been my quick undoing. Score one for the Mrs. We got to our pre-planned jumbotron after a quick morning hot dog (nothing says celebration like a hot dog). Floyd opted for the half-smoke. I guess it’s a local delicacy or something. I think Barack had enjoyed one on TV just days earlier so Floyd felt obliged to try one. Seemed like a big hot dog to me.
So there we were. On the Mall, in front of our giant TV, meeting our neighbors from New Jersey and Arkansas, freezing to death and reading announcements on how to avoid frostbite. History, baby. It was then I started sweating our exit strategy.
According to the map provided by my pal Gary via the Washing Post standing between us and Union Station were at least two security checkpoints and the presidential parade route. There were designated crossings across Pennsylvania Ave. but the notes said they had been closed in past parades and Constitution Ave was being used as the parade staging ground. Talk about “Can’t get there from here.” So as the Mall really starts filling up and the jumbos play the concert from the Lincoln Memorial from two days earlier, I start to panic a bit.
And let’s talk about that concert. Josh Groban? Didn’t Dylan endorse this guy? Where was he? And why is Garth Brooks the only rep from the country music world? Was Willie busy? He got three songs and Stevie Wonder got one. What’s up with that? And for those of you who think you know the American public, here’s one for you: When Garth sang “Shout” (a minor hit for the Isleys but a major hit for Otis Day) the crowd erupted! And I’m talking at least 50% African Americans out there rocking out to a hick from Yukon, OK. No one else got that kind of rise. That goofball with his cowboy hat still knows what the friends and neighbors want. Maybe he should run for President…forget I said that.
So the show finally starts and we are now subjected to the sound man from hell. They’ve got the mics on the different cameras set to different levels so the announcer is one volume and the the dignitaries arriving are ten times as loud. I wouldn’t have been surprised if all 1.5 million of us on the Mall would have heard the senior member of the ways and means committee lean over and strike a deal with minority whip. I could hear Clarence Thomas’ robes russle. Those mics were cranked.
In between playing “guess the dude on the screen” (we did not have any commentators on our T.V.s) I’m starting to wonder if we should leave for the station before the swearing in. If we leave at noon then we have exactly one hour to walk what appears to be 2.5 miles. We had decided to walk around the Capitol building to get to Union Station but would there be security between us and it? Crowds? Demonstrating Republicans? Floyd tried to calm me. And I needed to be calmed.
One thing about Floyd you may not know, other than being one of the best pianists on the whole friggin’ planet, is he is also a bit of a Forest Gump when it comes to big events. Floyd was not only at Woodstock, but he also attended Monterey Pop, he’s been to NBA championship games, he saw Tommy Tune read a review (that’s a good story, I promise). And this was going to be one more biggie for him. And here I was suggesting we leave before the swearing in. I deserved to be slapped and chastised. But he didn’t do that. He calmed me and assured me we would make it but he explained to me that to miss the moment was a crime against intrepid travel. How true. How true. I would stay and damn the torpedoes (and the spousal doghouse I would be in if I missed the plane).
At 11:30 we eased our way out of the middle of the crowd toward our exit. On my way to the porta potty I saw some park rangers and asked who the people were standing a block off the Mall. “Those are people waiting to get in.” he said. I was looking at people standing a block away from a place where all you could see was a jumbotron. This was really getting crowded.
And there we stood with one million of our closest friends and saw Joe Biden get sworn in, Yo Yo Ma and company play a beautiful Shaker hymn and Aretha Franklin sing the most memorable “Let Freedom Ring” I have ever heard. Then it was time. And the crowd, that massive crowd, was completely hushed as Barack Obama took the oath of office. Then they erupted.
Check out the movie
Then we had to haul ass and haul ass we did. Our route took us parallel to the Mall and it was a little like leaving the game early and hearing the crowd roar from the parking lot but there would be time to hear the speech later. We were trucking along E street, under the Mall via the 3rd St. tunnel, up to Massachusetts Ave. and up to the train station. No security, very light crowds and we made it there just as the train was boarding. Faces burning with the cold, feet just thawed out and very tired muscles but we made it. It was then on to the airport and then home.
Sure it was cold and whipped my butt but it was an awesome and totally memorable day. And we were THERE!
So for those keeping score, this is how one goes about witnessing a historical event. In most cases it is not known that the event one is witnessing is historical but there are rare instances when you can actually plan on seeing history made and the inauguration of the 44th President of the Good Ol’ U.S. of A. was just such and event.
The set up was perfect. The band had been flown up to Washington to play the Black Tie And Boots Ball put on by the Texas Society. This was my third time playing this ball (two for the W. Bush inaugurations) so I knew what to expect. Lots of people wearing lots of tuxedos listing to lots of music and drinking lots of booze. All in all these parties are fun but not terribly different from events we play throughout the year. The big difference is that the following day there is always an inauguration and, to be perfectly honest, I never had much of a desire to see one before. Not so this time.
Elizabeth, Floyd Domino (who would be on this gig) and I had started planning our assault on the Mall a month prior. Floyd had researched our escape route and purchased train tickets from Union Station to BWI airport a month before the event. I had purchased the metro tickets on the 19th. We were savvy travelers making sure we had planned accordingly…or so we thought.
As the date approached news of what to expect started trickling in. Four million people would be in attendance. Make that five million. Two percent of America would be squeezed into a narrow strip of earth in our nation’s capitol. Only a mad man would go there willingly. It was a fool’s errand. A one-way trip into a logistical quagmire!!!!!
Elizabeth, who had said that there was nothing on Earth that could keep her from the festivities, grew less impassioned as the time grew nearer. She had, after all, given birth to our daughter on the 27th of December and I think the prospect of flying with a newborn or leaving her for three days seemed less and less reasonable or desirable. It was with mixed emotions that she bowed out of the trip entirely. Only Floyd and I remained.
Floyd Domino, among his other accomplishments attended the Woodstock Festival. “It sucked,” he has beed heard to say, “but I was THERE.” This would be our motto. It might suck but, by gum, we would be THERE.
“What about the other band members?” you ask. “Why are they not going to attend the ceremony with you?” Well, not all musicians are created equal and the bunch I travel with had no desire at all to live this moment of history anywhere but in a hotel room. As a matter of fact after we arrived in D.C. their attitude became one of gamblers betting against a horse. “You’ll never make it to the train.” “This guy who lives here says there is NO WAY you’ll get out of there.” “You’re big boys. You’ve got credit cards.” These were the words of encouragement we heard from our fellows. And to be honest, I started doubting the plan myself. The plan was this: We get up early, take the free shuttle to the metro where we board a train that will get us close to the Mall. We find a place to view the festivities from a jumbotron that will afford us an easy exit. Once the “prez” was sworn in we would walk to Union Station in time to catch our 1:06 pm train, which would easily get us to BWI with enough time to catch our 3:30 PM flight. But as we acquainted ourselves with the lay of the land, and with the words of the nay-sayers ringing in my ears, this plan started looking more and more flawed.
There were too many people, too many security stations and a big old parade route standing exactly between us and our destination. It seemed like a fool-proof plan from the warmth and security of Austin but once we started checking things out I started getting cold feet. No really. Freezing feet.
Floyd and I met at 5 AM and got a little nosh to start us out. Then onto the shuttle to the metro. No problems so far. No people either. Then as we got closer to L’Enfant Plaza Station we started meeting our fellow revelers. Thousands of them. Packed into the train and then the station. At 6am! There was something unknown going on at the exit of the station which kept these thousands from leaving the station. Trapped like rats. Then something gave way and we all started exiting. I think the problem was that the escalators weren’t working because we all had to walk up the 3 or 4 flights of escalator steps to the sound of a woman’s bull-horn-amplified voice yelling “Let’s go people. Keep Moving. Hussle!” (I kid you not. She really said that). And there were little old ladies there. It was 100 heart attacks waiting to happen. At this point I started wondering how many of my fellow Americans would surely perish from this Earth on January 20th 2009. But we kept moving, by God.
From there it was a short walk to the Mall but the temperature started coming into play now. F-f-f-f-f-freeezing. I’m glad I listened to Elizabeth and took the big coat. My first instinct was to go light and that would have been my quick undoing. Score one for the Mrs. We got to our pre-planned jumbotron after a quick morning hot dog (nothing says celebration like a hot dog). Floyd opted for the half-smoke. I guess it’s a local delicacy or something. I think Barack had enjoyed one on TV just days earlier so Floyd felt obliged to try one. Seemed like a big hot dog to me.
So there we were. On the Mall, in front of our giant TV, meeting our neighbors from New Jersey and Arkansas, freezing to death and reading announcements on how to avoid frostbite. History, baby. It was then I started sweating our exit strategy.
According to the map provided by my pal Gary via the Washing Post standing between us and Union Station were at least two security checkpoints and the presidential parade route. There were designated crossings across Pennsylvania Ave. but the notes said they had been closed in past parades and Constitution Ave was being used as the parade staging ground. Talk about “Can’t get there from here.” So as the Mall really starts filling up and the jumbos play the concert from the Lincoln Memorial from two days earlier, I start to panic a bit.
And let’s talk about that concert. Josh Groban? Didn’t Dylan endorse this guy? Where was he? And why is Garth Brooks the only rep from the country music world? Was Willie busy? He got three songs and Stevie Wonder got one. What’s up with that? And for those of you who think you know the American public, here’s one for you: When Garth sang “Shout” (a minor hit for the Isleys but a major hit for Otis Day) the crowd erupted! And I’m talking at least 50% African Americans out there rocking out to a hick from Yukon, OK. No one else got that kind of rise. That goofball with his cowboy hat still knows what the friends and neighbors want. Maybe he should run for President…forget I said that.
So the show finally starts and we are now subjected to the sound man from hell. They’ve got the mics on the different cameras set to different levels so the announcer is one volume and the the dignitaries arriving are ten times as loud. I wouldn’t have been surprised if all 1.5 million of us on the Mall would have heard the senior member of the ways and means committee lean over and strike a deal with minority whip. I could hear Clarence Thomas’ robes russle. Those mics were cranked.
In between playing “guess the dude on the screen” (we did not have any commentators on our T.V.s) I’m starting to wonder if we should leave for the station before the swearing in. If we leave at noon then we have exactly one hour to walk what appears to be 2.5 miles. We had decided to walk around the Capitol building to get to Union Station but would there be security between us and it? Crowds? Demonstrating Republicans? Floyd tried to calm me. And I needed to be calmed.
One thing about Floyd you may not know, other than being one of the best pianists on the whole friggin’ planet, is he is also a bit of a Forest Gump when it comes to big events. Floyd was not only at Woodstock, but he also attended Monterey Pop, he’s been to NBA championship games, he saw Tommy Tune read a review (that’s a good story, I promise). And this was going to be one more biggie for him. And here I was suggesting we leave before the swearing in. I deserved to be slapped and chastised. But he didn’t do that. He calmed me and assured me we would make it but he explained to me that to miss the moment was a crime against intrepid travel. How true. How true. I would stay and damn the torpedoes (and the spousal doghouse I would be in if I missed the plane).
At 11:30 we eased our way out of the middle of the crowd toward our exit. On my way to the porta potty I saw some park rangers and asked who the people were standing a block off the Mall. “Those are people waiting to get in.” he said. I was looking at people standing a block away from a place where all you could see was a jumbotron. This was really getting crowded.
And there we stood with one million of our closest friends and saw Joe Biden get sworn in, Yo Yo Ma and company play a beautiful Shaker hymn and Aretha Franklin sing the most memorable “Let Freedom Ring” I have ever heard. Then it was time. And the crowd, that massive crowd, was completely hushed as Barack Obama took the oath of office. Then they erupted.
Check out the movie
Then we had to haul ass and haul ass we did. Our route took us parallel to the Mall and it was a little like leaving the game early and hearing the crowd roar from the parking lot but there would be time to hear the speech later. We were trucking along E street, under the Mall via the 3rd St. tunnel, up to Massachusetts Ave. and up to the train station. No security, very light crowds and we made it there just as the train was boarding. Faces burning with the cold, feet just thawed out and very tired muscles but we made it. It was then on to the airport and then home.
Sure it was cold and whipped my butt but it was an awesome and totally memorable day. And we were THERE!
Friday, January 23, 2009
Birthing Lisel Blossom -- Part 3: Going to the Hospital and We're Gonna Have a Baby
We’re back to the birth story!
After going to the doctors office and not having contractions, I got sent home. Luckily, the contractions came back in a regular way. It felt good knowing I was truly in labor.
We labored at home for a couple more hours. It was a sweet time, filled with West Wings, words of love and some cramping pain. At one point my parents and sister came by. I was surprised at how easy it was to hang while being in labor. You see, up until I actually went into labor, my only reference for the experience had been the movies. So I thought it would go down a little like this…
1) My water would break, and I would know it had broken because it would exit my body in a monstrous gush. At which point I would look at calmly at Dave and say “It’s time.”
2) Dave would run around the house in a total panic, grab our overnight bag and other birth related things, pack them up in the car and drive towards the hospital…forgetting me in the process. He would drive back to the house and hustle me into the car.
3) At this point I would be doing some kind of crazy Lamaze breathing to quell the intense pain I was feeling. Dave would try to comfort me at which point I would curse him
4) We’d run into the hospital, and almost immediately I’d be in a hospital bed, legs in stirrups, still breathing all Lamaze-like (he-he-he-hoooo), every once in a while screaming something at Dave like “You got me into this!!!! Damn you!!!”
5) A baby would be born. We would both cry.
Really the only thing that went down like the movies was that last part. Everything else was different. In fact, the first 18 hours of labor were kind of a breeze.
Like I said, my folks and my sister came by, and we talked and laughed. Every once in a while I’d check out to get through a contraction, and then it was back to visiting.
Laboring and Laughing
After they left, we called Debra Day, the midwife who we hired to help us with labor support, to come over. She was awesome. She checked the baby’s heartbeat, and we talked about whether or not we should go to the hospital. Her advice was to head down there before the contractions got too intense. That way we could check in and make the space our own before the real poop went down. Excellent advice.
At this point, I had been laboring for about 12 hours. The pain was pretty dealable. We went to the hospital and got checked in, and for the next six hours or so we climbed the labor hill slowly but steadily. The pain increased a little bit at a time, and the time in between the contractions was actually pretty fun.
Fun you say? Well, we had decided to go drug free on this adventure. And we also decided to let it happen pretty naturally. Luckily, the doctor who delivered us was down with that plan so there was no inducing, no early breaking of the water. Consequently, it was slow and steady build.
In between contractions I was pretty much me. I could chat with Debra and Dave. Debra also encouraged Dave and I to experience the labor as a couple, so periodically she would us alone in the room. We put on some music --a little Getz and Gilberto, some Marley, lots of Ray Charles. At one point even Dave put on the Paul Anka hit “Having My Baby” (What a lovely way of sayin'
What you're thinkin' of me!). We dimmed the lights and danced through the contractions. It was fun.
That’s one thing no one really tells you, That labor can be fun.
And then the doctor broke my water…
Tomorrow. The most pain I’ve ever felt, and the happiest I’ve ever been!
After going to the doctors office and not having contractions, I got sent home. Luckily, the contractions came back in a regular way. It felt good knowing I was truly in labor.
We labored at home for a couple more hours. It was a sweet time, filled with West Wings, words of love and some cramping pain. At one point my parents and sister came by. I was surprised at how easy it was to hang while being in labor. You see, up until I actually went into labor, my only reference for the experience had been the movies. So I thought it would go down a little like this…
1) My water would break, and I would know it had broken because it would exit my body in a monstrous gush. At which point I would look at calmly at Dave and say “It’s time.”
2) Dave would run around the house in a total panic, grab our overnight bag and other birth related things, pack them up in the car and drive towards the hospital…forgetting me in the process. He would drive back to the house and hustle me into the car.
3) At this point I would be doing some kind of crazy Lamaze breathing to quell the intense pain I was feeling. Dave would try to comfort me at which point I would curse him
4) We’d run into the hospital, and almost immediately I’d be in a hospital bed, legs in stirrups, still breathing all Lamaze-like (he-he-he-hoooo), every once in a while screaming something at Dave like “You got me into this!!!! Damn you!!!”
5) A baby would be born. We would both cry.
Really the only thing that went down like the movies was that last part. Everything else was different. In fact, the first 18 hours of labor were kind of a breeze.
Like I said, my folks and my sister came by, and we talked and laughed. Every once in a while I’d check out to get through a contraction, and then it was back to visiting.
Laboring and LaughingAfter they left, we called Debra Day, the midwife who we hired to help us with labor support, to come over. She was awesome. She checked the baby’s heartbeat, and we talked about whether or not we should go to the hospital. Her advice was to head down there before the contractions got too intense. That way we could check in and make the space our own before the real poop went down. Excellent advice.
At this point, I had been laboring for about 12 hours. The pain was pretty dealable. We went to the hospital and got checked in, and for the next six hours or so we climbed the labor hill slowly but steadily. The pain increased a little bit at a time, and the time in between the contractions was actually pretty fun.
Fun you say? Well, we had decided to go drug free on this adventure. And we also decided to let it happen pretty naturally. Luckily, the doctor who delivered us was down with that plan so there was no inducing, no early breaking of the water. Consequently, it was slow and steady build.
In between contractions I was pretty much me. I could chat with Debra and Dave. Debra also encouraged Dave and I to experience the labor as a couple, so periodically she would us alone in the room. We put on some music --a little Getz and Gilberto, some Marley, lots of Ray Charles. At one point even Dave put on the Paul Anka hit “Having My Baby” (What a lovely way of sayin'
What you're thinkin' of me!). We dimmed the lights and danced through the contractions. It was fun.
That’s one thing no one really tells you, That labor can be fun.
And then the doctor broke my water…
Tomorrow. The most pain I’ve ever felt, and the happiest I’ve ever been!
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
It really does change everything or why I'm watching the inauguration on TV in Austin.
Of all the things I thought would happen after Miss Lisel blossom was born, this eventuality never crossed my mind. I had a chance to be in DC on this most historic of days. Asleep at the Wheel played the Black Tie and Boots Ball last night, and up until a couple of days ago, I fully planned on being there. But I'm here, at home, of my own choosing. A change certainly has come.
At first, we had plannec on taking the baby with us. That was before we learned that itty bitty newborns had especially vulnerable immune systems. That was before we realized neither of us was comfortable with taking her on a germ infested plane rise to DC.
So then I was going to fly in the day of the gig, and leave her with my folks for a mere 36 hours. But something happened. Something inside of me has shifted. We've been having some jaundice and feeding issues, and I felt like I needed to be with her for that. But beyond that I just...well, I just knew that I would be miserable leaving her. I looked into the future, and saw myself having a miserable time, filled with anxious checking up phonecalls to my parents, and tearful rebukes aimed at mu husband.
I mean, she's so little. If she could have come along I would have gone but...I just couldn't leave.
This shakes my self perception to it's very core. I'm looking at the woman in the mirror, and I don't know who she is. I guess now is the time to get to know her.
My regret was minimal, until 6:30am this morning. I got a text from Dave who as I write this is navigating the massive crowds of Washington DC. Floyd Domino and him decided to venture into the city, and if I was there I would be with them. So I got a text from my husband who is in the center of the excitement and I was listening to NPR's coverage of the scene...and I lost it. My baby was just waking up for her morning feeding, and I was bawling. And of course, I couldn't get Dave on the phone, because there are a trillion people in DC, all attempting to text and call people back home...And I realized that I was sad that I missed the chance to be there. Much sadder than I thought.
Don't get me wrong, I still think staying home was the right idea. If I were in DC, I'd probably be a dazed member of the enormous crowd, my tears freezing to my face, my stomach in knots as I worried about getting to the airport on time. But this is the first rock and hard place situation I've been in. It's one of the first times I've really put Lisel before my own thing. I'm sure it won't be the last.
Now let me just say that this slightly high class problem in no was takes away from my excitement about the inauguration. I'm a huge Obama supporter, and I'm just so proud of our country for electing him. And I'm ecstatic that my daughter will grown up knowing and truly believing that the presidency is truly open to every one, and is not just an office that white men can achieve. In less than an hour, we're all going to witness the most awesome transfer of power this country has ever seen. And I'll be watching it with my daughter. And one day, I'll tell her all about it. And Dad will tell her what it was like to be in DC. And that's rad.
Just a little postscript from the evening after the inauguration.
I'm so glad I stayed home. I got to nurse my baby while watching Barack Obama become president. It was actually pretty perfect. Dave got to be there:
And I got to be here:
Just a little postscript from the evening after the inauguration.
I'm so glad I stayed home. I got to nurse my baby while watching Barack Obama become president. It was actually pretty perfect. Dave got to be there:
And I got to be here:And it was all good.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Birthing Lisel Blossom -- Part 2: Shy Uterus Syndrome
At 8:30am, we figured it was time to let the doctor know what was up. I knew it wasn’t time to go to the hospital but maybe they would want know. Or maybe I should say, I wanted to tell them. We had been to the birth class, read the pamphlet, studied the book, but still when the rubber hit the road, we weren’t totally sure of protocol. So we called the doctor, fully expecting them to tell us to stay home and keep breathing.
But they asked us to come in.
Now, I’ll admit, I can be a bit of a hypochondriac. And during the course of my pregnancy, I had made more than a few false alarm type visits to the doctor’s office. It was those damn pregnancy books. Every time I read about some kind of problem that I could potentially expect when I was expecting it would send me into a worry tailspin and more often than not make me put in a call to the doctor.
Four months into the pregnancy we renamed this tragedy of a book and threw it away!
And on Christmas Eve I had an episode where I thought maybe my water had broken. So I went to the hospital. And got totally checked in and totally checked out. And it was a false alarm. I was pretty damn embarrassed. So embarrased that I swore Dave to secrecy. No one, not even my family, was going to know what a spazz I could be.
Which is all to say that when we went to the doctor’s office I was more than a little nervous. I mean, maybe I wasn’t in labor. Maybe I was just convincing myself that I was feeling regular pains, which I assumed to be labor. Maybe I was in a self-induced state of wishful thinking labor. With me, anything was possible.
And sure enough, I got to the doctor’s office and the contractions slowed down. I was a little worried, but not too worried, since I was still actually having contractions.
But then they took me to a tiny room, sat me down in a La-Z-Boy and hooked me up to a monitor that measured my contractions and the baby’s heartbeat. And for a good half hour I didn’t have one contraction.
Not a one.
I watched the paper printout spilling out of the machine. My line, the line that should have been all hills of contractions and valleys of the time in between was straight. I wanted Colorado and all I was getting was Kansas.
I tried to take my mind off of the fact that I quite possibly had psyched myself into some kind of false labor state. I had Dave read to me from a frivolous female oriented magazine about some blonde starlet I’d never really seen before. I cracked jokes and apologized to the nurses. I prayed secretly and silently to any and all higher powers out there to please make this be the real thing. And still nothing happened.
Dave and I then came up with the official diagnosis of shy uterus syndrome. Sometimes, your organs just get stage fright. Mine certainly did. Dave Say: Certainly everyone has experienced – or in my case, had a “very good friend” whose experienced – less than forthcoming bowels or a timid bladder. Right? My uterus was just not going to go out there and show the doctors what she could do. She stayed backstage while the cameras were on.
Luckily, as soon as I got up from the chair I had a massive contraction that almost buckled my knees out from under me. I was really in labor! Woo-hoo! For once, it wasn’t a false alarm
Tommorrow: Going to the Hospital and we’re gonna have a baby
But they asked us to come in.
Now, I’ll admit, I can be a bit of a hypochondriac. And during the course of my pregnancy, I had made more than a few false alarm type visits to the doctor’s office. It was those damn pregnancy books. Every time I read about some kind of problem that I could potentially expect when I was expecting it would send me into a worry tailspin and more often than not make me put in a call to the doctor.
Four months into the pregnancy we renamed this tragedy of a book and threw it away!And on Christmas Eve I had an episode where I thought maybe my water had broken. So I went to the hospital. And got totally checked in and totally checked out. And it was a false alarm. I was pretty damn embarrassed. So embarrased that I swore Dave to secrecy. No one, not even my family, was going to know what a spazz I could be.
Which is all to say that when we went to the doctor’s office I was more than a little nervous. I mean, maybe I wasn’t in labor. Maybe I was just convincing myself that I was feeling regular pains, which I assumed to be labor. Maybe I was in a self-induced state of wishful thinking labor. With me, anything was possible.
And sure enough, I got to the doctor’s office and the contractions slowed down. I was a little worried, but not too worried, since I was still actually having contractions.
But then they took me to a tiny room, sat me down in a La-Z-Boy and hooked me up to a monitor that measured my contractions and the baby’s heartbeat. And for a good half hour I didn’t have one contraction.
Not a one.
I watched the paper printout spilling out of the machine. My line, the line that should have been all hills of contractions and valleys of the time in between was straight. I wanted Colorado and all I was getting was Kansas.
I tried to take my mind off of the fact that I quite possibly had psyched myself into some kind of false labor state. I had Dave read to me from a frivolous female oriented magazine about some blonde starlet I’d never really seen before. I cracked jokes and apologized to the nurses. I prayed secretly and silently to any and all higher powers out there to please make this be the real thing. And still nothing happened.
Dave and I then came up with the official diagnosis of shy uterus syndrome. Sometimes, your organs just get stage fright. Mine certainly did. Dave Say: Certainly everyone has experienced – or in my case, had a “very good friend” whose experienced – less than forthcoming bowels or a timid bladder. Right? My uterus was just not going to go out there and show the doctors what she could do. She stayed backstage while the cameras were on.
Luckily, as soon as I got up from the chair I had a massive contraction that almost buckled my knees out from under me. I was really in labor! Woo-hoo! For once, it wasn’t a false alarm
Tommorrow: Going to the Hospital and we’re gonna have a baby
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Birthing Lisel Blossom -- Part 1: Breathing Through It
It happened. The deal that we had been waiting eight and a half months for finally went down. We’d never been through anything like it before. We had no idea what to expect. We had no idea what was coming. And then, suddenly, at 3 in the morning on the day after Christmas, there it was.
We were in labor.
We were in labor.
We had just enjoyed a perfectly lovely Christmas dinner at my sister’s house – Dave, me, my folks, his folks, my sister Katherine, her husband Lynn and our good friend Lindsay Greene. Lynn fried a couple of turkeys, putting every organic/gourmet/brined turkey that Dave and I had ever made to shame. We ate the turkey and sides and pies until we were filled with Christmas cheer and then hung out in the living room singing Christmas songs while Lynn and Lindsay played along on the organ.
The unwitting grandparents to be
Singing Christmas ditties with no idea of what was comingOf course, I had been on high labor alert for a while. But by the time we went home that night, I had pretty much let go of the idea of birthing a baby anytime soon. On Christmas Eve, my in-laws had come to town for a week. My father-in-law is a retired OB-GYN, and he was sure that I would give birth while they were here. I was not so sure. In fact, I was almost certain that their presence would ensure that I didn’t have the baby until after they left. After all, that’s the way the universe usually works, right?
Wrong.
What I didn’t know at the time was that my father-in-law has some innate birth ESP. When he was practicing he never missed a birth. He and my mother-in-law would be out to dinner and suddenly he would say, “I think we need to get home,” and when they got home, the call would come in: Mrs. Smith was in labor.
He actually predicted I would go into labor the weekend after Christmas.
Which I did.
Whoa.
But at the time, I didn’t know this. I was totally at home with at least one more week of pregnancy.
And then, at three in the morning, I woke up with what I thought was some kind of post Christmas dinner gas action going on. I expected that it would work itself out and I would go back to sleep, but it didn’t go away. And this minor cramping pain kept advancing and receding and advancing again. I got out the iphone and starting timing the advances. They were coming kind of regular-like. I kept watch for an hour and when they didn’t go away, I woke up Dave.
It was 4:30 in the morning.
I don’t know what I expected labor pains to be like, but I’ll just say they weren’t what I expected. They were cramps, and in the beginning not very bad ones. Dave and I hung out in bed for a while. We called our doula around 5:30. She told us to get some rest. Great advice, and if when we do it again I’ll definitely try and get rest early on, but at 5:30 in the morning, with real honest to goodness labor pains coming on, there as no rest for us. There were only deep breaths and sweet words.
For the next four hours we basically did just that. Contractions, deep breaths, some giggles and The West Wing. In a way, those DVDs were kind of our anchor. The show connected us to the pre-baby and post-baby world. Oh, Jed Bartlett and friends, how much we owe y’all!
Our backup labor support teamTomorrow: The uterus with stage fright
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Lisel Blossom Sanger McQueen
She's here! May we introduce you to Lisel Blossom Sanger McQueen.
She was born on December 27th, at 1:17am. She weighed 7 pounds 2 ounces, and was 19 1/2 inches long.
We're absolutely over the moon. We'll definitely be posting more soon about her arrival, but for now, just know that we're in a state of happy we didn't even know existed.
Love,
Elizabeth and Dave
She was born on December 27th, at 1:17am. She weighed 7 pounds 2 ounces, and was 19 1/2 inches long.
We're absolutely over the moon. We'll definitely be posting more soon about her arrival, but for now, just know that we're in a state of happy we didn't even know existed.
Love,
Elizabeth and Dave
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