I have been holding onto a few things, Internet. They are little things – completely inconsequential and frivolous and don’t have any bearing on anything. And they are even more ridiculous because I can’t change them. Nor will I (probably) have a chance to repeat the circumstances around these things, in order to change the outcome of similar events.
But they are weighing me down. I am heavy with ten thousand worries, big and small, real and imagined (mainly imagined), and I don’t need the extra luggage straining my back and my shoulders.
I read once, somewhere, about something, maybe from a culture different from my own, I don’t know (and apparently this is what I do now, I just type without looking anything up… although honestly if I DID take the time to look things up my typing window might close so there you have it), about releasing little paper boats into the sea with a candle glimmering inside. Like I said, I don’t remember what the little boats or the candles signify, but I would like to commandeer the idea for my own purposes: to put these things I’ve been holding tightly in my fists and rubbing rubbing rubbing until they are smooth, but still solid, still heavy, into little vessels and releasing them into the water to flicker and gleam and gently fade away.
My whole state is frozen solid, so I don’t have ready access to a body of water. So I am going to scatter these pebbles across the page… and let them go.
(These are so small, Internet, and so silly. But they are so heavy.)
(If you have similar things, big or small, that you want to release here: please do so.)
1. I am letting go of the birth announcement. I really, truly wanted to send out birth announcements when Carla was born. For some reason it was – is – important to me, to mark her arrival in that specific way. I made a point of letting my husband know, in the months and weeks before her birth, that it was important to me. We picked out templates and crafted language and had our announcements waiting online for us to fill them with a photo of our sweet newborn.
But we didn’t ever send them out. Her birth didn’t go as smoothly as we’d hoped, and she wore a nasal cannula for awhile, and then even when her little face was clear, she had an IV on her arm and leads strapped to her chest, so we couldn’t get a GOOD photo of her when she was brand new.
And then in the early weeks, she developed baby acne – which, okay, I realize that is a STUPID reason not to take a photo of your kid, I REALIZE IT – and I wanted to wait until THAT cleared up… And then, even though we took a billion photos of her a day, all of them were gritty iPhone photos and none of them was just right.
My husband did a little photo shoot of her one day, with his fancy non-phone camera. She must have been a few weeks old by then, but I insisted: it was still fine to send out birth announcements! We got a couple from friends a few MONTHS after their babies’ birth and I was fine with that! So he snapped away and got some beautiful artsy photos that I love, to this day. But they were photos where her little face was half covered or half in shadow. And even though we loaded them into our online template, I just didn’t LOVE them. And I wanted to LOVE them.
So we never sent out birth announcements.
I can’t do that over. I can’t do her birth announcement ever again. And that’s fine. We did a holiday card with photos of her and we included her birth details in the accompanying letter and that just has to do.
I have to let it go.
2. This is similar in nature: I have to let go of Santa Claus. It was really important to me that we do the whole “first Christmas, first photo with Santa” thing with Carla. I really wanted to do it. But absolutely NONE of my family members wanted to do it – and for good reasons! Long lines! Traffic! Parking! Gross dude in a Santa costume holding my baby! (Apologies – I acknowledge that not all mall Santas are gross dudes.)
And I let them convince me – I didn’t even really put up a fuss – because I didn’t want to experience this Magic Moment by myself, but I also didn’t want to force other people to have the Magic Moment with me. And it would have required forcing.
I think the reason that this and the birth announcement and possibly other things on this list bother me so much is because I feel like this is My One Shot. We plan on Carla being the only. (Minds can change – we are not closing doors. I never wanted ANY for most of my life, remember?) So I feel this enormous (self-applied) pressure to Do It Right and Do It All. To make sure that we get ALL the experiences in, so we don’t regret anything. I want – I am trying – so badly to Enjoy Every Moment, even the bad ones, even the ones I complain about, because… this is IT. Every moment happens and then it’s gone. Carla is a million of those little candles floating away into the darkness, brilliant glimmers so numerous they outshine the sun, but still: fading, one by one, as fast as they collect.
3. I have to let go of the anaesthesiologist. While I was always pro-epidural, I wanted to see what contractions were like. I really did. I wanted to see how far I could go. (Plus, I didn’t want to do the epidural too early, and with my takes-her-time baby, that was a REAL risk.) So I started having contractions at sometime in the early evening the night before Carla was born. They were very frequent, and quickly grew in intensity. I admit that they HURT, a LOT, and I didn’t handle it very well.
And here is where I say: pain is personal, the same experience affects people differently, and plus no two experiences are the same and blah blah. I had never thought of myself as person with a low tolerance for pain, but perhaps I am. Because the contractions HURT to the point where I don’t remember much of that evening except in snips and flashes. I remember asking for the epidural and then wailing at my husband about wanting it now and where was it, why was it taking so long?
The worst: I remember being SURE that I was progressing! The contractions were so painful, and so close together, and had been going on for HOURS, surely I was practically ready to deliver! So the OB resident came in to check and I was… one centimeter dilated. ONE CENTIMETER.
I feel the need to tell you, in even more excruciating detail, just HOW painful the contractions were. But I suspect that if you got to more than one centimeter without an epidural, or if you went more than a few hours of having contractions, you are giving me the side-eye because I am clearly a pansy. So I am going to reiterate: pain is personal, different for everyone, etc. Maybe I am a wuss, but whatever – I can’t change that.
So here I am, disappointed that I am not progressing and that Carla is continuing to dig her heels in (SIXTEEN DAYS LATE, remember) and in serious pain and wondering where the epidural is.
And the sainted anaesthesiologist or anaesthesia fellow, I’m not sure – in either case, he has worked with my husband before – shows up and angels sing and whatever. And I don’t remember WHY he says it, because I must have held still enough for the epidural to be placed because HE PLACED IT, but he says to my husband, “She sure is making a lot of noise for only being one centimeter.”
It makes me mad to this day! What a jerk! Saying it in the first place, when he wasn’t nor ever WILL HE BE the one in labor, but actually saying it OUT LOUD within earshot of the patient! To her husband!
But it also makes me embarrassed, like I was acting in a way unbecoming of a woman in labor. Or like I wasn’t doing labor right. And, okay, who cares about that guy, but what if my husband thought the same thing? What if he was embarrassed by me?
There is no reason to keep thinking about that. The guy is a jerk with no bedside manner who forgot that he was dealing with a person and her spouse, not chatting about a case in a textbook with his medical school classmate. I tried labor; it wasn’t for me. Pain is personal and different for everyone.
I have to let it go.
* * *
There are some other little fifty-pound pebbles I need to send off in their glowing boats. But this is enough for today.
* * *
Things I won’t ever let go:
My husband, in the delivery room, helping me push. He cheered and encouraged and wouldn’t let me give up. I didn’t know he knew how to do that! It was such a delightful surprise.
My baby girl, once we got home, in those early first weeks: milk drunk, head lolling on my shoulder, purring softly, cream scented breath.
I don’t feel lighter yet. Maybe once I hit publish.
OMG. That guy is freaking terrible, men get no say about how women should act in labor. And you are darn right, pain is different for everyone. Take Carla to Santa next year,and I know tons of people who skipped birth announcement(sure, they’re cute, but with FB and iPhones everyone knows about your beautiful baby). I hope you feel lighter.
You and I had our daughters at right around the same time, so I’m always interested to hear how you’re doing. I feel for you on these. They’re small but tough things, and I hope this helps you get them off your chest.
Also, I totally feel you on the epidural. Hopefully this story will make you feel slightly better. I, too, had a difficult delivery. My baby was ready to come out, but it turns out I could never dilate on my own. So for 36 hours – 36!!! – I was dilated to 1. My doctors were having a hard time keeping an IV in me during that time. As I told them multiple times without anyone listening, I have only one vein that works for an IV, and it was a vein they didn’t want to use. When the anesthesiologist finally came in to give me the epidural, I was in hot debate with the nurses on which vein they’d try next as I’d been stuck about 6 times by now and was in a bad frame of mind – 36 hours of pain with no progress will do that. Being completely sure of herself, the anesthesiologist swore she could get the IV into one of the better veins. I told her I’d give her two chances. Both times she failed and both times she had an excuse beyond me telling her that they wouldn’t work. When she went for a third try, I told her that she could either put it in the vein I asked for to begin with, or if she failed this time, I was going to be allowed to punch her as hard as I possibly could in the face. She used the vein I was asking her to use, and it went in like butter. She told me I was being crazy. I reminded her that I had been in labor without drugs for 36 hours, so I was entitled to be crazy. Basically, you didn’t punch or threaten your anesthesiologist, so for that you should be proud of yourself!
I am so mad at that anesthesiologist. What an ass. What an ASS. And not even saying it to YOU, but saying it to the MAN in the room. UG.
The pain of labor is different for different labors and for different women. I know you know it, I know because you said it, but I want to say it too. And it’s not just a different pain tolerance, it’s ACTUAL DIFFERENT LEVELS OF PAIN. My mom and I both have friends who labored comfortably at home, still WONDERING IF THEY WERE IN LABOR, until finally going to the hospital and finding they were fully- or almost-fully-dilated. My mom was stuck at 1 cm for 24 hours of hard labor, the kind where she says she genuinely wished for actual death. She didn’t have low pain tolerance, she had SOMETHING WRONG: hard labor shouldn’t be happening at 1 cm, and labor shouldn’t fail to progress like that. (For comparison, when she had her second child, the labor went normally: still very painful, but she managed it.)
I think I’d let go of the anesthesiologist via sending a letter to the hospital. I’d make it extremely polite, full of compliments for other things/people that went well, and then I would say there was one thing that was still bothering me months later, and that I wanted to bring it to their attention because I felt it was something that should not have happened and should be prevented from happening in the future. Then I’d explain it very neutrally, and conclude by thanking them again for the safe delivery of the baby.
Er, wait: UNLESS the thought of writing such a letter feels like a huge lead shawl. Then NO. Like, I’m not saying it’s something YOU ought to do, that OUGHT to be done. I’m saying that if it were me, I think I would feel much worse while writing the letter, and then much better once it was done. But same as with pain, that might not make YOU feel better, in which case I’m NOT suggesting it for you.
I now want to march right up to that anesthesiologist and punch him in the face. That was an incredibly jerky thing to say NO MATTER WHAT, but also, dilation varies a LOT. I was dilated to a 4 before I ever went into labor with both my kids! Obviously THAT didn’t hurt, but going from a 4 to a 5? Definitely did. Labor hurts. No matter what sort of “progress” it’s deemed you’re making.
As others have expressed, labor is different for everyone. My friend was in hard labor for 48 hours before they finally decided on helping her. I, on the other hand, was dilated to 3 for several days before I delivered (3 weeks later than my due date) and my water broke at home and my son was born 2 hours later. So everyone’s experience is their own. Just like grieving….we all handle it differently and we all have our own stories. As for the anesthesiologist, I think a letter should be sent to the hospital…..a man has no clue what it is like to be in labor and to have a baby…he should keep his opinions to himself and to make that remark to your husband who is also a doctor is very rude. I think any woman would be upset about that.
Hey we can help with the birth announcement. Go to lifewall.org, see our video, buy a birth tile and now your announcement is eternal and global, and historical. Hope this helps on one of your things. Good luck.
Oh. My. Goodness! Awe man, I can’t believe he said that!!!! Isn’t that his job, to you know, make birth easier for the Mom??? Pushing a baby OUT YOUR VAYJAY is already personal enough! Maybe you should write HIM a letter. As for firsts AND lasts with your little, life as a Mama is SUPER hard. All these emotions and wanting to do our very best! If I need to send my concerns and worries in a paper boat I need a YACHT!
I’ve been reading your blog for a whole, but am a lurker by nature. However, really felt the need to comment on this.
As an alternative to a birth announcement, are you having a naming ceremony or thanksgiving or baptism for Carla? Because that would be an excellent opportunity to send out a variant on your birth announcement. Alternatively you could print out one copy of the announcement, for the memory book or box or whatever you have.
The anaesthetist was out of line, and I actually agree with Swistle that writing to the hospital might be worthwhile. I work in a hospital in the UK, and believe me, we see complaints about far less significant things. If nothing else, the doctor in question needs to know that it’s not okay to say something like that in front of a patient or their relatives – regardless of the profession of said relative. Really inappropriate and unprofessional.
1. I got your Christmas card and I clearly remember thinking when I opened it, “oh, what a lovely idea for them to combine the Christmas card and the birth announcement! So always in my thoughts, you did send out an announcement.
2. I missed the first Christmas Santa picture too. Mostly for the same reasons you did- Other People Messing It Up For Me. I am still a little bitter. I even tried to find somewhere after Christmas that still had a Santa, but nowhere did. (Malls! Money making idea! Post Christmas Santas for the Over Relatived and the Disorganized!) I haven’t missed a year since, and it has mattered less to me as the years have gone by.
3. What an ASS. I’m seriously mad on your behalf. Although, now you do have a good story to top everyone else’s stories about jerks in hospitals. And I definitely remember how much harder the early hours of labor were with Elizabeth than with Ryan. It was such a different experience, even though I am (obviously) the same woman. Different labors are DIFFERENT. Also, want to hear a story about The Woman I Hate when she gave birth to her son? THAT is a story of someone who didn’t handle labor well. I will have to email you though, SHE doesn’t even know this story and there is no way I can put it on the internet.
I have to join with the others and say the anesthesiologist deserves to be punched. Hard. What a thing to say! It makes me want to write a letter to the hospital, a la Swistle, and it didn’t even happen to me! GRRRRR
Also, the writing in this piece? Beautiful. You have such a way with words and I love reading your blog. 🙂
Oh friend, I am PISSED OFF for you at the epidural man. I mean, WTF. He had no place whatsoever to make a comment/judgment like that. I’m so sorry.
And pain *is* personal and every labor experience is different. If you say it was as painful as it was, and you were only 1 centimeter, then my heart aches for you because I *believe* you. I believe that it hurt THAT bad and was THAT discouraging. Screw that anesthesiologist. For real. What an awful, insensitive, and unprofessional remark.
Mine didn’t say anything that atrocious, but he did sigh with exasperation while he was giving me the spiel about what he was going to have to do, etc. etc. and I was NOT handling the pain well (or at all) and I would squirm and moan he was all, “(siiiiiiggggghhhhh) You’re going to have to be able to sit still when I do this. Do you think you can do that?!” To this day, thinking about his tone and the fact he said this irks the crap out of me.
I’m so sorry he said such an awful thing.
I don’t think your husband should be embarrassed, rather proud – proud that you didn’t haul off and hit the anesthesiologist and/or level him with a tide of profanity – because I don’t think I could have restrained myself. What gall. Honestly.
I understand about the birth announcement. I wanted one for our firstborn too. I had a photographer lined up for newborn photos (which were also really important to me). But then the birth did not go as planned and our baby was sick and in the NICU for weeks – and while he was beautiful to me – I understood that with all the tubes, etc he looked rather startling and sick to others. And then we got him home and the baby acne hit, and so on. I was sad about it for months. But I ended up scheduling the session with the photographer when he was 6 months old and beautiful and well – and the pictures came out so lovely that I’m mostly over it. But this is really just to say – you shouldn’t feel bad about feeling bad. These little things are important too – though I think it is especially easy to get really hung up on them at the time.
1. Birth Announcements: I like what one of the commenters said about printing one for a baby book. Sometimes as parents we have to just let some of the pressure of parenting go! We tend to put a lot of pressure on ourselves thinking everything must be done according to someone’s standards, who that person is, who the hell knows? I will say this: moments matter more than these “pressures” we put on our plates.
2. Santa. Again, more pressures from some parenting manual. Babies/kids hate sitting on Santa’s lap anyway. I took my kids for awhile and then we didn’t go anymore. I don’t think anyone noticed. I would much rather my kids have memories and fun traditions and a happy mom than someone who ran around like a chicken making sure we did all the things parents think they should be doing for/and with their children. That being said, don’t let anyone sway you away from doing what you FEEL you should be doing with your daughter. If no one wanted to go…then YOU take her, end of story.
3. Rude doctor. I gave birth to my second son sixteen years ago and I still remember the crazy doctor who delivered him (it was the day after new years and my regular doctor was on vacation) and he sat there and told his assistant that there was too much fat and he couldn’t get a good heartbeat. Um, excuse me? I asked the nurse when he left if he realized I could hear him? She said he is like that sometimes. Wow. Document it (well, I guess you just did) and move on. At the end of the day, who cares what this rude doctor has to say about YOUR pain. Believe me, there will be plenty out there to remind you how inadequate you are with your parenting.
Great post thanks for keeping it real. As women we get so weighed down by pressure and clutter we have to just say let it go! You’re doing a fantastic job 🙂
We need an update on your life!
I am so glad I shared my story since it led me to yours. I’m sending you so much love.