FOR MOMS OF PREMIES

Ways to Help a Newborn Sleep Better

2010-07-30T02:24:00.000-07:00

And Yet More of My Own Story (Every Mother's Story Is, To Her, A Memorable One)

2009-11-02T15:22:00.001-08:00

I've never been one to believe much in premonitions or ESP, and I tend to believe there's a scientific explanation to the beginning of my birth story, but it is a little spooky nonetheless.

When I was five months along I began to have a recurring dream that my baby was born at five months along. It was a boy, and he was a tiny, tiny, little boy. Every so often I'd have this dream, and during one of my visits to the doctor I mentioned that I had a feeling the baby would be born early. The doctor asked what made me say that, and I said, "I just have a feeling." He did a mock "Ha Ha Ha" kind of laugh in a way that wasn't mean-spirited but that was definitely condescending. He was long-time obstetrician and an old-time doctor, and I suppose I shouldn't have expected him to take me all that seriously when I said "I just have a feeling."

When the time came to start childbirth classes my husband and I attended the first class. The instructor said our class would be touring the labor area of the hospital the following week, and she told our class to plan to bring a pillow to future classes. She asked if anyone had reason to think they may not complete the six-week course, and I just automatically raised my hand. She didn't ask why. She said said a few words I don't recall. The class was to be held on Tuesdays for six weeks.

On the Monday following the first class my husband stayed home from work for no apparent reason. We decided we'd get dinner out that evening and then go shop for a car seat. We went to a little place not far from home, where my water broke and where I never got to have more than two bites of my dinner. We went back home, and I called the doctor, and there was the usual "if this happens, if that happens, otherwise call me in the morning" talk.this was "It" a huge cloud of somberness came down over me in a way that has never happened since, as the cold reality of delivering a too-early baby hit me, and as any number of awful scenarios seemed to loom in a way I had not really anticipated even if I had felt like the baby would be born early.

It was just after noon the following day when we headed down to the doctor's office. We stopped at the Post Office on the way ("Neither rain, now snow, nor sleet, nor labor should ever get in the way of picking up our mail."). Someone parked in a way that blocked our car, and I wasn't particularly worried. Soon we were on our way. While in the process of learning whether or not I was in labor I commented to the doctor, "It’s early." He said, "Sometimes Nature knows that a baby is better off if it comes early." His usually loud and cheerful demeanor was strangely quiet, and other than the one remark he seemed to have settled into a concerned silence.

When the doctor said that I should go to the hospital and should stop and tell his nurse what was going on she seemed a little incredulous that I was going over to have the baby. I was 35 weeks along and barely showing, and she pulled at my open raincoat as if to look for the baby. When we got to the hospital I thought it might be nice to go have a cup of tea before getting on with the business of having a baby, but the woman in Admissions emphatically stated, "I think you should go up right away." So I did. It was about 3:00 by the time I got settled into the labor room. I didn't quite feel myself, but I felt reasonably fine, as I sat on the edge of the bed and looked out the open door. Within about fifteen minutes of my settling there I saw the familiar faces from my childbirth class beginning to parade through the doors with their pillows. Somehow it just seemed wrong to have these "non-labor" people coming through in their street clothes while I was dressed to have a baby, so I shut the door and continued my conversation with my husband.

At 4:15 the mild cramping I had been having got more severe, and I thought about how women often talked about 18 hours in labor. I commented to my husband in a matter-of-fact way how this was pretty uncomfortable, and I couldn't picture it getting worse and then going on for - like - a day. What I didn't know was that this was transition because I had gone "from zero to transition" in about an hour (or maybe I should say, "almost-zero to transition").

The doctor almost missed the delivery because he had assumed he had a little more time, and my tiny boy (complete with the dark hair of the baby in my dreams)arrived with barely two pushes and breech at 5:00. Apparently, word had gotten to the doctor that I had asked about getting some tea before going upstairs, because he said, "And this lady wanted to go have tea before she came up here!" He asked if the baby had a name, and I told him my new, little, son's name. I didn't have a girl's name because I didn't think I was having a girl.

I brought my tiny boy home after he spent a couple of weeks in an incubator and had some tube-feeding to save calories. He was 4 lbs 8 oz when I brought him home.

I've always imagined that I must have somehow sensed there was something wrong in the pregnancy, and maybe that feeling that something was wrong came out in my dreams. Whether it was my conscious or subconscious mind, my mind knew that if the baby were born early it would be tiny. Even with this "scientific" explanation, though, I've always had that kind-of-nice/kind-of-a-little spookyish feeling about the way I just always knew I was having this little, dark-haired, boy earlier than he should have arrived.

When I went for my six-week check-up I couldn't help but remind that the doctor that I had always had a feeling the baby would arrive early.

It was more than two decades ago that my tiny boy with all that dark hair and with huge, lashy, eyes arrived in this world several weeks early. He's a handsome young man with all that dark hair and huge, lashy, eyes - but I recall all that surrounded his entrance into this world as if it happened last year.

My Own Early (and Speedy) Delivery Story

2009-11-02T15:08:00.000-08:00

My son was born in the era of Mr. Rogers; and anyone familiar with the beloved Mr. Rogers is also familiar with his neighborhood postman, "Mr. McFeely (played by David Newell), who accompanied his drop-offs to Mr. Rogers with the catch phrase, "Speedy Delivery". Well, that is the story of my son's arrival into the world. Whenever I would hear Mr. McFeely call, "Speedy Delivery!", it would remind me of the little boy watching Mr. Rogers and waiting to see what Mr. McFeely had brought.

My son didn't just have a "speedy" arrival. He arrived six weeks before "estimated time of delivery". To further complicate the matter, he arrived upside down - unbeknownst to the doctor, who had announced, "Your baby is bald as an eagle," only to later see that my baby had lots of dark gold hair that stood on end (the way Charles Schultz's "Woodstock's" does). My 4 lb, 8 oz son also arrived with one fierce capacity to scream, but I digress from the delivery story:

It all began on a dreary Monday in November, when, for some reason I never knew why my husband just didn't go to work. He hadn't announced any need for taking a "mental health day". Instead, he just kind of sat at the breakfast table, talking to me, and not getting up to go to work. As late morning set in we began to discuss going out in the afternoon to buy the baby a car seat. We didn't think it was any emergency, but since he had taken the day off it seemed like a good day to go baby-store browsing. The plan was to head out in the afternoon, although we didn't actually leave until close to 5:00. Since I hadn't eaten anything that day (for some reason that I don't know, because I usually ate), we decided to stop at a little muffin and sandwich shop on the way to the baby store. Our five-year-old son would be coming along, so we thought it would be nice for the three of us to eat out together.

Since I wasn't in the mood to eat much (now I know why, but I didn't at that time), I ordered an egg sandwich on toast. I had just taken two bites (I remember that - two bites) when I was shocked to have my water break. I think it may be every expectant mother's fear that the water will break somewhere like a restaurant; and there I was, dealing with the restaurant chair and a soaked-through coat that left few options but to announce to the waitress what had happened. Wearing the coat, I didn't look very pregnant, which is why the waitress seemed to have trouble "getting" what I was trying to say discreetly. This meant, of course, that I had to follow my first explanation with a repeat explanation; and it wasn't until I said what had happened a few times that she really understood what my problem was. I guess the trouble with trying to be discreet is that the low voice we usually use with attempts at discretion is often not heard.

I awkwardly used a bunch of paper napkins to try to deal with the "problem", but then I was stuck with a bunch of amniotic-fluid napkins I didn't know what to do with. I don't recall what I did do with them (although, knowing me, I would not have handed them to the waitress - that much I know for sure). I do recall her saying, "That's ok. Don't worry about the chair." With that (and with much guilt for walking away from such a "disaster", we prepared to leave.

My five-year-old was as baffled and clueless as the waitress when I told him we had to leave. Again, I tried to be discreet. Again, I had to just say it good and loud and clear, because he was confused and questioning about why we had to leave so soon. When I said, "I'm having the baby" my otherwise intelligent five-year-old finally "got it". He suddenly seemed as knowing and on-the-ball as someone thirty years old, as he exclaimed, "Oh," and grabbed his coat. My husband swooped up our son in his arms, as we headed quickly through the expansive parking lot to the car. Since I'm someone who often finds one reason or another to wipe off restaurant seats and tables with napkins, I suppose my son didn't think much of it. Besides, although he knew I would be having "a little brother" (because he "knew" the baby would be a boy), I had intentionally neglected to tell him some of the gory details of childbirth.

We returned home. I called the doctor, who said, "See what happens, and if nothing happens overnight come in to the office tomorrow." I got my son's clothes and toys together, so he could stay with my mother for the night. I waited through the night, and nothing happened. The next day when I called the doctor's office I was told to come in after noon. Well, by this time, I was starting to realize that "this labor thing" was pretty much a long, drawn-out, affair; so I decided to get a few things done before heading off to the doctor's office.

We needed to get our mail from the Post Office, so I asked my husband to stop along the way to the doctor's office. I waited in the car. It was a small Post Office and parking lot, and we had to wait for quite a while after my husband returned to the car, because someone had parked in a non-space and blocked our car. Although I did have the urge to mention to this selfish individual that I was probably on my way to have a baby, I wasn't really too worried. For me, the "big event" had been the water breaking at the restaurant. After that, "this labor thing" was pretty uneventful and boring.

When the doctor told me to go to the hospital he also said to stop and tell his nurse what was going on. I waited my turn to talk to her, and when I tried to tell her to let the hospital know I was going there the nurse was as clueless as the Mug-N-Muffin waitress AND my five-year-old had been. I had to repeat to the clueless and confused nurse that I was going to have the baby. After she kind of "got it" she pulled open my coat in disbelief. Even after "getting it", she was incredulous as she said, "Oh, you don't look like you're ready to have the baby." Was I the only one who could figure out that I was having a baby? This whole thing was "so not like" the way things go on television. There wasn't a shred of urgency in anyone, and even I was kind of bored with the whole thing by this time.

We got to the admitting area at that hospital. I was, however, pretty hungry because I hadn't eaten, at that point, for two days. As my husband and I waited to talk to someone I kept saying how I'd like to get a cup of tea before being admitted. When we finally talked to the woman and asked about "maybe first getting a cup of tea" all of sudden, and for the first time, I saw a sense of urgency. The woman said emphatically, "I think you had better go right upstairs." (I thought, "Rats - no tea.")

Well, I can't make this long labor story shorter at this point, but take heart - the delivery story can be told in a few lines. It was about 3:30 when I got the labor area and about 3:45 when I saw my own childbirth class (for which I'd only attended the first session) come parading through on its tour of the labor area. Sitting comfortably and bored on the edge of the bed, I pulled the curtain in order to keep my classmates from seeing me.

Finally, at 4:00 I felt something that actually felt like labor. Finally, I knew it was real. Between 4:00 and 4:15 I had "cramps", but I'd had worse in my life. At 4:15 the pain was getting nasty. Since I'd read that first deliveries (my first son is adopted) can take hours and hours, I calmly commented to my husband, "This is pretty bad. I can't really picture having this for - like - 10 hours." At 4:45 a nurse told me that I had been in transition and was ready to push.

All of a sudden, that sense of urgency I hadn't noticed in anyone started to show up - and show up "big" - in everyone anywhere near me. My husband was instructed to hurry up and get his gown and hat on. People were looking around, asking where the doctor was and if anyone had seen him. My husband disappeared. Nurses seemed to be running around. Someone started pushing me through the hall at high speed. It was as if - all of a sudden - everyone finally "got it" that I was having a baby!

People were moving fast and talking loud and asking about who was where. Where was the doctor? Where was my husband? "This baby is coming now!" seemed to be the general consensus. The doctor came bursting through the door first. Soon after my husband came bursting through the door. Within minutes (and a very few minutes at that), my upside-down, screaming, baby boy was born at exactly 5:00. Everyone who was supposed to be there had gotten there just in time. There was lots of talk about how close it had all been, and about how fast it had all happened. People were happily re-hashing what they knew was happening when, and who wasn't there. There was teasing of the doctor, who had announced that my breech baby was "bald as an eagle" (plenty of teasing).

As for me, I had learned that labor and delivery aren't always the way the books say they'll be. I had also learned never to skip eating on any day that falls within six weeks of delivery. One important thing I learned is that a restaurant chair full of amniotic fluid actually DOES mean that a real, live, baby is soon to follow. (Until I actually held my tiny and long-lashed little son I don't think I "got it" any more than some of those other people.)

Oh - and one more lesson: I learned to never stop at the Post Office on the way to having a baby. One never knows when one will be happily surprised with "Speedy Delivery!"

Boy in the Stocking Cap

2009-02-11T22:39:00.000-08:00

Boy in the Stocking Cap - A Verse

Stocking-hatted, tiny, boy -
there, behind the glass.
Sweetest face in all the world,
my precious, newborn, son.

Stocking-hatted little boy,
walking next to me;
two of a kind, peas in a pod -
Beloved and treasured son.

Stocking-hatted college kid,
there, outside our kitchen door;
peeking in to see who's home.
Welcome home, so glad you're here.

Handsome, woolen-coated, man -
stocking cap held in your hand.
Proudest Mom in all the world,
my precious, handsome, grown-up, son.

Just Some Comments About the Worries

2009-02-11T22:34:00.000-08:00

My son was, as I mentioned above, a healthy premie. He was a nice, "big", 4 lbs/8 oz at birth. His biggest challenge was not being able to drink, because when he did it used so too many of his calories; and that caused him to lose weight. As a result, although I'd get to try to feed him occasionally, it was always disheartening to hear that he would be tube-fed for yet another day or so before I could feed him again. For two weeks, my tiny son continued to lose weight daily. He was a half ounce away from dropping under the 4 lb mark when he finally began to gain weight.
Having acknowledged that my premie son was so early as to create more serious problems, I'd like to include the following comments for today's mothers of premies:
When you bring home your baby you may be well aware of "what to watch for". Chances are you've read all the possible negative consequences that can occur when a child is born too early. It is scary, and it would be naive to pretend these realities don't exist.
When my son was born I knew about the higher risks for bonding problems, hearing and sight problems, respiratory infections, learning problems, and all the other problems associated with premature birth. My son had been born in an hour and a half and a breech position, so I was particularly worried about the consequences.
While, on the one hand, I had absolutely (I repeat, absolutely) no problems bonding with my baby; the fact is my "November baby" did have more respiratory infections in the first two years, and for his first five or six years respiratory infections hit him particularly hard. Although it didn't seem to show up for a while, a relatively mild strabismus is something that did show up in one of my son's eyes.
Before he reached each developmental milestone, I had no way to know whether he would show delays or not. Physically he was generally right in the middle of the "normal" scale. On cognitive development he was well ahead of his chronological age, but I was aware that being ahead in cognitive development didn't necessarily mean he would not have learning disabilities of some sort.
My son faced a peculiar sort of challenge at around four or five months, though, because he was "smart" for his age, and yet his physical abilities needed to catch up. His tiny size made it impossible to use standard baby equipment, so it was difficult to find ways (other than holding him) to help him sit up and look around. For the four- and five-month period of his infancy, it seemed as if my baby was frustrated and/or bored because his body had not caught up with his mind. A "sharp" five-month old isn't content to just lie around. Without being able to use some of the infant equipment that is designed to give babies a "change of scenery" (and position), I found I had to pay particular attention to addressing my son's frustration and boredom during that period.
Until he passed each milestone I was never quite able to just take it for granted that all would be well, so I was particularly grateful to know that he walked at around a year old. He was talking "like a grown-up" at two years old. In fact, he had a toy that had word tiles with it. At two he was learning to recognize the words on the tiles. A funny "game" he played was to stash his "blankie" and some toys in his father's old briefcase, drag it around, and say either, "I'm a prime minister," or "I'm a little Santa".
He began kindergarten a few months short of turning five. From the first day of kindergarten on, my premie was well ahead for his grade level. He graduated college at a "nice, young" 21 years old.
With that benefit of hindsight that I mentioned elsewhere here, I can now look back and realize how I should have simply enjoyed my son's first two years of life without worrying about developmental problems and the possibility of future learning problems. It turns out the extra vigilance and concern I had about respiratory infections he'd get were valid, but the back-of-my-head worries that he may not hear or walk proved to be completely unnecessary.
On the one hand, it's always wise for parents to remain informed about something like premature babies. On the other, however, there are times when the worries can detract from the experience of having your baby and just taking it for granted that he'll be fine. I'm not recommending "ignorant bliss" with regard to having a premature baby, but I do wish - back when my son was in his first two years of life - that I had heard/read a little less about all the possible, negative, things that could develop, and a little more about how sometimes the only difference between a premie and a full-term baby (at least once they've gotten past those worrisome and frightening first days or weeks) is size. No, it's not all that problem-free for many premies, especially the earliest of them. Still, so many premies do better than "perfectly well", that's something moms need to keep in mind too.

What I wish I had known (or wish that someone had said to me) is that it is very easy to allow a baby's premature arrival to over-shadow the first months or years of his life. Sometimes parents need to try to make that extra effort not to allow premature birth to take more away from them than it needs to.