Start at the beginning with My Birth Story, Part 1: Water, Water Everywhere & Part 2: Labor & Delivery.

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They put our baby up on my chest as they were wiping him off. He was perfect. Round little head (even after an hour of pushing), pink skin, and all his parts were exactly where they were supposed to be. Except for one major surprise. That head of black hair that I had expected? It was strawberry blonde.

We waited for the umbilical cord to stop pulsing and Chris sawed through it with those flimsy little scissors. We both gave it a good feel first, though. I was surprised at how thick and rubbery it felt, almost inorganic. That was one of the many really cool parts of having a homebirth–we got to participate in all the little details in ways they may not think to offer elsewhere.

I was having difficulty delivering the placenta in bed, so they had me stand up to do it. They began prepping the floor next to our bed by laying down wee-wee pads.

Nilla had been wonderful through the whole labor and birth experience. She was right there quietly supporting me during labor, retreated into her crate when things got intense and the birthing happened, and came wandering back in once the baby was born. Our midwives said that this is almost exactly what small children do at homebirths—minus the crate, of course.

Having found her way back into the action, as the midwives laid down the first wee-wee pad, Nilla expertly trotted over like, “I know what to do with this!” She immediately popped a squat and peed. It was priceless.

I stood up next to the bed (the floor now covered with several fresh wee-wee pads) and delivered the placenta into a stainless steel bowl. Later, after the midwives had inspected it to make sure it was all there and looked okay, they let us look at it and explained it to us. Mine was on the large side. The whole thing is still crazy to me—my body grew another organ. And a tiny human. Talk about mind-blowing.

I had lost a lot of blood during the delivery, so I got a shot of Pitocin and a handful of Cytotec up my bum (we may have been at home, but midwives are still prepared medical professionals). Ali also had her entire hand inside of me for a while, manually massaging my uterus to stop the bleeding.

I didn’t anticipate how uncomfortable the immediate postpartum care would be. It’s just not something I really thought much about. The birth seemed like the biggest deal, and then once that’s over it’s all done, right? Nope. To be totally honest, I think I’d have preferred pushing out another baby.

In addition to the uterine massage, Ali also had to feel all around to make sure I didn’t have any internal tearing that would require stitches, which was very uncomfortable. (Sorry if the following feels like TMI, but it was surprising to me so I’m going to share.) I did wind up needing a few stitches, but not inside and not in my perineum or in the general area that one might expect. All of my stitches were north of the point of exit. Yes it’s true, your labia—all the way up to your clitoris—can tear. And the way the tears happen seems almost random and completely unrelated to the birth, but I guess with the way everything stretches out down there anything’s fair game.

After everything was attended to, I looked around the room and said, “Okay everyone. This is Roman.”

We tried briefly to breastfeed, but he was still a little out of it from being born. I handed him off to Chris for the first time so that I could go and get cleaned up (and you can make fun of them all you want, but those post-partum mesh panties rock). While I was gone they weighed and measured our little guy and checked to make sure that all appeared well. Still totally perfect.

When I returned we put him back on my chest for some skin-to-skin and, ready now, he found my breast and latched right on. We all stayed like that for a couple hours—Roman nursing in my arms, everyone hanging out in our bedroom, either sitting on the floor or standing nearby, people bringing me quart-sized mason jars full of coconut water in lieu of the IV fluids I would have otherwise received for the blood loss had I been in the hospital. We were all relaxed as we chatted about babies and the birth.

At one point Stacey asked, “So, now that everything went okay, when do you think your water actually started leaking?”

I laughed and sheepishly responded, “Um, about a week ago.” I had first noticed the dampness when we were preparing for our friends to visit the previous weekend. Thank goodness we planned a homebirth, or I’d have been induced days ago! And thank goodness again for conscientious midwives that don’t do pelvic exams or I could have wound up with an infection as well.

Stacey shook her head. She said that she couldn’t recall ever having a client whose water “broke” in so many different ways. Usually it’s the trickle, or the big gushes, or a huge splashing break. Basically, I had experienced every possible variation all on my own. Ali then apologized for not realizing what was going on at our appointment that week. She said that I had been so laid back about it that she didn’t think too much of it.

Everyone agreed that I’d been very relaxed through the whole process, from pregnancy on out, especially for a first time mom. They were all incredibly impressed with how I handled labor and the birth. Jax said that it was the easiest birth she’d ever been to and that she felt like I didn’t even need her (I assured her I was glad she’d been there). They all also agreed that I was the most polite laboring woman they’d ever dealt with. Apparently I was still saying please and thank you right up until the end, and I do remember checking a few times to make sure that everyone else was all right. I even recall asking Jax if she was doing okay while holding my leg as I pushed.

I thanked everyone but demurred. The truth was that it had been challenging, even if it hadn’t looked that way on the outside. Plus, I didn’t feel like I had really done anything. I know that a lot of women who’ve given birth naturally feel a great sense of accomplishment in it. Not to take anything away from them, but I don’t. Instead, I’m still in complete awe at what my body did. I was just along for the ride. The only thing I feel like I “did” throughout the process was to relax and get out of the way as much as I could.

The evening came to a natural close. We reached a comfortable lull and the midwives and Jax packed up and headed out. Chris and I had ordered dinner and it arrived shortly after everyone left. We ate in bed, our brand new baby sleeping next to us.

During the pregnancy, friends and family repeatedly told us about that crazy feeling when you bring the baby home for the first time and realize that you now have to take care of this little life, often accompanied by a sense of “What do we do now?” We never had that moment. He was born into our home, so he never felt out of place. Also, he was “ours” from the minute he arrived; never transferred off to a nursery or cared for by anyone else. He just belonged with us. It felt so natural—a totally seamless transition from pregnancy into parenthood.

We spent the next few days camped out together in the bed in which our son was born. Chris made breakfast each morning and we ordered our other meals in. Stacey visited the day after, Ali the day after that. My recovery went well. Roman remained healthy, pink-skinned, and perfect. It was such a quiet, special time; I’ll always cherish it.

A day or two after he was born, I remember looking at him lying in his cosleeper alongside our bed. I couldn’t believe that we had created something so beautiful, that this amazing little being was ours to care for. The love I felt for him was so much bigger than I could have ever imagined and, for the first time since his birth, I cried at how absolutely wonderful my life now was for him being in it. Three and a half months later, I still find myself occasionally welling up as I look at his face, struck by how deeply I care for this one little person and how much I would give for him to have a beautiful, happy life.

After our experience, I cannot imagine having given birth any other way. I know that, especially with the misconceptions in our culture, homebirth doesn’t necessarily appeal to everyone and there is sincerely no judgement in the following, but I can’t help but feel that this is the way that–excluding the rare true emergency–birth should happen. It was so nice to labor free of superfluous monitoring devices, to not be periodically poked and prodded by strangers (or anyone for that matter), and to be able to be in a totally comfortable, familiar environment, in whatever position felt best to me at the time. Also, giving birth at home meant that Chris got to be closely involved in the process. So many new dads that we spoke to over the past year talked about how out of place and helpless they felt during everything, but Chris was right there with me at every stage, playing as vital a role as anyone else.

I am so happy that we made the decision we did. There is no doubt in either of our minds that it was the right one for us–and our son. I couldn’t feel more fulfilled by the peaceful, intimate way that little Roman entered this world.

Start at the beginning with My Birth Story, Part 1: Water, Water Everywhere.

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Shortly after I got back into bed I started feeling contractions.  They were mild, but definitely more than Braxton Hicks.  I was able to sleep through them pretty well until about 5am, when I woke and decided to time a few.  They felt solid at this point and were coming regularly, but weren’t anything that I felt worth waking Chris up for yet.  I got out of bed, grabbed a coconut water and a protein bar and went into the nursery.  I bounced on the yoga ball for a bit, but spent most of the time bent over the heating unit, looking out the window at the city.  As the contractions came, I began making low moaning noises to get through them.

At about 7, I went in and woke Chris up and let him know that I was in labor.  We timed a few contractions together before I went ahead and called Stacey.  She was happy to hear that things had started, told me to have a good breakfast while I still felt like eating, and to let her and Ali know when things got more intense and when I called our doula to come.  I told her that I was managing things pretty well and actually wasn’t sure that I was going to need or want the doula there but that we’d see.  As I was getting off the phone with her, I could feel another large gush of fluid, after which the contractions began to feel stronger.

Chris made us tofu scramble and brown rice English muffins for breakfast.  I texted our doula as I was eating to let her know that things had finally started and that I’d keep her posted as they progressed.

Shortly after breakfast, I was standing near the kitchen and a particularly strong contraction came on that brought me to my knees.  When I got up, I was shaking and felt suddenly cold.  Knowing that these can be symptoms of transition, I asked Chris to call the midwives while I got into the shower.  I needed to warm up and I also wanted to get one last shower in while I could.

Once in the shower, the most comfortable position for me was on my hands and knees, so I labored there for a while.  Chris called our midwives and got Ali who suggested that we call our doula.  She also wanted to know if I could feel the baby moving, and I had been able to up until that point, but being in the shower now was making it difficult.  After getting off the phone with Ali, Chris called our doula, Jax, who said she’d be over in about half an hour.

After trying for a while to feel our little guy move while in the shower, I got anxious and got out to see if I could feel him better without the distraction of the running water; the contractions were already distraction enough.  I still felt most comfortable on my hands and knees, but I knew that wasn’t the best position to feel his movement.  I tried lying on the bathroom floor on my back for a bit and also on my side, hoping to feel him better, but being in either of those positions right then was extremely painful.  I remember feeling so glad in that moment that I wasn’t in a hospital where back and side would have pretty much been my only options.

I got back on my hands and knees.  I thought I’d felt the baby move, but I wasn’t sure and was feeling frustrated.  The frustration turned to tears at just about the same moment that our doorbell rang.  Jax had arrived.  She came into the bathroom, knelt down next to me and reassured me that I was doing great.  I wasn’t worried and felt deep down that everything was okay, but having someone else support that helped the frustration that I was feeling to dissipate.  I had thought I may not need her, but I was glad that Jax was there.

I decided to get back into the shower and labor there for a bit longer; the hot running water was soothing.

When I finally got out of the shower I’m pretty sure it was to pee.  All throughout my labor I remember everyone asking, “When was the last time she peed? Make sure she pees.”  I also remember being really surprised at how much time had gone by between each pee.  I think at one point it had been three hours or something and I was like, “No, way, it’s only been 30 minutes at most.”  My whole sense of time that day was completely askew.

After I got out of the shower we moved to the bedroom where I labored in bed on my side while Jax massaged my lower back.  As far as I remember, at any given time either Jax or Chris was massaging my lower back.  I never had any back labor or specific back pain, but the touch was comforting and distracting.  As I labored in the bed, the contractions became more and more intense.  I continued with the low, long moaning I had been doing since I got up that morning.

A point came—I don’t know how many hours later—when Jax could tell that we were getting close.  She told Chris to call the midwives and let them know that I was no longer “myself” between contractions and that they should get ready to head over.  The contractions were very intense and close together at this point and, since I wasn’t getting much of a break in between, I was starting to have a difficult time keeping on top of them.  Jax had Chris ask the midwives if it would be okay if I got into the bath to help make things more manageable; they said yes.

We moved back to the bathroom and I got into the tub.  The warm water was relaxing and definitely slowed and eased the contractions a bit, though they were still coming on strong.  As each one approached I felt as though I were getting onto a moving treadmill.  If I relaxed into the contraction and started making my low sounds from the start, it was like stepping onto the treadmill when it was moving at a walking pace, after which I just had keep up with it as it carried me to a full run.  If I tensed up or resisted the contraction even a little bit, it was as though the treadmill was moving too fast for me to ever get my footing and I’d wind up tripping over myself and unable to catch up—i.e. in a lot of pain.

Coincidentally, without knowing any of this, Jax’s words of encouragement to me when I’d have a contraction that I was struggling with were, “Stay ahead of it.  Get ahead of it.”  It was perfect.

Another thing that helped me as the contractions became more and more intense was to constantly remind myself that it was only pain.  It was just a physical sensation.  I’d made it through dozens already, this was just one more and I’d make it through this one as well.  That’s the thing about labor—it’s painful and intense, but not because anything’s wrong (excluding, of course, those very rare exceptions).  It hurts, but it can be gotten through.

I was sitting in the tub with my legs crossed.  At some point, I began to find that it helped me to plant my hands slightly behind me and push myself up and forward, stretching out my whole front during each contraction.  After the fact, the yogi in me realized that I had instinctively been doing heart openers during this most challenging point in my labor.  Opening my heart to welcome my son; this still feels really beautiful to me.

I was still in the tub when Stacey and Ali arrived.  Stacey began using the doppler between my contractions to monitor my and the baby’s heart rates.  Everything was good, but after a while Stacey decided that our heart rates were both a little too elevated for her liking and that being in the hot bathwater might be the culprit.  After I got out, I was asked to pee again.  I was told that a lot of women find sitting on the toilet comfortable at this stage of labor—I did not.

I got into bed and the contractions were notably more intense now that I was out of the water; our heart rates had both come down, though.  If I’m recalling correctly, I think that I had two massive contractions in the bed.  I’m pretty sure it was the second one that I swore through, and that was also the one during which I felt large gushes of fluid and my body began pushing on its own.

I didn’t say anything at the time, but while I had been in the tub I actually felt like I wanted to push and, after each contraction, I would gently bear down a little because it felt good.  Everyone kept asking me if I felt like I had to poop or if I felt pressure (signs that you’re ready to push), but I never did so I kept saying no.  It was just a thought for me, a totally non-physical feeling. 

So I felt my body pushing in bed and I said something along the lines of “I think I’m pushing.  My body’s pushing.”

Stacey said, “Okay, I’m going to check you real quick.”  And after she did, “Yep, you’re nine and half centimeters.  I’m just going to move this last little bit of cervix out of the way and we’re going to have a baby.”

I began pushing with each contraction from there on out.  It felt good to push—not pleasurable, but good to finally be actively working towards something.  I remember wishing that I didn’t have to wait for each contraction to come on in order to push more—I just wanted to keep going!

As his head was moving down, one of the midwives (I think it was probably Ali at that point) said that they either felt or saw a lot of hair.  I imagined a head full of thick, dark hair like Chris’.

While I was pushing, Chris was standing alongside our bed to my left, holding my hand, Jax was holding my left leg and Stacey was on the bed next to me to my right.  Ali was catching.

Once the baby’s head began to emerge, Ali asked if we wanted to feel.  It was weird—I expected it to feel at least somewhat like a head.  It didn’t though.  It was just a mushy, fleshy, hairy protrusion.  Apparently the skin of the head sort of smooshes out before the actual bones.  Definitely not what either of us expected.

Finally, after 16 hours of labor and an hour of pushing, our little guy’s head popped out with one push and his body came sliding out with the next.  The hour of pushing could have been two.  It could have been fifteen minutes.  I had no sense of time that day.  But it was 5:57pm.  Our son was born.

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Continue reading My Birth Story, Part 3: This is Roman

This is the story of my homebirth, told in three parts (to give your eyes a rest).  I couldn’t cut it down or it would have been incomplete.  And let’s be honest, a couple days of water breakage plus 16 hours of labor isn’t exactly going to be a quick tell.  A word of reminder to my male and/or squeamish readers: the following is a birth story.  I’m going to talk about my underwear and use words like “discharge” and “placenta”.  You’ve been advised.

And to give a little more background, we had two midwives at our birth.  Normally it would have just been one midwife and an assistant, but our midwife Stacey added another midwife to her practice halfway through our pregnancy.  Ali started out working in hospitals (where Stacey also started out and where most midwives practice) and was attending Stacey’s births alongside her while she made the transition to being a homebirth midwife.  So we kind of lucked out and got two midwives for the price of one.  We also had a doula, Jax, present for our labor.  We feel so lucky to have had each of these women as part of our “team”.  They were all wonderful and each contributed to making the experience truly special.

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It was a Wednesday and we were having one of our end-of-the-run, weekly, at-home midwife appointments.  It was Ali’s turn to visit and I mentioned to her that I had been experiencing some dampness in my underwear.  It was clear and odorless and I was certain that it wasn’t urine but it also didn’t seem like discharge.  She didn’t have any pH strips on hand to test it, but we decided that it was probably just a very watery discharge.  I’d call if anything changed.

After Ali left, I went into the kitchen to make lunch for Chris and me.  As I was standing there, I felt a couple of small gushes (like how it feels when you get your period) and started to feel very crampy and sort of sick.  I told Chris and we started mentally preparing for me to potentially go into labor.

A little over an hour later, I had finished making lunch, eaten and was lying on the couch.  The crazy sick feelings had subsided.  Through the rest of the day, however, I felt a few more gushes and decided I would call the midwives if they continued to happen the next day.

Within an hour of waking up on Thursday morning, I felt three more small gushes and got on the phone with our midwives’ office.  It still may have just been watery discharge, but I wanted to be sure.  They squeezed me in for a 4pm appointment at the office.  As the hours passed before the appointment, I had a few more small gushes and noticed that the fluid smelled a bit sweet, like wet dry grass or hay.  I also had one gush, while dealing with the after-effects of another, that resulted in a small silver dollar-sized puddle on our bathroom floor.

I was about 90% sure at this point that it was amniotic fluid.

I called a car and headed down to Brooklyn for my appointment.  Stacey first spent some time feeling and listening to the baby.  Immediately she noticed that it felt like there was slightly less fluid.  He felt good, though–head down and active.  We listened to his heart for several minutes to determine if the loss of fluid (if that’s truly what it was) had led to any cord compression or if it was affecting him in any way.  His heartbeat was strong and steady, and there were good accelerations when she’d manually move him around.

The first thing that she then did to check whether it was amniotic fluid was to (Gasp! Giggle!) smell my underwear.  Often that’s enough, and if that’s all she needed to do, it would be preferable.  Unfortunately she couldn’t really tell, so I got up on the table so she could perform a sterile speculum exam.

So here’s the deal with having awesome, conscientious midwives: you do not do an internal exam of any sort ever, unless there is a very clear reason for it.  I never once had a cervical check at any of my weekly appointments.  The truth is (and any decent Ob will admit the same), cervical checks tell you nothing.  How dilated and effaced a woman is at any given time is not a good indicator of when she will go into labor or how said labor will progress once it begins. It is totally possible for a woman to be 0cm dilated and 0% effaced and have her baby a matter of hours later.  It is equally possible for a woman to be 3cm dilated and 80% effaced and walk around that way for weeks.  Unless a doctor is trying to determine how effective an induction may be, all that cervical checks do is mess with a woman’s head and expectations and increase the risk that she may end up with an infection.

So, since internal exams increase the risk of infection, especially if the bag of waters is broken, this was a last resort in the quest to determine whether I was indeed leaking amniotic fluid.

In some beautiful stroke of coincidence, about two seconds after I hopped up on the table so we could do an internal exam, out came a nice solid gush of fluid.  I hopped down, catching another gush with my hand as I did.  Stacey quickly grabbed a couple of pH strips and a microscope slide.  The strips should have turned blue on contact if it was amniotic fluid.  They didn’t.  So she swiped the slide on the fluid, handed me a maxi pad, and left the room to look at it under a microscope while I got cleaned up.

The pH strips may not have thought so, but, sure enough, it was amniotic fluid.  When dry, amniotic fluid makes a really pretty “ferning” pattern under a microscope.  Stacey let me take a peek; it was like frost on a windowpane.

Since I hadn’t been having any strong contractions, Stacey wrote me out some recommendations for herbal tinctures (black cohosh and blue cohosh) to move things along and told me that she wanted me to see an acupuncturist that, in her experience, had been good at getting labor going for other clients.  I started taking the black and blue cohosh that night and went to see the acupuncturist the following (Friday) morning.  I figured it certainly couldn’t hurt.  And whether it ultimately helped or not, it was a relaxing experience.

(Friday morning before the acupuncturist.  Roughly 38 1/2 weeks pregnant.)

Nothing much changed throughout the rest of the day on Friday until that evening.  Suddenly, at around a quarter to 7, the small gushes of fluid changed to big gushes.  I was soaking a panty liner with each one, so I decided to crack open the massive overnight pads that we purchased for postpartum.  Good thing too, because the gushes didn’t slow and just kept on getting bigger.  I started cracking up at the amount of fluid—it felt completely ridiculous and I couldn’t believe how it kept on coming.

About half an hour to 45 minutes later, Chris and I decided to head out for provisions.  I’d nearly soaked the overnight pad and decided to change it before we left.

As we headed down the elevator and out of the building, the fluid kept coming out in big, fat gushes.  By the time we were two blocks away, it was like someone kept turning on a faucet full blast for a few seconds at a time.  I wanted so bad to just enjoy the walk and the sparkly snow that we’d finally gotten, but I couldn’t.  I was too busy cracking up and gasping in surprise.  At one point, it poured constantly for three solid blocks.  It just would not stop.

(Last walk as non-parents!)

We made it to our first destination and quickly grabbed only the necessities.  I could tell that the pad wasn’t going to be able to contain things much longer.  As we started walking back in the direction of our apartment, also the direction of our next two stops, it became clearer and clearer that Chris would have to go on without me.  When we parted ways 3 blocks from home, I could tell that my pants were soaking through.  And it kept coming.

I got home, stripped down, surprised (and also not) by how the fluid had soaked the entire pad and the whole crotch of my jeans halfway down my thighs.  I gave Stacey a call before hopping in the shower.  Usually a big water break like that means that labor is a few hours away.  She told me to eat a good dinner and try to get some rest.  I’d call her if anything changed overnight, or first thing in the morning.

Before we went to bed that night, I laid a large towel, folded over as many times as was still comfortable, on my side of the bed just in case.  At around 1am, I was woken up by a large a gush of fluid that I could tell was overflowing the pad, and I leaped out of bed.  It wasn’t stopping or slowing, so I yanked the towel off the bed and onto the floor between my feet.  It was like someone turned a bucket over.  I could literally hear the fluid splashing onto the floor.

I woke Chris up and asked him to grab some towels and waddled to the bathroom, still pouring water the whole way.  The water was now cloudy with small white chunks in it; they had the rough appearance and texture of the hard lump that comes out when you pump a bottle of lotion for the first time in a while.

Once I got everything under control, I called Stacey to let her know what had happened.  She confirmed what I thought, that the white chunks were vernix (the protective coating covers babies in utero and that they shed as they come to term), and told me to get some sleep because labor would probably be on its way soon.

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Continue reading My Birth Story, Part 2: Labor & Delivery

One month ago Chris and I officially became parents.

Roman Raphael LoSacco was born at home on January 26 at 5:57pm.  He weighed in at 7lbs 6oz, measured 22 inches long, and arrived with a head full of surprising strawberry blonde hair.  His first name is a nod to his place of conception (something I’m sure he’ll love hearing as he gets older)–though, truth be told, it was also the one name that Chris and I agreed on.  His middle name was given in honor of Chris’ grandmother, Raffaela, who passed away last summer.

Giving birth at home was an incredible experience; even the prenatal care that we received in planning for a homebirth was so special and amazing.  Chris and I couldn’t be happier with our decision and can’t imagine having done things any differently.  I’m still gathering my thoughts and working on writing it out, but I will definitely share the story of our little man’s birth in a future post.

At one month old, Roman has finally become more “tiny person” than “sleepy ball of goo”.  He focuses on things now and has started reaching and grasping.  So far my hair seems to be his preferred thing to grab (there may be a mom coif in my future).  Toys have become interesting to him.  He bats at the small stuffed animals that hang above his bouncer and will briefly chew and hold onto his Sophie.  He’s a strong little guy and has been able to hold his head up for a few seconds at a time since birth; he can now do so for a couple minutes.  And if he can get traction on his feet, he’ll push himself forward on his belly with his powerful little legs (the same ones that beat up my ribs so badly that I still feel bruised!).  We’re all pretty much expecting him to get up and walk away any minute.  And maybe my favorite thing thing of all: he just started smiling for real.  Every time it happens, I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry.

Becoming a mother has been wonderful and mind-boggling, but has also felt like the most normal, natural thing in the world.  It’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that Chris and I created this complete, tiny human being and that he grew inside my body.  I look at him and think nearly every day, Wow, I can’t believe he’s ours.  The enormity of the love I feel for him is humbling.

Yet in the midst of all the awe I feel at the mere fact of his existence, caring for this beautiful baby boy feels almost ordinary and precisely like what I’m supposed to be doing right now.  Everyone tells you that having a baby changes your life in ways that you could never imagine or prepare for.  Maybe it’s the mentality that we went into this whole thing with, or maybe it’s the peaceful, non-dramatic way that Roman came into the world, but Chris and I both agree that our lives feel quite unshaken.  We’re still doing our thing (naturally, many of the details have changed), it’s just that now we have this amazing little guy to share it all with.

I can honestly say that I have never felt more thankful for anything, and my life has never felt more full and complete.  I am so very happy that he’s here.

(At my baby shower–31 weeks.)

When I announced that I was pregnant back in August, I didn’t intend for that to be the last post I’d write for nearly five months!  I really wanted to start churning out recipes again and sharing all the beautiful and delicious details of our trip to Italy with you.  Part of the reason I haven’t yet is because I literally don’t have enough space on my computer for the photos from our trip, and the task of creating space is just as big and looming as actually sorting and editing the photos.  It’s starting to look like an Italy recap may be a slow project for sleepless nights as a new parent.  As far as new recipes go, pregnancy has made my tastes and appetite a little wonky and, honestly, creative cooking just hasn’t been as much of a priority these days.

I did want to pop in before the year officially ends, however, and at least give you all an update on things.

We’re getting close now; I’m 35 weeks along.  Aside from the first trimester sickness and exhaustion, and the third trimester discomfort and bruised ribs, I’ve had a relatively easy pregnancy.  It’s been a healthy pregnancy too, without any complications, and with a super active baby who I’ve been able to feel tumbling around in there since just shy of 16 weeks.

I finally look pregnant!  I say finally because it took a very long time for this to happen, which was not at all what I expected.  I remember sitting down with one of my yoga teachers around 5 or 6 weeks to discuss the adjustments I’d need to make in my practice.  She tilted her head down to inspect my belly, saying, “Okay, so it doesn’t look like you’re showing yet–some women’s uteruses pop out really early.  Let me know when you start noticing shape changes.”  In my head I thought, Oh yeah, I’m totally going to be one of those women who pop early.  Nope.  It took until 27 or 28 weeks until I finally started showing, and it has only really started looking like a belly (as opposed to just a bump) since about 32 weeks, or roughly 7 months.

(30 weeks on Thanksgiving & 34 weeks on Christmas)

I’m still sort of small.  It seems to be a combination of having a long torso, not gaining extraneous weight, and the abdominal tone that I developed through yoga (at 8 months, I can still sit directly upright from lying down).  I know it’s a blessing in a lot of ways that I’ve stayed on the smaller side, but it’s been an enormous mental adjustment to accept and appreciate that.  I always imagined that I would be one of those women who grows a big, round, glorious belly and just exudes a pregnant aura everywhere I go.  Instead, a little over a week ago, our maternity photographer was asking me if I could push my belly out because she was having a hard time finding angles to make me look pregnant.  I’m not complaining–it’s just been very different from my expectations.

Another departure from expectation: we found out back in August that we will be having a boy!  We had both always assumed our first would be a girl, and all the old wives tales early on pointed in that direction as well.  It took a few days of mental adjustment, but it’s now nearly impossible to imagine looking at pink and purple ruffles instead of blue trucks and dinosaurs.  We’re so excited to meet our little guy!

Looking back now on 2012, it’s amazing to me how long the year felt.  Pregnancy has been this odd game of waiting patiently and preparing furiously–throw normal life stuff into the mix and it has all felt a bit nonstop.  Usually when things are busy they seem to go faster, but this has somehow translated into one year feeling much more like two.  And though the pregnancy has been the big thing, 2012 also saw my one-year vegan anniversary, about half a dozen new babies among our friends, the marriage of two of our very best friends, and I picked up sewing (note the elephant pillow in the nursery photo; I’m calling it a pregnancy symptom).

I won’t make any promises about when posting will become more regular again, but do know that I haven’t given up on things here.  2013 is bound to be another crazy year as we welcome our son and figure out the whole parenting thing.  I’ll try to pop in when I can, though–even if it’s with more silly or life-related things than food for a while.

Happy New Year!  Hope you all had a wonderful 2012!  

I can hardly believe how long I’ve been absent from here, and how much has happened in my time away.

Our trip to Italy was incredible, so much so that, even after three weeks, we still wished we’d had more time (details to come).  On the day that we left for our trip, we walked a few blocks down the street and signed a lease on a new apartment in a new building in our neighborhood—a decision that we had only begun seriously investigating with the arrival of our lease renewal a few days earlier.  We moved about a month after we returned home.  A week after the move, Chris’ grandmother—the most selfless, kind-hearted person I’ve ever known—passed away.

It’s been a lot.

But one of the very biggest happenings has been less obvious.  It’s still not something that many people know or that anyone at this point would readily guess.

Sometime in early February or so, Chris and I will be adding a furless baby to our family.

We’re very excited.  The timing feels perfect and, though you can never totally prepare for this sort of life change, we couldn’t be more ready. 

So far being pregnant has been wonderfully weird, especially during these early months where any signs of pregnancy are limited to how you feel and only a handful of people know.  Even now, almost a week into my second trimester, I feel like I’m in a sort of limbo.  I’ve gotten past that awful feeling of being so nauseated that I want to crawl out of my skin and constantly feeling so tired I can hardly move; I’ve since graduated to frequently feeling so tired I can hardly move.  Aside from that, however, not much is happening.  I have yet to gain a pound and I still don’t have even the beginnings of a bump.  My body is doing this incredible thing—growing a human being!—that I have absolutely no control over, that I can’t yet see or feel, but that I’m aware of every second of every day.  Like I said, wonderfully weird.

I am so looking forward to everything yet to come: the belly, the movement, and being able to share those more tangible things with Chris.  I cannot wait to experience labor and birth—the very things that my female body was designed for—and to meet our little guy or gal.

We’re currently finishing our unpacking and I’m still battling fatique, but I’ll try to be back sooner rather than later with some tidbits from Italy.  Forewarning: there will be lots and lots of fabulous gluten-free pizza.  Also, our new kitchen has only just reached workable status, so hopefully I’ll have some new recipes for you after I get back into the groove turning out a few basics.

And, of course, you can now expect the occasional baby update as well.

Mother’s Day is usually a day for flowers, brunches, spa certificates, and warm celebration.  It’s a day where we think of and share our love for all of the mothers in our lives.  I, of course, am thinking of my own mother and how grateful I am for all that’s she’s done and all that she is.  I am also thinking of my mother-in-law, who brought my best friend and husband into this world.  Additionally, I am full of warm thoughts for my extended family members and dear friends who have taken on this incredible role.

But today I also have another group of mothers in my thoughts–the ones who are exploited daily and aren’t allowed to live out their motherhood as a result of our dietary decisions. Below are a few articles I’ve come across that speak to those uncelebrated mothers and felt poignant for this day.

Cow Proves Animals Love, Think, and Act by Megan Cross, from Global Animal

Veganism Is for Mothers by Sayward Rebhal, from VegNews

Conversations at the Grocery Store by Jasmin Singer, from Our Hen House

If you’re not already vegan, maybe try avoiding eggs and dairy–just for today.  Do it for the mothers who aren’t voiceless (they cry out for their babies), but whose voices don’t sound like our own and so go ignored.  For as Sayward Rebhal said in her piece:

“…we are responsible to one another. To stand with mothers—all mothers—in honoring that precious, primitive, magnificent act of mothering.”

(The original GFitC header image)

Today is the third anniversary of GF in the City.

Okay, actually “today” is about a week ago.  I’m writing this before we leave for Italy, so that you will see it on the appropriate date; I’m not planning on doing any active blogging while we’re away.  As you’re reading this, we’ll have just spent several days in Rome and will be embarking on our first in Florence.  I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that we’re having a really good time.

For this anniversary, I don’t have any crazy insights about blogging to share.  I don’t have a redesign to launch.  I don’t have a recipe (though if I were going to celebrate with one, this would be it).  Maybe it’s because I’m writing this a week early, or maybe it’s just because things feel so blissfully comfortable here lately that it feels like enough to simply give three years a nod.

And to say thank you.

These past few months have seen me through a lot of personal changes, and there were many times when I was nervous to share them here.  You guys have been so incredibly supportive, lending kind words of encouragement and continuing to read.  I can’t thank you enough for that.  I really love creating and sharing in this way, and it means a lot that you’re here—even if I have become a kale-lovin’ vegan yogi.

I’ll have at least one more post lined up for you while we’re away, and then I’ll be back with a debriefing about Italy.  Stay tuned.

And hey, thanks again.

It seems I’ve once again amassed a nice list of tasty recipes found elsewhere, many of which have appeared in our kitchen multiple times.  Click through and enjoy!

Carrot Soup with Miso & Sesame – Tons of flavor and perfect for those times when you find yourself with too many carrots lingering in the crisper.

Kale and Avocado Salad – We have this so often, it’s become known simply as “Saveur salad.”  Chris and I split the entire bunch of kale between the two of us and reduce the amount of avocado by half, resulting in two well-proportioned entree-sized salads.

The Raw Brownie – These have no right to taste as good as they do and not smack you upside the head with guilt.  And yet….

Avgolemono – We finished the entire pot of this creamy, lemony Greek Easter soup in a single evening.  I’m still not quite sure how to pronounce it, but it’s a solid favorite here.

Peacefood Cafe’s Raw Key Lime Pie – Okay, I haven’t made this one, but we did have a slice the last time we ate at Peacefood.  If I can ever get up the courage to break down a young coconut, I will make this at home.  If you’re braver than I, do give this one a go.

No-Fu Love Loaf – A lentil and oat based veggie loaf.  Fab texture.  Great flavor.  Wonderful as written, but I will be experimenting with variations on this for sure.

Five GF, Vegan, Nut-Free Entrees & Desserts – The Kitchn’s recipe roundup for “the most difficult dinner guest ever.”  While I do wish they’d used the word “challenging” instead, this is a nice little reference if you fit this bill yourself or are entertaining a group with restrictions.  The mushroom risotto with caramelized onions looks particularly delicious.

I still haven’t totally processed this, but Chris and I will be spending a considerable chunk of next month in Italy.  In fact, we leave next week–which feels even further from comprehension.

Our stay will take us through Rome, Florence, Venice, and Milan, plus a week in a villa on a farm.  We’re planning to spend a little time seeing some sights and a whole lot of time sitting in piazzas and getting gloriously lost as we wander and explore.  During our villa stay, we’ll relax and take a few day trips.  Also–one of the most exciting parts–we will have a kitchen in our apartment.  You didn’t really think I’d go almost a month without cooking, did you?

I’ve heard so many great things about how Italy handles gluten-free and am hearing positive things about vegan dining there as well.  I’d love to hear from you, though. If you’ve been to Italy, what are your tips for eating GF and/or veg?  Did you find it easy or difficult?  Any specific restaurants that shouldn’t be missed?  Also, if you have any non-food travel tips, opinions on must-see attractions, or insider advice about out-of-the-way gems, please leave them below as well.

Grazie!