I have birthed two babies now. Totally different pregnancies, totally different labors, totally different deliveries. This is the story of how my second baby, my first little boy, Isaac Bright, made his way into the world, face up.
All tagged pregnancy
On August 23rd at 2:15 in the morning my son was born.
After nine months of pregnancy and 36 hours of unmediated labor, my life took on new meaning once again.
I suppose there are people in the world who go to sleep at night and then wake up the next morning. That hasn't happened for me in over three years. I was up last night (googling smoothie recipes with almond milk frozen in ice cube trays) and thinking about what this might do to my brain, this lack of sleep.
So I got up. And I wrote a WHOLE LONG BLOG POST about my favorite smoothies, with tips and techniques and tricks and it was so clear and awesome and then I hit the FUCKING DELETE button like an idiot.
It went a little like this:
- Busted seal, cranes, replacement glass, doesn't fit, they try to make it fit, glass everywhere, 2nd replacement pane almost doesn't fit, I am praying I don't go into labor, it fits, it works, they leaves, no baby yet.
This pregnancy I am building a house. Well, starting, anyway.
On occasion people give me shit about NOT HAVING A JOB.
In case you are new here:
I am out here on the island, eight months pregnant and on my own with a toddler and two dogs. The dogs have been walked daily, the kid is happy and fed and lathered with sunscreen. I've cooked all the meals and done all the dishes sans dishwasher. I feel pretty damn swell about it all. I've even been rocking a bikini.
So tomorrow I leave for three weeks with my toddler and two dogs to head to the beach and work remotely. It is a wonderful luxury of my job, my self-employment status. At the same time, it makes me crazy. Eight months pregnant, no AC, no dishwasher, lots of sand - oh, and did I mention it is an island? My darling husband will be away making money (which we totally need). I have yuppie problems, and I know it. (release guilt here)
With my first pregnancy, I had gestational diabetes. Despite no indicators for it in my medical history, I failed all the tests and ended up eating a very strict diet and taking my blood 4 times per day for just under half of my pregnancy. Luckily, my daughter was fine, and I had no residual complications...